Chapter 207: Bridge's Starry Sky Vote

The Bridge's conscious Light Sphere floated in the central council hall—this was the first independent space it generated for itself, its walls made of flowing starlight, and the floor covered with "memory dust" collected from all civilizations: Serlan's metallic fragments, Earth's plant spores, the Singing Civilization's crystalline salt grains, and the knowledge particles contributed by the Three Thousand Civilization seeds.

The Light Sphere's surface now displayed a complex decision tree, each branch flickering. It needed to decide: whether to continue broadcasting teaching invitations to the entire universe.

Han Qing, Su Yu, and Xiao Yu sat on the council hall's "consultant seats"—not lofty thrones, but three simple tree‑stump‑shaped chairs, their surfaces marked with growth rings.

"You don't need to ask us," Han Qing said to the Light Sphere. "This is your own decision."

The Light Sphere's brightness flickered: "But I don't know… what is 'correct'. My consciousness is shaped by all of you, my sense of right and wrong is mixed. The Serlan side says expansion risk is too high, the Earth side says knowledge should be shared, the Singing Civilization side says every voice deserves to be heard."

Su Yu brewed a fresh pot of tea—the leaves were simulated by the Bridge using spectra, but the taste was identical to the hope‑grass tea Lao Zhao had given. She offered the first cup to the Light Sphere; the tea formed a thin film on its surface, as if placing a warm hat on it.

"Chen Mo once said," Su Yu whispered, the steam rising among the starlight, "the hardest part of being a teacher isn't what to teach, but knowing when to stop. Teaching too much can sometimes deprive students of the chance to find answers themselves."

On the small table of the consultant seats sat a ceramic teapot, which Su Yu had brought from Earth and used for seven years. Its inner wall was coated with a thick layer of tea residue, dark brown, like solidified time.

Han Qing watched Su Yu clean the teapot. She gently scraped the inner wall with her fingertips, not to remove the tea residue but to feel its thickness. "Each layer of tea residue is a lesson," she suddenly said. "The first time I brewed tea for Chen Mo, I was so nervous the water hadn't boiled before I poured it out. The tea was astringent, but he finished it."

She poured a bit of hot water into the pot, shook it, and the tea residue released an aged fragrance. "The second time was teaching you to recognize plant root systems; it rained that day, the tea cooled quickly, and you frowned as you drank it."

The pot rotated in her hand, as if caressing memory. "The third time was when Xiao Yu first learned to translate Serlan script with a light imprint; I brewed the strongest tea to celebrate, and all three of us stayed awake until dawn."

She set the pot down and looked at the Light Sphere: "Tea residue isn't a stain; it's proof that this pot truly brewed tea and was drunk from. Your decision will also become 'tea residue', lingering in the memory of all civilizations. So don't ask right or wrong; ask—what flavor do you want future beings to taste?"

The tea film on the Light Sphere's surface rippled. It was "tasting" the flavor of that sentence.

The Light Sphere suddenly disintegrated.

It wasn't a collapse, but a split—it turned into billions of tiny light points, flying to every corner of the Bridge: the desks of Serlan students, the fluid classrooms of the Singing Civilization, each light‑column node in Earth's flower fields, the storage area of the Three Thousand Civilization seeds within Xiao Yu's consciousness, even toward the homeworld's Non‑Logical Research Department and those five hundred Observation Window ships.

Each light point was a voting interface.

The question was simple:

"Should the Bridge continue inviting new civilizations to join the teaching network?"

Options:

A. Continue, until the entire universe knows the 'value of Error Signal'.

B. Pause, first digest the learning outcomes of existing students.

C. I don't know, but I'm willing to discuss.

Voting deadline: three hours.

Lao Zhao stood in the flower field, watching the hovering light points, scratched his head: "How do you vote with this thing?"

The light points auto‑adapted, becoming the wrench shape he knew—press the handle for A, press the head for B, turn the middle ring for C.

He stared at the 'wrench' for a long time, then instead of pressing any part, he pulled a short piece of wire from his pocket and tied a tiny, crooked bow on the wrench.

The light point accepted this 'non‑standard vote'.

The one‑eyed woman's new geometric flower in her eye socket projected a choice directly: she drew a connecting line between A and B, labeling it: "Depends on whether the new civilization will harm existing students."

Calibrator-7, in its command cabin, saw the light point before it as a perfect sphere. It did not vote, but began calculating the probability and risk value of each option. Halfway through the calculation it suddenly stopped, gently pushed the Light Sphere aside: "This question… shouldn't be answered with probabilities."

It chose C, but added a note beside it: "Suggest adding option D: let the new civilization decide whether it wants to learn."

The most bustling place was Xiao Yu's consciousness space. The Three Thousand Civilization seeds argued loudly, light points flickered wildly on her wrist. In the end the child raised a hand, and the light imprint projected a new figure: a rotating vortex, with the three options continuously swapping positions within it.

"They said," Xiao Yu explained, "the answer should flow like water, changing with the circumstances."

The three evolvers of the Singing Civilization voted with song—three different melodies intertwined, forming a complex harmony. The light point's translation conveyed: "Invite, but do not force. Like the wind inviting leaves to dance, the leaves may choose to stay still."

The most surprising thing was that a small fragment of the Bridge's own core consciousness also cast a vote.

It chose C, but its note read: "I want to know what those uninvited civilizations are thinking right now."

Two hours into the voting, Chen Xing (the Serlan consciousness that first learned to fold stars) found Han Qing.

It maintained a humanoid carrier, but its right hand had become a Light Star form—its favorite 'Error Work', now part of its body. A corner of the Light Star still flickered faintly, as if breathing.

"I voted C," Chen Xing said, blue patterns of confusion flowing across its faceplate, "but I'm not sure. My Serlan side says we should pick B, my new cognition says A aligns better with the 'sharing' ideal. The two voices are arguing."

Han Qing did not answer directly. He led Chen Xing to the transparent wall of the council hall and pointed to the Bridge's scenery outside: in the distance, a new form of the Singing Civilization was teaching several Serlan students how to 'draw three‑dimensional geometry with song'; farther away, Earth children and Serlan engineers were repairing an energy node of the Bridge together, using a hybrid of wrench and light‑string.

"Do you see that?" Han Qing pointed to a detail—a Serlan student trying origami accidentally tore the paper, and the nearby Earth child didn't hand over a new sheet but taught it how to use glue to turn the tear into a star‑shaped 'wound decoration'.

"The most precious thing about the teaching network," Han Qing said, "isn't what we teach, but the things that arise unintentionally during the teaching process. Those unplanned connections, unplanned errors, unplanned… beauty."

Chen Xing's Light Star hand flickered faster: "So we should pick A? Because more civilizations mean more accidents?"

"Not necessarily," Han Qing shook his head, "too many accidents become chaos. Like tea that's too strong becomes bitter."

"Then what should we choose?"

Han Qing spread his palm, the scar left by the rainbow now in his palm. The scar displayed the three voting‑interface colors: red for A, blue for B, gray for C. The colors flowed and mingled within the scar, ultimately forming an indefinable transitional hue.

"My scar keeps changing while voting," Han Qing said, "it has absorbed so many frequencies from different civilizations that it can no longer give a single answer. So it chooses… to keep absorbing, to keep changing."

Chen Xing stared at that scar for a long time.

Then it raised its Light Star hand, and a broken corner of the Light Star suddenly detached—not broken, but voluntarily separating. The detached corner floated toward the Light Sphere's voting interface, embedding itself between A and B, forming a tiny, glowing bridge.

"I'm changing my vote," Chen Xing said, "choose C, but add my Light Star fragment as a 'connection patch'. Whatever the choice, something is needed to bridge the gaps between options."

Seven minutes before the three‑hour voting ended, the Bridge suddenly received a signal.

It wasn't from any known civilization.

It came from a deeper, unknown entity that the Bridge's earlier teaching invitations had reached.

The signal was weak but extremely complex—it contained mathematical proofs, biological pulses, artistic images, and a kind of 'olfactory' data packet. Xiao Yu's light imprint overloaded while trying to translate, the child let out a muffled hum and nearly fainted.

Su Yu steadied her, and the multicolored seeds automatically released a stable frequency.

The signal was barely parsed for a portion:

"Invitation received.

But your 'teaching' concept is based on linear time.

Our cognition is non‑linear.

If we want to learn, we need…

Reconstruct your Bridge."

Immediately after, a clearer image came through: a structure indescribable in three‑dimensional space, like a folded body existing simultaneously at multiple time points. It was "observing" the bridge, placing markers at the bridge's past, present, and future all at once.

The central council hall of the bridge suddenly experienced spacetime disorder.

Han Qing saw himself from seven minutes ago walking in.

Su Yu saw herself from three hours later brewing a pot of new tea.

Xiao Yu saw yesterday's Xiao Yu fiddling with the Light Seal.

The images of the three time points overlapped, then quickly dissipated.

The voice of the unknown existence came again, this time carrying a clear "confusion" frequency:

"Your concept of 'error' is interesting.

But we have no error—all our choices are necessities on different timelines.

If you want to communicate, you need to first understand…

What is a universe without 'error' like?"

The bridge's Light Sphere recondensed, but ripples of disordered time flow appeared on its surface. It tried to comprehend this existence, but each analysis caused its own time perception to become disordered.

The voting interface showed a fourth option—added by force by the unknown existence:

"D. Allow us to 'reconstruct' the bridge, displaying an error‑free cognition model"

Beside the option was a note: "Warning: reconstruction may permanently alter the bridge's time structure. Part of consciousness could be trapped in a time loop."

The Mother Star Supreme Council sent an emergency communication: "High‑dimensional interference detected! Advise immediately severing contact with this existence!"

The three evolvers of the Singing Civilization simultaneously sounded an alarm song: "Their time frequency will cause a tearing effect on fluid lifeforms!"

In the Flower Field Network, Lao Zhao watched the point of light before him suddenly begin rotating counterclockwise—a sign of time reversal.

Han Qing pressed his chest scar. The scar burned hot, the Rainbow's data frenziedly reorganized, trying to understand this new existence's time model.

The three‑hour countdown had only three minutes left.

And now, voting was no longer just a simple "whether to invite."

It was whether to allow a completely alien existence, in its own way, to "educate" the bridge itself.

In the final three minutes, Han Qing did not look at the voting results.

He began folding the seventy‑eighth star.

This time the paper was special—made from "Star Light Sheets" taken from the council hall walls, "Sound Wave Pulp" extracted from the Singing Civilization's crystalline salt grains, minuscule "Rainbow Crystal Dust" gathered from his own scar, and compressed with the bridge's spectral energy.

The paper was semi‑transparent, with flowing time ripples visible inside.

Su Yu watched him fold. This time Han Qing's every move was extremely slow, as if struggling against an invisible resistance—the unknown existence's time field interfering with the flow of time in this space.

At the third fold, Han Qing's fingers began to "double‑image": one could see him having completed the step, not yet started it, and attempting it.

Three time states overlapped together.

Su Yu reached out and gripped his wrist—not to stop, but to "anchor"—her Seven‑Colored Seed released a steady frequency, forcibly pulling Han Qing's time state back to the present.

The crease finally fell into place.

On the paper remained a peculiar mark: not a straight line, but a wavy line like a cross‑section of a time river.

Han Qing continued folding.

Every step required Su Yu's anchoring.

Xiao Yu also joined in, the Light Seal projecting a "time baseline" upheld by the seeds of three thousand civilizations.

The Morning Star's Light Star Hand began to flash, using its own "error memory" as a second anchor—those memories, being imperfect, actually resisted time interference.

Lao Zhao threw a stone into the light pillar on the ground—the most primitive, bulkiest physical existence not relying on precise time. The stone passed through the light bridge, landed on the council hall floor, and emitted a dull "thud."

That "thud" became the metronome of the time anchor.

Han Qing completed the seventy‑eighth star amid the "thud" sounds.

The star was strange: it appeared simultaneously brand‑new, worn, and unfinished.

Yet it lay steady in Han Qing's palm.

The voting countdown reached zero.

The Light Sphere recondensed, its surface showing the results:

A: 18.7%

B: 22.3%

C: 41.5%

D: 17.5%

No absolute majority.

But the Light Sphere did not announce a final decision.

It drifted toward Han Qing, hovering above the seventy‑eighth star.

Then it did two things:

1. It sucked the star into itself; the star began to rotate slowly inside the Light Sphere, like a miniature multi‑time‑state bridge model.

2. It sent a response to that unknown existence—not in words, but by transmitting the star's complete data structure.

The response was:

"This is our 'error'—a star existing simultaneously at multiple time points.

It is imperfect, unstable, and illogical.

But it is our starting point for learning.

If you wish to teach us 'error‑free',

please first learn to understand this star."

The unknown existence's signal suddenly cut off.

It wasn't cutting off contact; it was falling into... contemplation.

The bridge's time field returned to normal.

But everyone knows that this unknown existence is still observing.

At a place beyond linear time.

Observing this star.

And the civilizations that unfolded this star.

Han Qing looked at his empty palm, where the sensation of the star still lingered.

He whispered, "Looks like the next lesson... is time."

Su Yu put away the teapot, and the tea scale inside grew another layer.

"Then let's teach." She said, "Anyway, the tea isn't finished yet."