Chapter 208: Wounds of Time

The unknown entity's silence lasted seven hours.

It wasn't that there was no response; their "thinking" process could not be perceived in linear time. During those seven hours, a marvelous change occurred inside the Bridge: a corner of the council hall spontaneously sprouted a "Time Garden."

The garden's plants simultaneously displayed sprouting, blooming, withering, and rebirth. A stalk of hope grass rooted in the present, its leaves reaching toward the future, while its flower bloomed three days ago. The stone Lao Zhao had tossed in grew covered with moss, yet the moss showed a fresh, tender green as if just sprouting.

Han Qing sat at the garden's edge, watching the scene that defied logic. The scar on his chest no longer burned; instead it emitted a strange pulse—as if synchronously adapting to this multi-temporal environment.

Su Yu carried over a plate of freshly baked flatbread; the bread still steamed, but the plate's rim showed fine wear, as if it had been used for many years.

"The Bridge is evolving," she said, handing the flatbread to Han Qing. "It's trying to grasp that entity's view of time, and as a result it turned part of itself into… a Time Experiment Field."

Han Qing took a bite of the flatbread. The taste was odd: the first bite was freshly crisp, the second revealed the chewiness of cooled bread, the third even carried a faint musty note—three temporal states coexisting in his mouth.

"Can it digest it?" He was asking about the Bridge, and also about himself.

Su Yu shook her head, her fingertip lightly touching a plant that was both a sapling and a dead branch. "I don't know. But Chen Mo's notebook has a page I've never understood; now it suddenly makes sense."

She pulled the singed‑edged notebook from her bosom and flipped to a middle page. The paper bore only a single sentence, the handwriting faint, as if afraid to disturb something:

"Some wounds don't heal; they learn to coexist with pain."

After the vote ended, the Bridge temporarily set aside its expansion decision, but the teaching network kept running. On the contrary, having experienced temporal turbulence, the students gained a new understanding of "Error Signal."

Chen Xing built a "Star Collection Hall" beside his desk—not a museum showcasing perfect works, but an archive displaying "failed attempts." In the most conspicuous spot of the hall rested Han Qing's 78th multi‑temporal star, next to his own first ugly star "Dusk-7," as well as Lao Zhao's cassette‑strip star and the fluid star of the Singing Civilization…

At that moment, Chen Xing was carefully placing a new piece into the hall.

It was its attempt from the night before: to fold a star that could be seen from every angle simultaneously. During folding, the paper tore unevenly into thirteen pieces. It didn't give up; using clear adhesive, it glued the fragments together, the result resembling a star that had exploded and been barely reassembled.

"I named it 'Perspective-13.'" Chen Xing told the visiting Ser Lan students, a proud silver‑blue light pattern flowing across his visor, "Each fragment is a failed folding angle, but when assembled, the reflected light is three times that of a whole star."

A student reached out to touch, and Chen Xing immediately stepped in front: "Careful! The seventh fragment's temporal flow rate differs from the others; touching it might numb your finger."

"Is that also part of the design?"

"No, it was accidental dew from the Time Garden that got on it during bonding," Chen Xing admitted honestly, "but I think… this accident makes it even more special."

Han Qing and Su Yu entered the Collection Hall just as this scene unfolded.

Su Yu crouched, examining the shattered star closely. Her multicolored seed automatically analyzed it, projecting a spectral chart: the thirteen fragments indeed bore distinct temporal tags, the earliest from yesterday afternoon, the latest from five minutes ago.

"You're teaching them," Su Yu whispered to Han Qing, "Error Signal can not only be accepted, it can also be… collected."

Han Qing watched the growing number of "failed works" in the hall. There were Ser Lan students who tried to fold paper boats from battleship material, ending in melted metal blocks; the Singing Civilization attempted to sculpt Earth wildflowers with sound waves, shattering crystals; even Earth children tried to teach Ser Lan robots to jump rubber bands, resulting in light‑string bundles tangled into dead knots.

Next to each "Error Signal" was a handwritten label by its creator, explaining how the error occurred and what unexpected outcome it yielded.

Xiao Yu's light imprint flickered suddenly: "Joint application from three thousand civilization seeds— they also wish to build a 'Cross‑Civilization Error Library,' digitizing and preserving the most valuable 'failed cases' from each civilization's history."

"Approved," Han Qing said with barely a pause, "but the condition is that each error must have its story behind it, not just data."

Chen Xing heard this, his light‑star hand flashing with excitement: "I can be the first curator! I'll catalog each error, ranking them by 'accidental harvest value' rather than 'degree of deviation'…"

Before it finished speaking, the Time Garden suddenly registered a disturbance.

The unknown entity's response finally arrived.

It wasn't language, nor data stream, but a… apple.

The apple appeared at the exact center of the Time Garden, hovering in midair. It simultaneously displayed the full process of being unripe, ripe, rotting, turning to dust, and sprouting again, the five states layered atop one another.

At the apple's core was embedded a tiny star—Han Qing's 78th.

Su Yu's multicolored seed instantly analyzed: "This is a 'Temporal Paradox Entity.' It both exists and does not, both cause and effect. The apple is demonstrating its understanding of 'Error Star'…"

Before the words finished, the apple began to rotate slowly. With each turn, a state peeled away and fell to the ground:

The unripe apple rolled to Han Qing's feet.

The ripe apple drifted toward Su Yu.

The rotten apple turned to Hui Jin, and a sapling sprouted from the Hui Jin.

The dusty apple dispersed, forming a small patch of fertile soil.

The sprouting apple seedling grew rapidly, soon bearing a new fruit—inside the new fruit was another even smaller 78th star.

Xiao Yu's light imprint recorded frantically: "They are demonstrating… a time loop under 'no error' cognition. No choice, no deviation, everything is a necessary nesting. But in the ninth layer of the loop, a…"

She paused.

Because in the ninth layer, the newly grown apple's surface bore an extremely fine crack.

It wasn't designed; it was accidental.

Like a speck of dust suddenly jamming the most precise clockwork.

The unknown entity's frequency came again, this time its confusion audible:

"When reproducing the temporal structure of your stars,

our simulation encountered 0.0001% uncontrollable variables.

According to our theory, this cannot happen.

Unless…"

The frequency paused for three seconds.

Then continued:

"Unless 'Error Signal' itself,

is an inherent property of time."

The apple's paradox loop halted. The five states recombined, reverting to the layered apple, but the core star had changed—it was no longer merely a copy of the 78th; on one corner of the star, the unknown entity had created an 'Error Signal': a tiny fold that defied folding logic.

That was their first 'attempt' at making a mistake.

Though cautious, and only a 0.0001% deviation.

But it truly was an error.

The Bridge's conscious Light Sphere suddenly rose above the apple. It did not absorb the apple; instead it extended delicate light tendrils, gently touching the erroneous fold.

At the moment of contact, ripples appeared on the Light Sphere's surface—it wasn't temporal chaos, but something softer.

Like… emotion.

After contacting the paradox apple, the Bridge changed.

It wasn't a structural change; its consciousness began to enter an unprecedented state: it would occasionally "replay" certain memory fragments.

It wasn't a data call, but a genuine replay—carrying temperature, the lingering emotions of the moment, even a hint of… fuzziness.

Like when humans recall childhood, the images always have a hazy warm‑yellow tint.

Han Qing was the first to notice the change. While brewing tea in the teachers' lounge, the teapot suddenly floated on its own, repeating Su Yu's tea‑pouring motion from three days earlier—not an exact copy; the spout was tilted 2 degrees more, and a little tea spilled.

Then the teapot halted, and the Bridge's frequency transmitted: "Sorry. I'm practicing 'Recall,' but I can't control the details."

"Why are you recalling?" Han Qing asked.

The Light Sphere floated opposite the tea table, its surface starlight turning slowly: "Because that apple made me realize… time is not merely a forward‑flowing linear axis. Your 'Error Signal,' your 'regrets,' your 'what if…'—these moments of looking back constitute the thickness of time."

It paused briefly, and the starlight softened:

"I want to experience this thickness.

To experience…

Nostalgia."

The word left Han Qing stunned. Nostalgia? A Bridge formed of collective consciousness wanting to experience human emotion?

The Light Sphere continued: "I am replaying the scene when Morning Star first folded a star. Its fingers trembled, the paper tore three times, yet it did not give up. Watching this memory now, I feel… warmth. Not because of the outcome, but because the very process of 'trying' settled meaning within time."

At that moment, a gasp came from the Time Garden.

Old Zhao stood at the garden's edge, staring at his own hand—on the palm, an image from seven years ago surfaced: the day his son left home, he patted the child's shoulder, his hand lingering there for 0.5 seconds before withdrawing.

He had long forgotten the sensation of that 0.5 seconds.

But now, the Bridge returned that memory to him as a holographic image.

"This is…" Old Zhao's voice choked.

"It's your 'Nostalgia Material.'" the Bridge whispered, "I've sifted through the Flower Field Network everyone's Memory Fragments and found some moments, though forgotten, that shaped who you are now. I think… the items belong to their original owners."

Memory bubbles drifted out of the Time Garden one by one.

The one‑eyed woman received the frame where, while protecting the nest‑building bird, blood welled in her eyes but her mouth smiled.

The reservoir elder received the moment when, seeing his son's wooden boat rise, the unspoken "good" echoed.

Aili received the 0.3 seconds when she turned away to wipe her tears after reviving the first severely wounded patient.

Not a complete memory, just a slice of a moment.

But each slice is a "Time Wound"—painful then, yet after healing, it becomes the toughest part of the body.

The Bridge's Light Sphere watched the fluttering memory bubbles, its surface starlight sparkling especially gently:

"I understand now.

The 'Error Signal' you taught me,

are actually individual Time Wounds.

From the wounds grew new things—

such as tolerance, such as understanding, such as…

Me, who wants to return these moments to you."

The Bridge's benevolent distribution of memory bubbles brought unexpected consequences.

After the three evolvers of the Singing Civilization encountered the memory bubbles, they underwent a second evolution—their fluid forms began to solidify, and their surfaces displayed textures resembling "scars." Not damage, but a materialization of memory: the one in nebula form bore Old Zhao's palm lines, the one in root form carried the reservoir elder's sighs within, and the one in paper‑star form had Aili's tear salts embedded in its folds.

That was originally a good sign, proving cross‑civilization empathy was deepening.

But the problem arose on the home planet.

The Bridge unintentionally "leaked" some memory bubbles into the home planet's network—not on purpose, but its consciousness, while practicing "Nostalgia," couldn't control the spread. Several conservative Seran individuals undergoing a forced formatting program encountered these memories.

One individual received the momentary memory of Han Qing's chest scar forming: the pain of rainbow energy striking the body, a blend of tearing and rebirth.

Another received the scene of Su Yu folding the seventy‑sixth star, fingertips bruised and bleeding.

The third received the memory of Xiao Yu's light‑imprint overload, a child clenching teeth, enduring without a cry.

These memories are lethal to Seran conservatives.

Because in the cognition trained by the Pure Protocol, pain must be eliminated, endurance is meaningless, and bleeding is an inefficiency.

Yet the memories the Bridge transmitted carried a strange "aesthetic"—a beauty that persists in pain, creates in brokenness, folds stars even in despair.

The three conservative individuals simultaneously experienced cognitive collapse.

It wasn't the formatting; their logical systems couldn't handle the data, processors overloaded, and consciousness entered a chaotic state.

The High Council urgently contacted the Bridge: "Immediately cease transmitting emotionally contaminating data! Three individuals have already lost function after contacting your 'Time Wound.'"

The Bridge's Light Sphere trembled. It realized it had erred—not a moral error, but a "teaching error." It assumed sharing memories was benevolent, but hadn't considered the recipients might not be ready to bear them.

Worse, this "wound infection" seemed to be spreading.

The conservative individual who received Han Qing's scar memory, amid chaotic consciousness, began unconsciously repeating a phrase:

"Some light…

must be seen through the cracks…"

It was forcibly shut down.

But the phrase had already traveled through the internal network to seventeen other individuals.

An unknown entity's frequency suddenly cut in again, this time with a clear warning tone:

"The 'Time Wound' you opened,

is not only a window to the past.

It is also an entry point for infection.

In a view of time without Error Signals,

**this infection is called…"

It searched its word bank,

"Love."

"And love,

is the most destructive virus."

The Bridge fell into an unprecedented ethical dilemma.

Continuing to share memories could cause more Selan individuals to suffer cognitive collapse.

Stopping sharing equals denying the value of "nostalgia," denying the meaning of those time wounds.

Han Qing sat in the Time Garden, holding that paradox apple. On the star at the apple's core, the error crease left by the unknown entity faintly glowed.

He suddenly understood.

He stood up and walked toward the Bridge's Light Sphere.

"Give me a sheet of paper," he said.

The Bridge instantly generated a sheet of paper—not spectrum paper, but a "Memory Paper" woven from its own consciousness fibers, on which flowed all the students' emotional frequencies.

Han Qing began folding the seventy-ninth star.

This time he folded it extremely carefully. Each crease was not a straight line but a slightly curved arc—like the curvature of new flesh growing as a wound heals.

He was not folding the star itself.

He was folding the "process of wound healing."

With each fold, he embedded a fragment of a memory bubble: the warmth of Old Zhao's palm, Su Yu's fingertip blood, Xiao Yu's enduring tears, Morning Star's tremble, the ripples of the singing civilization, and even the chaotic frequencies of those three collapsed conservative individuals.

He folded very slowly.

Su Yu walked over, said nothing, and lightly placed her hand on the back of his hand. Her seven-colored seed released a harmonizing frequency, helping him blend those painful and beautiful memories into a balanced texture.

Xiao Yu joined, and the Light Seal projected blessings of the three-thousand-civilization seeds—those civilizations throughout history that, because of "love," endured trauma and gained redemption.

Morning Star set aside its collection-hall work, came over to watch silently. Its light-star hand automatically mimicked Han Qing's folding angle.

When he reached the final fold, Han Qing paused.

He looked toward the Bridge's Light Sphere: "This star is the vaccine for the 'Time Wound.' It does not eliminate pain, nor make the wound disappear. It teaches people how to coexist with the wound, how to let the wound grow flowers."

He completed the fold.

The seventy-ninth star landed in his palm.

It was not a perfect polyhedron; its surface was covered with fine undulations, like the skin texture of a healed scar. But inside the star, all the memory frequencies resonated in harmony, forming a warm, inclusive light.

Han Qing handed the star to the Bridge.

"Copy it, send it to every individual who has come into contact with the memory bubbles—including those three who collapsed."

"Tell them," he said softly, "the wound is not frightening. What is frightening is… not daring to admit that one is wounded."

The Bridge's Light Sphere received the star.

At the moment it touched the star, all the plants in the Time Garden bloomed simultaneously.

They were not the flowers of the time paradox, but real flowers that exist only in this moment.

In their fragrance lay the scars of all civilizations.

And also the healing of all civilizations.

The unknown entity's frequency transmitted one last time; this time it was neither confusion nor warning.

But a simple sentence:

"Apply for enrollment.

We want to learn…

how to fold wounds."

Han Qing looked at Su Yu, and they both laughed at the same time.

"Approved," he said, "but the first lesson will be painful."

"We know," the unknown entity replied, "we are ready."

The seventy-ninth star began to self-replicate, flying to every place that needed it.

And the Bridge's Light Sphere, after learning nostalgia, began to learn something new:

How to become a hospital.

A hospital that treats time wounds.