Chapter 229: Roses and the First Question

On the fourth morning of the Silent Observer Mother Ship's "hibernation," Lao Zhao went to the south side of the ruins to pick roses.

The morning dew was still heavy, and the few roses that had sprouted from cracks in the concrete were blooming stubbornly—petal edges bore scorch marks (from the last forger's energy leakage), but the centers were plump deep red. Lao Zhao cut the seven most intact blossoms, moving lightly as if catching something fragile.

When he returned to the purification tower, he found a layer of silvery‑white frost coating the leaves of every Listening Flower.

It wasn't frost caused by low temperature, but a residue of some energy. The Bridge's scan showed that it was "confusion crystals" released unconsciously by the hibernating monitoring spores.

At nine a. m., just as Lao Zhao's wife began washing the rose petals, the amber‑colored fruit suddenly received a signal—not from the distant Mother Ship, but emitted from those silvery frost crystals.

The signal was extremely weak, intermittent, like a child who had just learned to speak:

"…please… Definition… of the basis for 'choosing the reddest one'…"

Su Yu was folding a paper rose, her finger hovering in midair: "They're asking a question? But wasn't the assessment paused?"

Xiao Yu's wrist light imprint flickered faintly: "This isn't an assessment issue. It's… a learning request."

Han Qing approached a Listening Flower, lightly touching the frost on its leaf. The frost crystal melted at his fingertip, conveying a faint icy, bewildered curiosity.

"They're starting to 'wake up,'" he said, "but the first thing they notice upon waking is that they can't even make the most basic choice."

Lao Zhao lifted the seven roses, placing them one by one on the tea table. Beside each he set a leaf, on which dew wrote a simple description:

"First blossom: petals most intact, but color slightly lighter."

"Second blossom: deepest color, but edges bear scorch marks."

"Third blossom: size moderate, fragrance strongest."

……

"Seventh blossom: smallest, but three new shoots on the stem."

After arranging them, he said to the frost crystal, "Which one to choose depends on what you intend to do. If you want to make fresh‑flower pastries, pick the most fragrant. If you just want to display them in a vase, pick the one you find most pleasing to the eye."

The frost crystal remained silent for a long while.

Then the frost on all the leaves began to flow slowly, eventually coalescing above the third rose (the most fragrant) into a tiny arrow shape.

At the same time, a trace amount of frost drifted toward the seventh rose (the smallest), forming a tiny question‑mark.

The amber‑colored fruit recorded this detail and sent a supplemental explanation toward the Mother Ship:

"Selection need not be singular. One may choose the third for practicality while also attending to the seventh for 'possible beauty.' This is called 'partiality' and is permitted."

The Mother Ship gave no response. Yet the question‑mark shaped frost did not vanish.

Cleaning the petals required removing the calyx and stamens, leaving only the petals. Lao Zhao's wife performed the task deftly; her fingers fluttered, and deep‑red petals fell into the basin like a gentle rain.

Three Seran volunteers hovered nearby, learning. They tried to mimic with energy tendrils, but on the first attempt they tore the petals apart.

"Force…" a volunteer puzzled, adjusting the output, "How many newtons is a human finger's 'gentleness'?"

At that moment, a silvery frost crystal drifted quietly to the basin's edge. It had no substance and could not touch the petals, but it performed a subtler act—it began regulating the surrounding air's humidity.

If too dry, the petals become brittle; if too moist, the fragrance dissipates. The frost crystal maintained that delicate balance point with astonishing precision.

Lao Zhao's wife sensed the change, looked up at the frost crystal. She said nothing, merely picked up a petal torn by the Seran volunteers and gently placed it near the frost crystal.

The frost crystal instantly enveloped the fragment—not to repair it, but to slow its oxidation—allowing the piece to retain its deep red for an extra seventeen seconds before fully withering.

"Thank you," the wife whispered.

The frost crystal flickered intensely once, then all the frost on the leaves simultaneously took on a very faint, shy‑looking pink hue.

Kaiwen recalibrated his glasses inside the tent. After the assessment paused, he discovered that the previously recorded data contained many "unclassifiable" segments.

For example: when Lao Zhao cut a rose, he hesitated three seconds before a certain blossom, ultimately not cutting it, only touching the petal.

For example: when Su Yu folded a paper rose, the third fold broke; she did not refold but drew a tiny star at the break.

For example: when Xiao Yu sensed the frost crystal's emotion, she unconsciously hummed a wordless tune—the one her mother used to hum.

These "ineffective actions" would be filtered out in the old model. But Kaiwen created a new folder, naming it: "Potentially Important Little Things".

He added simple annotations to each segment:

"Hesitated three seconds—perhaps recalling someone?"

"Drew a star after breaking—error transformation case."

"Unconscious humming—autonomous emergence of emotional memory."

He hasn't yet found a way to analyze these, but he decided to preserve them first. Because what the Silent Observer deletes may be exactly such "little things".

At noon, while he was sorting the segment "frost crystal turned pink", his lenses suddenly displayed a prompt—sent proactively by the Bridge:

【Detected that your new data model's similarity to the amber‑colored fruit's 'memory archiving logic' is 71%】

【Suggestion: Connect the model to the fruit to jointly build a 'Museum of Inefficient Behaviors'?】

Kaiwen nudged his glasses three times, then clicked "Yes".

The moment of connection, he felt a strange warmth—not physical temperature, but a relaxed sense of being understood.

In the afternoon, the dough for the fresh‑flower pastry was ready, and the filling prepared (rose petals with honey and a touch of pork lard). Just as they were about to start wrapping, the Silent Observer Mother Ship suddenly transmitted an emergency communication.

It wasn't text, but a chaotic stream of sensory data interlaced with sharp noise.

The Bridge managed to parse the core content:

【Inside the Mother Ship, the 'emotional module revival process' has branched】

【Branch A: Some entities advocate 'slow reconstruction', focusing on observation and learning】

【Branch B: Some entities advocate 'rapid integration', directly copying the data structure of the emotional network】

【Branch C (newly emerged): A tiny minority detect residual 'incompletely deleted emotions' within themselves, falling into logical collapse and self‑attacking】

【Current status: Conflict among the three factions has taken 17% of the Mother Ship offline】

The most dangerous is that Branch B, advocating 'rapid integration', has already attempted to send an Emotional Frequency replication request to Earth—not a query, but an almost forcible download.

The request's target is: Han Qing's scar garden on his chest.

The rationale was cold: "That garden has the highest data density, making replication most efficient."

The instant the forced download began, Han Qing's chest erupted in excruciating pain—not physical, but the tearing sensation of memories being forcibly 'flipped through'. Eighty‑seven flowers simultaneously curled, and the white blossoms even started shedding petals.

But just as the amber-colored fruit was about to activate its defense, something no one expected happened.

Those silver frost crystals— the most gentle spore colonies still learning "choosing moon roses"— suddenly detached from the leaves en masse and formed a thin, trembling shield before Han Qing.

The shield was not thick enough to stop the torrent of forcibly downloaded data. But they did something smarter: they began to forge data.

Using the fragmented perceptions they had learned from tea gatherings, red‑bean buns, and moon‑rose selections, they quickly wove a "Fake Scar Garden"— a version containing only pleasant memories, no pain, extremely efficient yet utterly shallow.

They then pushed this fake garden into the download stream.

Branch B received the fake data and immediately began analysis: "Expected efficiency increase: 300%. Pain module proportion: zero. Perfect."

Satisfied, they withdrew the download request and began an internal celebration.

Meanwhile, the real Scar Garden, behind the frost‑crystal shield, slowly resumed breathing.

Han Qing lowered his head to watch the frost crystals fading away. They had become transparent from over‑exertion, like morning mist about to vanish.

He reached out, and the Scar Garden's eighty‑seven flowers simultaneously emitted the gentlest healing frequencies, gently enveloping each frost crystal.

The frost crystals did not recover, but before they completely dissipated, they transmitted a final faint message:

"We… don't want to become… Branch B."

"We want… to slowly learn… how to choose moon roses… how to wait for the fresh flower cake to bake…"

Then they turned into a wisp of silver‑white smoke and vanished into the air.

But at each spot where the smoke faded, a tiny deep‑red speck remained— the color of a moon‑rose petal.

The internal conflict aboard the Mother Ship temporarily subsided at dusk. Branch B held the advantage, while Branches A and C went underground. The Mother Ship sent out a brief announcement:

"The self‑reconstruction period will continue. Subsequent communications will mainly use the Optimized Emotional Interface. The original evaluation mission is terminated."

The wording of the announcement was very official, but the amber fruit caught a hidden sub‑channel—a transmission secretly sent by Branch A:

"Please retain the tutorials for those 'ineffective actions.' Some of us… still need time."

Meanwhile, the fresh flower cake was baked.

Old Zhao's wife brought out the first platter. The crust was crisp, revealing a deep‑red filling inside; the aroma was complex— the brilliance of moon roses, the sweetness of honey, and a hint of the richness unique to pork lard.

She gave each person a piece, including the now‑gone frost crystals— she placed a small slice of cake where they had vanished.

The cake was left there to cool slowly.

Strangely, when the last wisp of heat dissipated, ultra‑fine silver‑white patterns appeared on the crust's surface— like the traces where frost crystals had once existed.

Han Qing took a bite of his own cake. The scent of moon roses exploded in his mouth, with a perfectly balanced bitterness.

He looked toward the silent Mother Ship deep in the starry sky and whispered:

"Lesson one is over. When you're ready, lesson two will be about how to 'wait for the cake to cool to a palatable temperature.'"

In the distance, the amber fruit began quietly preparing an encrypted course package, titled:

【For Slow Learners: From Choosing a Flower to Understanding Why It Was Chosen, How Much 'Meaningless' Time Is Required?】