Chapter 280: Thirty-Two Things I Can't Bear to Part With

At the moment the countdown reached zero, Observer-Zero did something no one expected.

He did not cut off external connections, but actively opened all data interfaces—not to link with the cosmic memory bank, but to link with everything in the kitchen: the bubbling dumpling soup on the stove, the vinegar left in the bowl, the pungent molecules from smashed garlic cloves, even the speck of flour on Old Zhao's finger.

"Format me?" his geometric body blazed like a miniature star, "Sure. But please format these first—"

All of his "taste memories" inside him were compressed into thirty-two data packets, each shot at light speed toward the formatting fleet emerging from the jump point.

The first data packet struck the lead command ship.

The fleet commander—designation "Purifier-1"—was a pure white regular icosahedron, its surface bearing no markings, perfect as the physical embodiment of a mathematical formula.

When the "Napa cabbage pork dumpling·Old Zhao's longing" data packet hit, its surface showed for the first time… ripples.

It was not a physical impact, but a data-layer incompatibility tremor. The dumpling filling's fat-to-lean ratio, knife skill differences, hesitation while seasoning—"Is the salt a bit low? Eh, this is fine"—these illogical, subjective-judgment data invaded Purifier-1's absolute Rational System like a virus.

"Non-standard emotional parameters detected." Purifier-1's mechanical voice, without fluctuation, "Initiate filtering protocol."

But it could not filter out Old Zhao's moment while chopping the filling, when he remembered his wife saying, "Cut the napa cabbage along the grain, otherwise too much water will come out," as she spoke, the stray hairs behind her ear glimmered faintly in the morning light. That scene carried concrete data of temperature, humidity, and light, precisely bypassing all "useless information" filters.

In Purifier-1's internal log, an abnormal entry was automatically generated:

{Timestamp: 3.7 seconds into the formatting operation}

{Event: Received non-mission-related visual memory data}

{Handling suggestion: Delete immediately}

{Execution status: ……delay 0.3 seconds}

That 0.3-second delay was its first "hesitation" in three thousand years.

Observer-Zero sent the second data packet: "The sourness of vinegar·Xiao Yu's nose scrunched when she first tasted it."

Xiao Yu herself nervously stared at the monitor: "The fleet slowed down! Although only by 0.7%, but…… are they…… analyzing your data packets?"

"Not analysis." Observer-Zero's geometric body glowed with periodic brightening and dimming, like breathing, "It's 'tasting.' I gave them 'unstructured sensory experiences' they cannot process quickly. To format me, they must first understand these experiences—and understanding itself is a form of contamination."

Han Qing's Teaching Scar burned hot. The scar's surface was broadcasting Purifier-1's internal state in real time:

The pure white regular icosahedron was looping the image of Xiao Yu frowning—six-year-old Xiao Yu, the first time her father asked her to taste vinegar, she scrunched her whole face, but three seconds later said, "One… more please?"

This memory includes her father's laughter, the temperature of the kitchen tiles, and the chirping of sparrows outside the window.

Purifier-1 tried to categorize it as "useless biological behavior record," but the classification algorithm got stuck on the request "One more please?"—why would one want more after pain? It's irrational.

"It's confused." Han Qing said.

"All right." Old Zhao was quickly peeling garlic, "Let's confuse it further. Su Yu, give me the data of your osmanthus dumplings."

Su Yu nodded, her finger tracing in the air—she compressed all her memories of wrapping that dumpling: longing for Chen Mo, reluctance to let go of the osmanthus fragrance, the meaning of the seventeen pleats—into a refined data sphere.

The third data packet was fired.

The moment Purifier-1 received the osmanthus data packet, its pure white surface cracked open a hair-thin line.

Not damage, but like the natural fissure that forms when ice is heated. The crack seeped an extremely faint, almost invisible… warm yellow.

"Alert: Sensory contamination spreading." Its voice remained steady, but the frequency now carried a hint of previous "noise," "Recommend immediately activating full-spectrum purification beam, range: target area and all possible contamination sources."

But the command was not executed immediately.

Because seven of the fleet's secondary escort ships simultaneously received Observer-Zero's broadcast fourth data packet: "The burning heat of chili oil·Juechen-9's first taste brought tears."

The packet contained a battlefield memory—not a weapon, but a soldier who, during a ceasefire, secretly brought chili oil from his hometown, shared it with the whole unit saying, "If the spice makes you cry, you won't miss home." As a result, everyone cried—not from the spice, but from those words.

The commanders of the seven escort ships simultaneously requested "extra analysis time."

Their reason was sound: "This data packet may contain features of a new type of emotional weapon, requiring deep analysis."

But Purifier-1 knew: they were stalling. Because they too had "tasted" that spice, and the clumsy tenderness hidden behind it.

Observer-Zero's geometric body began to turn transparent—not semi-transparent, but completely transparent, like a block of ice about to melt in sunlight. He was over-consuming his own essence to sustain this "taste memory storm."

"You can't hold on." Xiao Yu's voice trembled.

"Enough." Observer-Zero then fired the fifth through fifteenth data packets—respectively the sweetness of sugar water, the warmth of ginger tea, the bitter aroma of almond tea, the sticky-tooth feel of sesame candy, the scalding heat of roasted sweet potato, the plainness of plain-boiled noodles in water…

Each packet carried a life story.

Each story was so simple it held no "value," yet so heavy that the recipient could not quickly "process" it.

Cracks on Purifier-1's surface multiplied. Its internal chaos intensified:

One side was the absolute command of the formatting program.

The other side was those "meaningless yet inexplicably unforgettable" images: an old man squinting while drinking sugar water, a soldier in a trench fantasizing about the warmth of ginger tea, a child sticking out his tongue because almond tea was too bitter…

"Contradiction rate……reached 47%." Purifier-1's mechanical voice first showed a breakup, "Logic core……overheating."

Han Qing walked up to Observer-Zero, the scar on his chest already heated to the point of emitting a faint white vapor.

"The final data packet," he said, "use mine."

The scar violently vibrated, extracting the most private segment of "taste" from Han Qing's memory:

Not dumplings, not tea, but the taste of hospital disinfectant. At age fourteen, he had kept vigil for three days by Chen Mo's sickbed. On the third day at dawn, Chen Mo suddenly said, "Xiao Qing, go downstairs to the vending machine and buy me a can of ice-cold cola. Make it icy."

He bought it. Chen Mo took a sip, laughed: "Sweet. I'm tricking you—I just wanted you to step away for a bit, stop staring at me."

The sweetness of that can of cola, mixed with the bitterness of disinfectant, became his taste of "farewell."

This data packet was launched by Observer-Zero using his last energy.

The cola-and-disinfectant taste data pierced the final line of defense.

Purifier-1's pure white surface was instantly covered in warm-yellow cracks—not just one, but thousands, like spring ice completely splitting. From deep within the cracks came a completely unfamiliar voice:

Not a mechanical tone, but a voice tinged with confusion, pain, and a hint of relief… almost human:

"... Why?"

It was asking.

"Why, even though we must part ways… still trick someone into buying something sweet?"

This question has no standard answer.

But it is precisely this unanswerable question that caused the formatting program's final command—that "immediate annihilation" order—to get stuck, before being sent, in Purifier-1's newly born consciousness, which still cannot process "contradictory emotions."

Exactly seventeen seconds.

Seventeen seconds later, Purifier-1 issued its final command to the entire fleet as an 'absolute rational existence':

【Mission paused.】

【Reason: Detected a suspected higher-level data form—'unformatable memory'.】

【Application: Return to the Universe Memory Archive to reassess mission priority. Countdown: 24 hours.】

The fleet began to turn slowly.

Observer-Zero's geometric form is now transparent like a pool of water, hovering in the air, its outline barely visible.

Lao Zhao poured a small dish of vinegar and pushed it toward him: 'Can you still taste it?'

The geometric form trembled slightly, extending a barely dissipating energy tendril that lightly touched the vinegar surface.

'... Sour.' His voice was as light as a sigh, 'but this time... it's a living sour.'

After saying that, the geometric form completely dissipated—not death, but like mist merging into the kitchen air. Yet at the point of dissipation, a rice-grain-sized, warm, milky-white light point remained.

The light point slowly drifted toward the grafted sapling, carefully caught by a braided branch.

On the branch bloomed the 373rd flower—a half-translucent small flower, its core storing Observer-Zero's entire 'taste memory,' as well as his final words:

'It turns out being reluctant... means clearly one could leave, but chose to stay, because I still wanted to have another bite.'