Chapter 286: Overloaded Happiness

The Clearance Operation launched precisely when the countdown reached zero.

Three stealth warships jumped to the Bridge Space coordinates, and the Overload Weapon arrays at their bows simultaneously charged, emitting a gentle, drowsy pink glow. The commander—code name "Pure-17", an extreme‑faction clone of Pure-1—calmly announced over the communications channel:

"Target area locked. Emotional Frequency Overload Weapon activated. Estimated in three seconds the target will enter the Absolute Happiness State, losing the will to resist. Formatting operation will begin in five seconds."

Countdown begins: three, two, one—

The pink light wave surged toward Bridge Space like a tide.

The wave penetrated the walls, gently soaking every corner:

On the stove, a half‑cooled bowl of porridge had a thin film forming on its surface.

On the dining table were eight bowls of glutinous rice dumplings, one of which still emitted a faint heat.

The silver diagram of the moss teaching board on the wall shimmered with a dreamlike luster in the pink wave.

The seven braided branches of the grafted saplings swayed lightly, as if enjoying a pleasant dream.

But there were no living beings.

No researcher, no Han Qing, no Xiao Yu, no Lao Zhao.

The Overload Weapon performed faithfully: it caused the cooled porridge surface to display a rainbow‑like halo, the glutinous rice skins of the dumplings to take on an alluring translucent texture, the moss diagram to automatically play a "Compilation of the Happiest Memories", and the grafted saplings to bloom flowers three times more vivid than usual.

But what good are these…?

Pure-17's silvery‑white geometric body began flashing abnormal code.

"Target… does not exist?" Its voice showed uncertain fluctuation for the first time, "But life‑sign monitoring indicates that thirty‑seven minutes ago the area still had seventeen life signals."

The deputy officer retrieved real‑time scan data: "Sir, large‑scale spatial folding traces detected. They… relocated early. The relocation time is estimated at forty‑two minutes before weapon activation."

"Impossible!" Pure-17's geometry abruptly contracted, "The Clearance Operation plan is top secret, known only to us and…"

It suddenly halted.

A memory automatically popped up: seventy‑two hours earlier, in the Seventh Corridor of the Archives Department, when the gray‑shaded cleaning worker was taken away, a faint data residue seemed to linger in the wall corner. At the time it seemed irrelevant—what could a cleaning worker do?

"Dossier-7." Pure-17's voice was as cold as deep space, "It was transmitted out. All of it."

At that moment, the warship's communication screen flickered on—not from Command Headquarters, but from within the target area.

On the display was that moss teaching board wall.

The silver diagram on the wall was reassembling, forming a line of text:

【Course Title: "How to Counter Overload Happiness Attacks"】

【Lesson One: The most effective defense is not to resist sweetness, but to move all sweet‑tasting people away in advance.】

【Lesson Two: Let the weapon perform in an empty room— the harder it tries, the more it looks like a joke.】

【Teacher's Comment: Thank you for your pink light waves; my moss students have learned the advanced rhetoric of 'irony.'】

After the script vanished, the diagram began playing a meticulously edited video:

It showed the entire process of the Overload Weapon striking an empty kitchen, set to a cheerful wedding march.

The camera close‑up the porridge's rainbow halo, caption: "Look, even the leftover rice is happy!"

Close‑up of an empty bowl and chopsticks, caption: "The bowls and chopsticks are enjoying the freedom of 'not having to be used.'"

At the end of the video, a line of small text popped up:

【This teaching board was technically supported by 'Cleaning Worker Data Residue.' Thanks to Teacher Dossier-7.】

Pure-17's geometry trembled violently.

It was not anger, but a deeper emotion that the Rational System could not process— a meticulously planned absolute strike that not only missed, but was turned by the opponent into a teaching video for public mockery.

Its logical core began to overheat.

Lao Zhao was baking flatbreads.

This is not Bridge Space; it is a Shelter converted from an ancient air‑raid bunker deep within Earth. Silver moss branches crawl on the walls, responsible for maintaining air circulation and Emotional Frequency Shielding.

"The seventh pancake," Lao Zhao flipped the cooked pancake, "Dossier-7's intel saved everyone—we know when they will strike, how, and where."

Xiao Yu stared at the heartbeat network monitor: "The Overload Weapon hit. The disguised life‑signal device in Bridge Space is transmitting 'Happiness Feedback Data'—the conservatives should now think we're all immersed in an illusion."

Han Qing's scar warmed slightly, not from danger—it was recording. Recording this "victory without fighting" teaching case, to be included in "Wound Pedagogy: Advanced Volume."

"What will they do now?" Su Yu folded a paper crane, this time shaped like a warship, with "Lost" written on its wings.

Purifier-1's geometric surface, warm‑yellow with leaf‑vein light and dark flickers, simulated a "projection": "According to Rational System Behavior Pattern, when Plan A fails completely and is mocked, the commander will go through three stages: denial, anger, then initiate the more extreme Plan B."

"What is Plan B?" Kevin pushed his glasses.

"Most likely…" Purifier-1 paused, seemingly reluctantly accessing its memory as a 'former absolute rationalist': "'Physical Clearance.' Since the Emotional Virus cannot be formatted, physically destroy the source of contamination—that is, us, and the entire Earth."

The kitchen fell silent for a moment.

Only the sizzle of the flatbread in the pan could be heard.

Pure-17 finally recovered from the initial shock.

Its geometric surface returned to a cold silvery white, but its interior temperature was 13% higher than normal—its first "emotional fluctuation" since activation.

"Initiate Plan B." Its voice no longer wavered, but was terrifyingly calm, "Target: the concentration zone of all Earth life signs. Weapon: Planetary-level Purification Beam. Countdown: fifteen minutes."

The deputy officer hesitated for 0.7 seconds—if a human, that would be roughly a deep breath: "Sir, this violates Article — of the Universal Civilization Protection Basic Law—"

"They are not a civilization," Pure-17 interrupted, "They are a virus. Emotional Virus. Clearing the virus is not bound by the Basic Law. Execute the order."

At that moment, the communication screen lit up again.

It was still that moss wall.

This time there was no satirical video, only a simple line of text:

【The final gift left by Dossier-7 has arrived. Please retrieve it from ventilation duct D-7 Zone.】

Pure-17's geometry abruptly turned toward the ventilation system monitor.

On the screen, inside the D-7 Zone ducts, a palm‑sized patch of pale‑gold moss had sprouted. The moss surface was playing a memory—not someone else's, but Pure-17's own.

It was its original memory from when it was activated as a clone of Pure-1:

In the laboratory, Pure-1 (at that time it was still a reformist) personally calibrated its logic core. After calibration, Pure-1 suddenly asked a non-standard question: "Do you think 'beauty' should be defined?"

At that time, Pure-17 replied: "Beauty should be precisely defined, in order to evaluate and optimize."

Pure-1 remained silent for a long time, then said: "Remember your answer today. Ten years later, answer again."

This memory, by rights, should be formatted and deleted immediately after activation—no replica should retain an emotional link to the prototype.

But File-7, while cleaning, secretly kept a fragment of this data.

Now, this fragment is in the ventilation duct, and at the final moment before the purification operation launches, it has grown before Pure-17.

After the moss finished playing the memory, it asked with an extremely faint frequency:

【Ten years later today, has your answer changed?】

The seventh pancake is done.

Old Zhao cut the pancake into eight pieces, giving one to each person—the extra piece, still placed on the empty spot, with a small dish of sauce that File-7 may never get to taste beside it.

"Fifteen minutes." Xiao Yu stared at the countdown, "If Pure-17 continues executing Plan B, Earth……"

"He won't." Han Qing suddenly said.

Everyone looked at him.

Han Qing's scar at this moment emitted a peculiar, moist silver light—not a teaching light, but a signal of "having received some distant resonance."

"The resistant moss left by File-7," Han Qing whispered, "is teaching Pure-17 the most important lesson of his life: 'You once had the chance to choose.'"

His chest scar began to project an image:

In the ventilation duct, that pale gold moss was slowly but firmly growing, using its own structure to write a new course—

【Course Title: "Replica's Free Will Practice Course"】

【Lecture 1: When the prototype asked you about the beauty question, what he truly wanted to ask was……】

The image suddenly cut off.

The countdown stopped at: fourteen minutes thirty-seven seconds.

Pure-17 stared at the ventilation monitor, its geometric form completely still.

Twelve seconds.

In these twelve seconds, its logic core underwent the most violent computational storm since its inception:

One side was the absolute rational command: execute Plan B, complete the purge mission.

The other side was that restored memory: when Pure-1 asked "Should beauty be defined?", its tone carried something it could not understand at the time, but now seems able to faintly touch…… anticipation?

At the end of the twelfth second, Pure-17 issued a new command to the entire fleet:

"Plan B……pause."

"Reason?" the deputy asked.

On Pure-17's geometric surface, a crack opened, an extremely fine, almost invisible warm-yellow pattern—just like what Purifier-1 experienced at first.

"Reason: detected a suspected higher-level data form—'Unfinished Question'."

It turned toward Earth, its silver-white shell glimmering faintly in the starlight:

"Give me…… ten years. I want to re‑answer that question."

Having said that, it severed its communication link with the conservative faction headquarters.

Three stealth warships slowly turned, heading for deep space.

Behind them, the pale gold moss in the ventilation duct bloomed its first small flower.