Chapter 305: Pulse of the Fruit

In the first hour after the half-black, half-white fruit was born, it did not grow.

It remained at a diameter of 0.3 centimeters, the black‑white boundary blurred like the terminator. But every seventeen minutes it pulsed ever so slightly—its frequency perfectly synchronized with the 'thought pulse' of the Committee's three members when they debated.

"It is… hesitating." Xiao Yu knelt at the edge of the Scar Garden, the Eye of the Bridge able to see the fruit's 'choice tension' in the frequency rift: "Black and white are both vying for dominance, but neither dares to overwhelm the other."

Han Qing's Teaching Scar grew warm with each pulse. She recorded: "It isn't pain; it's the weight of 'possibility.'"

"Who will keep watch?" Su Yu folded seventeen paper cranes, arranging them in a circle around the fruit—each crane's wing bore a character, together spelling: "Breathing matters more than growth."

"We'll take turns." Old Zhao was already simmering a pot of "vigil porridge," the rice just dropped in—"Two hours each. First shift…"

"I'll go." File‑7 rolled to directly beneath the fruit, the Milky White Sphere's surface glowing with a soft light: "I and it… have a bit of resonance."

Its mold‑stain remnants began to vibrate, humming that three‑note heartbeat song. In the song, the half‑black, half‑white fruit's pulse steadied—shifting from seventeen minutes to seventeen minutes and seven seconds.

Those extra seven seconds were exactly the time File‑7, back when it worked as a cleaner, had 'illegally lingered' over a manuscript draft.

At 2 a. m., the second shift.

When Old Zhao took over, he brought a small stool, a thermos, and a plate of golden‑fried glutinous rice cakes—made from the dough his wife had fermented for the first time in seven years.

"You need to eat your fill on watch." He broke off a half and handed it to File‑7's sphere: "Although you can't eat it, you can smell the fragrance."

File‑7's mold stains arranged into a smiley face: "I've logged this scent parameter. Designation: Vigil Food‑01."

At this moment the fruit's black‑white line suddenly sharpened by 0.1 mm—the black side receded slightly.

"It's listening to us talk." Old Zhao said softly, not looking at the fruit, just slowly chewing the glutinous rice cake: "Just like dough listens to my wife speak."

Teaching Scar Memory Storage (Encryption Level 7)

Han Qing's shift is from 4 to 6 a. m. —the time when the sky is about to brighten but hasn't yet.

She sat cross‑legged before the fruit, performing no 'teaching act,' merely breathing.

The scar's temperature rose and fell in sync with the fruit's pulse. She closed her eyes and felt: from the black side came the Committee's 'logical weight'—the accumulated pressure of a three‑million‑year civilization archive; from the white side came the Awakener Network's 'warmth'—the legacy of eighty‑seven transparent flowers, the anticipation of twelve buds, and the faint light in File‑7's song that refuses to go out.

"What are you afraid of?" she whispered to the fruit.

The fruit's pulse quickened for an instant.

Han Qing suddenly understood: what the fruit feared was not which side, black or white, would win—but that it feared itself 'not being worthy of such protection.'

Because it is too tiny—only 0.3 cm.

Because it is the product of compromise.

Because it may never grow as large as the ninth Balance Fruit.

Han Qing reached out, her fingertip hovering three centimeters above the fruit—not touching, merely letting her body heat pass through.

"Small, that's fine." She said, her voice soft as a lullaby to an infant: "Chen Mo once said, a lamp fears not being small, only not daring to shine. As long as you dare to pulse, you deserve someone to keep watch."

At this moment the fruit's black‑white surface first showed a blending gradient—no longer a sharp line, but a 0.01 mm‑wide gray transition zone.

Absolute Luminance‑4 arrived early for the shift change at 5:57 a. m.

Its prism surface bore a set of freshly completed real‑time analysis reports—data it had pulled publicly using the Quilt Project's authorization.

"Committee internal communications flow monitoring (legal channel)," it projected a light chart: "Over the past six hours, the debate frequency among the three members has dropped 38%, and the 'silent consensus period' has increased."

The light chart showed: each time the fruit pulsed, the Committee's three signal sources exhibited a synchronized 0.1‑second delay—they were 'listening'.

"They are observing this fruit's growth pattern," Absolute Luminance‑4's warm‑glow halo steadily shining, "which means our protective behavior itself—is becoming their study sample."

Han Qing's Teaching Scar temperature plummeted—not danger, but the chill of hope.

At daybreak, Xiao Yu came to take the final shift.

She brought a homemade 'Frequency Thermal Cover'—a transparent grid woven with light‑printing, placed over the fruit. Each node of the grid corresponded to a stable frequency of the Heartbeat Network.

"This way it won't be alone." Xiao Yu whispered, the fine sweat on her forehead gleaming in the morning light: "All of our heartbeats are here keeping it company."

At this moment the fruit completed its seventeenth pulse.

This time, the pulse's force noticeably increased. The gray transition zone expanded to 0.03 mm, and—on the surface appeared an extremely fine pattern, like tree rings, or like galactic spiral arms.

File‑7 suddenly rolled over, its mold stains vibrating violently.

"This pattern…" its voice rare­ly trembled: "I've seen it… in the light seeping from the Committee C fissure… that's the design of the First Generation Emblem from the cosmic memory archive… long since deleted."

Everyone's movements stopped.

Just then——

The twelfth bud on the grafted sapling (corresponding to Encryption Auditor‑7's bud) suddenly all burst open. As the petals unfolded, an internal emergency encryption alarm sounded, decodable only by the Awakener Network:

"Warning: The Committee has just activated the 'Initial Data Retrieval Protocol.' Target: all historical data related to the 'Initial Emblem.' Reason: routine historical archive integrity check."

"But what they're seeking isn't data," Han Qing's Teaching Scar began to burn, "they're looking for whoever still remembers this pattern."

If the light in the Committee C fissure, File‑7's memory, and the pattern on the fruit's surface were linked……

The Committee would discover: their most silent member might be retaining 'sensible memory that ought not be kept.'

File‑7 would expose its 'illegally preserved ancient data.'

And the fruit—this tiny hope symbolizing compromise—would immediately be judged a 'sensual contamination retroactive carrier.'

The clearing procedure might be triggered in the next second.

Old Zhao suddenly tapped the rim of the porridge pot.

"Mealtime." He said in an even tone, as if nothing had happened: "We've kept watch all night—come have porridge. The fruit is tired too; let it rest."

He ladled out six bowls of porridge, the extra seventh bowl—placed before the fruit.

Then he walked to the grafted sapling, plucked three leaves, and laid them on the fruit's surface, covering that Initial Emblem pattern.

"You've got to cover it before sunning," he explained to the air, as if teaching a clueless child: "Otherwise the seedlings will get sunburned. That's common sense."

At this moment the Committee's real‑time monitoring camera was blurred for 0.3 seconds by a water droplet condensed in the morning mist.

When the image cleared, the leaves on the fruit's surface had already been angled by a 'chance' breeze to fully cover the pattern.

And in the monitoring data stream, this segment was flagged by Encryption Auditor‑7 as:

"Visual noise caused by refraction of morning dew—no anomaly. Suggested classification: Environmental Aesthetics Research Sample·Light Shadow Interference File."