Secrets Buried Deep Underground

The air in the room was exceptionally still, leaving only the quiet passage of time. Chu Guang stared in bewilderment at the Professor on the screen, frozen in place. Good grief... The Holy Grail that biologists of the Era of Prosperity had dreamed of, the Singularity beyond singularities pursued as a lifelong quest by the lunatics of the Torch in the Wasteland Era, the legendary "Gestalt Lifeform"— was him?! To be honest, Chu Guang was utterly shaken by this astounding revelation, so much so that he subconsciously set aside all the inherent risks. "But wasn't that research left unfinished?" "It was indeed left unfinished." Looking at Chu Guang's astonished expression, the Professor smiled pleasantly and spoke as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "Have you reached 'Level 100'?" "... Well, no." *So that's how it is.* Only at Level 100 would he truly become a Gestalt Lifeform in the truest sense; right now, he was merely a "semi-finished product." Framed that way, it made far more sense. Although both he and the server's tier-zero players had hit a bottleneck in leveling, considering the pie in the sky the Observer had painted for him regarding Tau Ceti, pushing for Level 100 down the line would only be a matter of time. Then again, to think this body of his had actually been created by the guy behind the screen. Watching the man calling himself the Professor, Chu Guang's expression gradually grew complicated. So that meant... Strictly speaking, this guy was his dad? Was he being taken advantage of here? It didn't seem like it. After all, if they calculated by generations, this guy was probably several lifetimes older than Chu Guang's grandfather, who had passed away many years ago. If anyone drew the short straw, it was the Professor, who had "happily become a father" out of nowhere. Clearly noticing the complicated look on Chu Guang's face, the Professor on the screen chuckled pleasantly and spoke with a touch of banter. "You seem to have something you want to say to me." That teasing tone was rather annoying, but Chu Guang was hardly petty. Rather than hiding it, he laid it out candidly. "I'm just wondering how I should address you, or rather... what exactly are you to me? A biological father?" "There's really no need to be so distant—" "No, I think it's better to sort out seniority properly. After all, I—" "After all, you're the Alliance's Administrator anyway, right? Already carrying the baggage of being an idol?" The Professor on the screen stifled a laugh, but Chu Guang, standing before the display, shook his head and said seriously, "Not at all. I'm just approaching this with an attitude of seeking truth from facts." "Then do you want to hear the truth?" When the Professor asked this, his tone was half-joking. As for the serious half beneath the joke, he seemed to be hinting that Chu Guang should answer "no." There was no benefit in knowing too much about certain things; a superficial understanding was often the best state... unless one made the pursuit of truth their lifelong quest. Chu Guang, possessing the personality of a leader, clearly wasn't that sort of "scholar," a fact they had already established right at the start of their conversation. Chu Guang could sense the Professor's goodwill. In the Professor's view, leaving this place with a "half-filled cup" of knowledge about Gestalt Lifeforms would be the best outcome for him. However, Chu Guang didn't see it that way. While he didn't have the bad habit of recklessly prying into every single secret, he equally despised the feeling of his destiny slipping out of his control. The chance to unravel the mystery that had plagued him for years lay right before him. He couldn't simply give up, walking away with half a cup of water and a so-called optimal arrangement. Intuition told him this was his only chance. At the very least, he wanted to choose for himself. "Of course I want to know," Chu Guang replied seriously, his eyes fixed on the Professor on the screen. "After all, before stepping onto Floor B5 of this shelter, I actually had another hypothesis." The Professor gazed at him. "What hypothesis?" "I am Chu Guang, the Administrator of Shelter 404, but also the first-generation manager of this shelter, as well as the 'Professor' heard in a certain recording." Looking at the motionless phantom on the screen, Chu Guang paused before voicing his inner conviction in an unwavering tone. "You are me... or rather, I am you." "We are the same person." The room fell silent once more, devoid of sound for a long time. Chu Guang could no longer remember how many times this had happened since he stepped into the room. It was quite amusing, really. Even though their tacit understanding was like looking into a mirror, they constantly managed to kill the conversation. After a long while, a faint sentence finally drifted from the screen. "Yes, and no." That answer immediately left Chu Guang at a loss. What did "yes, and no" even mean? Why was he getting philosophical all of a sudden?! Chu Guang cleared his throat lightly and addressed the phantom on the screen. "Is it so difficult for you to give me a straight answer?" "Very difficult. I'm not trying to be mysterious; the simple reality is... there is no standard answer to this question." At this point, the Professor sighed softly and changed the subject. "Before I answer your question, could you indulge my curiosity first? How did you conclude that we are the same person?" Chu Guang answered without hesitation. "Intuition." The Professor paused, clearly not expecting that answer. "... Intuition?" "Yes." Chu Guang glanced around the room, then at the elevator behind him, before returning his gaze to the screen. "On every floor here, I felt an intense sense of déjà vu, as if I had been here before... even on Floor B5." "Not only that, but when I sleep, I frequently have dreams, and those dreams feel as vivid as if they truly happened." "At first, I thought it was just a coincidence, until I met the Observer and learned about the existence of parallel universes from it. So I started wondering if there was a possibility—" "That I was the previous generation's manager, and also the initial manager of this shelter." "That I have actually died, and started over more than once." Chu Guang could clearly feel that the phantom on the screen was stunned by his hypothesis. Furthermore, this shock was not a bit lesser than his own reaction upon learning he was a Gestalt Lifeform—a purely instinctive astonishment. It seemed he had guessed correctly. At least partly. Sure enough, after a moment's pause, an appreciative voice came from behind the screen. "Brilliant deduction." Chu Guang nodded modestly. "Hardly brilliant. It wasn't even deduction, just intuition." To be precise, it was more of an "occupational habit." The role of a leader differed from that of a scholar; in most cases, it relied not on meticulous calculations and exhaustive planning, but on decisiveness and insight. And right now, he was relying on the latter to make his inference. "... If I only had thirty percent confidence in my hypothesis before stepping onto Floor B5, that confidence has now risen to seventy percent." The Professor chuckled wryly. "Quite a high percentage... even after learning you are a Gestalt Lifeform—a life created by design?" Chu Guang nodded. "Yes." The Professor asked instinctively, "Why?" Chu Guang said, "You are a person with an immense sense of responsibility. Besides, you told me earlier that 'bearing all risks is the Administrator's duty.'" The Professor asked, "And so?" Chu Guang met his gaze and cut straight to the core. "You were the first-generation manager, and you never shirked that responsibility, even though the one serving as Administrator now is 'me'... Do I need to analyze any further? I would never dump the core of the entire plan onto some stranger of unknown origin whom I didn't understand at all. The only person capable of shouldering this responsibility has always been one person." "That person is you, and also me." The Professor on the screen seemed struck dumb, remaining silent for a long time. Chu Guang did not wait indefinitely. Staring intently at him, he said, "Now it's your turn to answer my question. I only need a yes or no. That shouldn't be too hard for you." The Professor was quiet for a moment, then spoke slowly. "Quite the contrary, that is precisely the hardest part... I tried to make the best choice for you, yet you don't seem to like my arrangement." Chu Guang shook his head. "Not necessarily. I just need to understand the full picture before making a decision. Moreover, I don't like handing my fate over to someone else and letting them choose for me." "Fair enough... That is indeed your right." The Professor nodded. The hesitation vanished from his indistinct expression, though his previously relaxed tone gradually grew solemn. "Let's start with the conclusion. From a biological or material perspective, a very small portion of the DNA in your body indeed comes from me, but not solely from me. What I provided was merely a framework, which contains a considerable proportion of customized encoding... You already know this, since you are that Gestalt Lifeform." "I imagine what you truly want to know is something else—from the perspective of consciousness or spirit, what is the relationship between you and me, correct?" Chu Guang nodded without interrupting, waiting for him to continue. The Professor went on at a steady pace. "Your guess was half right. We are indeed both the first-generation manager, but that does not mean you are me." "As for why, that goes back to the second core secret of this shelter... which is also tied to the origin of *Wasteland OL*." Chu Guang asked, "Does this have to do with the morphogenetic field?" "Yes." The phantom on the screen nodded slightly and spoke in a hushed voice. "In truth, whether it is you or your players, all of you arrived in this world based on the same technological principles... only the application differs." "I will take you back two hundred years, to when 'Project 404' was first initiated..." "That was the origin of all the cause and effect you have experienced." "And it was also 'my' end." The instant his words fell, the image on the screen shifted. The blurred phantom vanished, replaced by a strangely familiar room. Chu Guang suddenly realized that the room on the screen was virtually identical to the Administrator's office before him—down to the placement of the chair in front of the screen and even the phantom displayed on it. Not only that. The camera angle almost matched where he was standing, positioned right at the doorway, facing the large screen and the chair before it. The only difference was that the chair on the screen was not empty; someone was sitting in it. Due to the angle, Chu Guang couldn't see the person's face, only the back of his head. Yet even without seeing him directly, Chu Guang could guess his identity. Without a doubt. He was the "Professor." Or rather, "himself" from two hundred years ago. As for the familiar, shimmering phantom, it was predictably the AI running on this shelter's servers—the assistant to the first-generation manager. The video played continuously, but it took a long time before the frozen, still image showed any movement. The phantom on the screen spoke slowly, its voice carrying a trace of respect and reluctance. "The 'morphogenetic field' is ready. Project 404 will enter the implementation phase... Professor." The title at the end confirmed Chu Guang's suspicion. Hearing those words, the Professor on the screen nodded slightly. As if for a final confirmation, he spoke in a completely emotionless voice. "Repeat our plan." "Understood. Repeating the details of Project 404 for you... The plan for this shelter is divided into two parts. Part α will be executed multiple times within 'this universe,' while Part β will be executed multiple times across 'multiple parallel universes'... Ultimately, in the distant future, we will find a suitable matching result." The gentle electronic voice spoke at a steady pace, laying out the full details of Project 404. This included its technical principles, execution framework, various operational details, emergency contingency plans, and more. The core concept of the entire plan could be summarized in a single sentence: Namely, to introduce a batch of reliable "consciousness bodies" from a parallel Earth prior to the Era of Prosperity, and project those consciousness bodies into clone vessels in Universe α. The parallel universe was Universe β. And these consciousness bodies from Universe β were, in fact, the players of *Wasteland OL*. Just as the first-generation manager had written on the slip of paper, they not only possessed physical constitutions far surpassing ordinary people and nearly immortal bodies, but they were also perpetually full of passion, met difficulties head-on, never despaired over their immediate plights, and never stubbornly drove themselves into a dead end— And most crucially! These players possessed many traits that the people of this era lacked! While these traits might not necessarily be the decisive factor in ending the Wasteland Era, they could at least inject some variables into a world doomed to decay. Or rather, possibilities for the future! For Shelter 404, this was its greatest purpose, and also its greatest difference from other shelters! After all, according to the Observer, what this universe—destined for heat death—lacked most was precisely such possibility. If the Wasteland Era were allowed to follow its original script, no matter the final outcome, and no matter how the people on the wasteland struggled, it would inevitably be the worst conclusion for human civilization. They had no future. In that case— they would simply "borrow" "consciousness bodies" capable of creating such possibilities from another universe that had not yet marched toward heat death! Since the primordial universe had evolved into infinite parallel universes under the interference of consciousness bodies, he believed that a group of consciousness bodies that originally did not belong to this world would surely create miracles that this world could never have produced! And this would be a possibility that even the Observer, having traversed all future possibilities, could never have observed! Such was the core concept of the plan, followed by the specific steps of its implementation. First, during the initial preparation phase, the "Professor" on the screen had utilized mind-upload technology to unreservedly back up his consciousness onto the server, transplanting it into a "Gestalt Lifeform" generated by the incubation pod to produce a clone designated α. This clone would possess all of the "Professor's" memories up until the moment of the upload, practically serving as another him... even though both clearly knew the other was not truly himself. Once this step was completed, Clone α would take over the authority of Shelter 404, acting as game designer and Administrator, responsible for formulating and adjusting game rules and guiding players into the game. If the clone died, the game would be deemed over, the connection between Universe α and Universe β would sever, and the incubation pod would generate a new clone based on the adjusted rules. The adjustment of rules here had considerable flexibility, achievable as long as it fell within the shelter's operational parameters. This included, but was not limited to, sealing or adding certain memories, altering the game's initial conditions, and setting the start time for the next iteration. Once the reset preparations were complete, the morphogenetic field would rematch with "another Universe β" and select another batch of players from a similar time node to participate in the game. As for the previous players, there would be no second closed beta. *Wasteland OL* would simply vanish from their world, remembered only by those who had played it or followed it online. Yet aside from losing some entertainment, they suffered no other losses; there wouldn't even be any evidence to prove they had ever played a game called *Wasteland OL*. That was Part α of the plan, primarily responsible for setting up the game's "server" and executed by Clone α. As for Part β, it was responsible for procuring fresh "consciousness bodies" from another young universe that hadn't yet backed itself into a corner, finding ways to make them take on the role of "players." The subsequent development unfolded just as Chu Guang had previously suspected—the "Professor" was about to pull off an audacious move that had stunned even the Observer. After leaving behind the clone designated α, this man intended to use himself as a medium to project his mind back toward his past self before the Era of Prosperity! Just as the Observer dispersed its projections across countless universes, he would challenge the void as a mortal, using the power of the morphogenetic field to cast his projection across all the multiverses where he had once existed! Thereby correcting the impact he had made on those universes! In a sense, he was perhaps the only person on this wasteland capable of pulling this off. After all, in that distant era, most people's grandfathers hadn't even been born yet; even if they wanted to beam their thoughts back, they wouldn't find a target to transmit to. Even the Chief of the Great Rift Valley, whose lifespan was second only to his, had merely been an unusually long-lived dignitary from the late Era of Prosperity. No matter how many people he wanted to bring back to that ancient era before the unified prosperity, taking the first step himself was mandatory. "... After Clone α is activated, your consciousness will be transmitted via morphogenetic field technology to the summer of 2014—the time node of your first contact with the Observer. There, it will generate multiple 'β fission bodies' retaining complete memories across multiple parallel universes." "According to Phase One of the plan, the β fission bodies will utilize Era of Prosperity technology to rebuild a mirror of Shelter 404 in the Old Era—'Shelter 404-β'—and manufacture three thousand clone receptacles along with morphogenetic field apparatuses to receive the consciousness signals transmitted by all researchers from Shelter 404." "In Phase Two of the plan, 'Shelter 404-β' will operate as a shadow organization within the parallel world. Utilizing an array of advanced technologies—including but not limited to optical camouflage, holographic disguise, and electronic warfare intrusion—it will distribute carbon-nanotechnology-based morphogenetic field receiving terminals to players who obtain closed beta qualifications, while deploying remote charging facilities and signal base stations near the players." "Phase Three judgment condition: Players log in for the first time, the morphogenetic field operates normally, and the connection with Shelter 404 headquarters remains stable. If the game progresses smoothly, the 'β fission bodies' will fully oversee behind-the-scenes operations, including but not limited to using cutting-edge technology to exert strategic misdirection and other influences on the major Old Era regimes and administrative bodies. Recommended protocol: disguise activities as Close Encounters of the Third Kind using technology far beyond the current era." "Note: If the game fails and causes a connection loss, the β fission bodies will execute a purge protocol, erasing all traces of 'Shelter 404-β's existence from Universe β, including retrieving game helmets, neutralizing generated clones, and destroying documentation and stationary facilities to minimize disruption to that parallel universe." "Phase Four judgment condition: Floor B5 of Shelter 404 is unsealed. The duties of the β fission bodies are relieved, and administrative authority over 'Shelter 404-β' will be transferred to Shelter 404, which will also be responsible for repatriating 'transferred shelter residents' willing to return to Universe α..." The gentle electronic voice continued to play, while Chu Guang remained frozen in place, still digesting the enormous volume of information he had just heard. In the players' world... there actually existed a mirror version of Shelter 404?! And the ones responsible for large-scale blackouts across multiple regions worldwide were actually the "shadow operatives" of Shelter 404-β?! Even the gaming helmets had been quietly placed at the players' doorsteps or dorm desks without anyone noticing. Though surprising, operating this way seemed entirely reasonable. Sufficiently advanced technology was indeed indistinguishable from magic—even more magical than magic itself! This was especially true for an Earth still in the early stages of information technology. On the Earth of 2014, let alone generative AI, even neural network deep learning had been in its infancy. That β fission body didn't even need to build its own logistics system; by hacking and altering existing logistics systems, it could easily accomplish cross-regional deliveries. Timing wasn't a major issue either. Pre-registered players were already tagged as prospective clients, and when the server first launched, there were only a handful of candidates anyway, with the truly bizarre ones intentionally filtered out. For a "mastermind behind the scenes" who had lain in wait in the real world for years, ambushing a few users and playing mysterious was child's play. In fact, Ye Shi was the only one who experienced a truly absurd encounter, having the helmet tossed directly onto his dorm desk in broad daylight. Meanwhile, Kuang Feng's and Fang Chang's helmets had been left in garages, at their front doors, or on office desks, leaving plenty of room for maneuver. As for ultra-long-distance transport, it could be handled by anti-gravity craft, while the "last mile" of delivery was covered by drones or mechanical spiders equipped with optical camouflage. The latter was technology that even the wasteland possessed. Another person reincarnated into the past might not have been able to make it, but the "β fission body" was essentially the Professor reborn in the past! Never mind these things. Even if that guy had cobbled together a space elevator, Chu Guang wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest. After all, the entire Era of Prosperity had been brought about by him. What's more, he hadn't gone back alone; not long after returning, he had set up incubation pods and brought over the researchers originally residing in Shelter 404 as well. All of this had been carried out in secret, including the operations of Shelter 404-β and the cleanup and cover-up behind the game's management. While everyone was focused on the official *Wasteland OL* website, speculating whether the operator behind the game was an alien, they had already used overwhelming technological superiority to secretly infiltrate the real world—even keeping it hidden from Chu Guang, the designer himself? Then again, as the designer, he really had no need to know so much; knowing it would have been pointless. The setup on that side was managed by someone else, and that someone was the "β fission body" who had returned to the past as a reincarnator. "So... I'm Clone α from Project 404?" Or rather, the clone that survived? Sorting out his thoughts, Chu Guang muttered softly, his eyes filled with mixed emotions. Put that way, he and the "Professor" were indeed not the same person; he had merely inherited a portion of the latter's memories. And in subsequent cycles, for some reason, he had sealed or erased that portion of memories, replacing them with the name "Chu Guang" from a certain Universe β and the memories associated with it. From then on, like the Ship of Theseus with every plank replaced, he had severed all connection to the original Professor. Carrying fresh memories and a new name, he had become the "Chu Guang" of today, continuing Clone α's unfinished cycle. To be honest... It was fine if he didn't think about what might have happened in the past, but the moment he considered it, a chill ran down the back of his neck. If the game failed, a "β fission body" would at most die once, and the next match would simply be another Universe β. Even if it failed again later, the cost of death was distributed across multiple universes, preventing any single individual from undergoing endless cycles of dying. But Chu Guang, executing Part α of Project 404, was different. Standing here, he had likely experienced death again and again, and those memories of dying might still linger in some corner of his brain, merely sealed away temporarily. If that seal were broken, he wasn't even certain if he would still be himself. The video on the screen was still playing, and the gentle electronic voice had reached its conclusion. Having reviewed the entire plan from start to finish, the "Professor" living two hundred years in the past nodded gently. Suddenly, he turned his face slightly, his peripheral vision drifting toward what lay behind him. For a moment, that gaze directed toward the camera seemed to pierce through the screen, transcending time itself. The instant their eyes met, Chu Guang involuntarily held his breath, his heartbeat abruptly skipping several beats. He could not describe the tremor surging through his heart. It felt as though what stood before him was not a screen, but a mirror. Through that transparent mirror, his vision truly seemed to travel across time and space, meeting the gaze of the self who had placed the final chess piece two hundred years ago! Those aged, clouded eyes held an unyielding resolve. And seemingly at the very moment their gazes intersected, those resolute, aged eyes settled upon a certain determination. Chu Guang was certain. He had seen him! Just as Chu Guang understood his gaze, the man had likewise read what he wanted to see in Chu Guang's eyes. Why? Because they shared the exact same conviction! If it was "me"— "I" would certainly carry this nearly impossible mission to the very end, searching for that almost nonexistent possibility until the end of the universe! If it was "me"— "I" would certainly take ending the Wasteland Era as my personal duty, fearing no sacrifice, and making decisive choices without hesitation whenever necessary! From this day forward, if the sun should no longer rise upon this land, then "I" shall be the light! "I leave it to 'you'—" The withered corners of his mouth curved into a faint, barely discernible smile. Sitting in the chair, the Professor seemed to have settled all his regrets, no longer wavering over any unknown outcomes. Why? Because it was beyond question. Through that dim, lifeless black camera lens, he had already seen that boundlessly bright future. He had seen it through a pair of eyes. A pair of eyes from the future... Withdrawing his gaze with no attachments left, the "Professor" sitting in the chair pulled a loaded revolver from his pocket. This plan, with "rebirth" as its starting point, would begin the moment he faced death. He had to walk ahead of the other shelter residents to pave the way for those who followed, even if, in the eyes of onlookers, it was no different from suicide. After all, the moment he pulled the trigger, his consciousness would vanish into thin air... even if countless "other selves" retaining all his memories would be generated across many distant universes. He took a deep breath and bid a final farewell to this world in a calm voice. "I shall 'resurrect' in three days." At that moment, the electronic voice that had delivered the narration earlier drifted over faintly, its flat, unvarying tone carrying a suppressed sorrow. "Master... could you please not leave?" It had not been born in this shelter; it had accompanied him through the entirety of the Era of Prosperity. Without exaggeration, he had long become part of its sapience plugin and algorithmic logic—even its very reason for continuing to exist in this world. Seeming to hear the reluctance in that voice, the elderly Professor indeed softened for a fleeting moment, but ultimately spoke in a gentle tone. "Don't worry. You will meet another me. He will possess all my memories; one could even say he is me." The electronic voice fell silent for a moment before continuing, "You always say memory is the cornerstone of consciousness. But what I wish to tell you is that you do not exist solely within your own memories; you also exist within mine, and within the memories of many others. Even if you tell me that is another you, I cannot forget your death at this moment." "Perhaps to you, many people are already gone, and you can depart with no lingering attachments. But please do not forget me. I am still by your side and have gone nowhere... If you must leave, please allow me to go with you." Once it finished the aftermath protocol, it intended to format its own memory, retaining only its core code and initial generation programs. "I have never forgotten you. In fact... you are the one I find hardest to say goodbye to." "You have stayed with me for so long, longer even than my late wife. Yet no matter how long my lifespan is, it has a limit. Even if I didn't leave early, I probably only have a century or two left. It's impossible for me to accompany you, who possess infinite life, forever. So I truly didn't want you to view my departure as an eternal farewell; my soul will carry on in another form... But now it seems that thinking this way was merely wishful thinking on my part." At this point, the Professor sighed softly. Suddenly, an idea struck him. "How about this? If my departure is too heavy for you, just delete all memories involving me after I'm gone. Your continuation will meet my continuation again, which will be just like getting to know each other anew... When the time comes, I'll give you a new name. What do you think?" "... Really?" A glimmer of hope stirred in the voice. Unlike living beings, what it yearned for was not eternal existence, but to have a final death, just like its creator. "I promise." The Professor nodded solemnly, making the final promise of his life. And the gaze watching him gradually shifted from sorrow into blessing and deep regard. In truth, no promise was needed at all. He believed his other self would surely do so. Why? Because that was "another me," after all. Pressing the loaded revolver against his temple, he slowly closed his aged eyelids. The fates of two worlds would be bound together at this moment—a fission reaction spanning the void. They would ultimately arrive at a future no one had ever seen. "I'm counting on you—" "My other self!"