Chapter 1056: The End, Also the Beginning

Chapter 1056: The End, Also the Beginning

β Universe, Summer of 2014.

“Bang——!”

The piercing gunshot echoed in his ears, abruptly jolting awake the youth who had fainted from heatstroke.

At this moment, he found himself in a pure white space.

But this was no hospital.

Instinctively, he raised his index finger and touched his temple. The memory of the bullet piercing through his skull was vivid, even causing cold sweat to seep unbidden from his back.

That was a sensation he never wished to experience a second time.

Yet, thinking of his duplicate in the α universe, who might have died again and again, he felt a sense of relief.

No matter how many times β in the parallel universe perished, those were events occurring across multiple parallel universes.

Standing here, he would need to die at most once more…

And at that very moment, a translucent floating window appeared before him.

Line by line, text gradually emerged on the screen.

[This system is dedicated to elevating the civilization level of the natives. As for the secrets of this system, let the holder explore on their own…]

It was that familiar feeling.

Gazing at the nostalgic words, a faint smile curled at the corner of his lips. His clear eyes held a calmness and composure that belied his age.

As if he were not twenty years old.

But two hundred…

“We meet again, Observer.”

The text on the screen froze, as if the act had been caught and could no longer continue.

The entity behind the screen had clearly not expected to hear its own name spoken here.

Even less did it anticipate encountering an acquaintance in this place.

“…You? But—how is this possible… It should be 2014 now… Wait—”

For an instant, it was caught in shock and confusion, but that was only a fleeting moment.

In the void, there was no concept of time.

Its projection could appear in any universe, even those it had once abandoned.

And in that very instant, through traversing multiple universes, it had re-collected information it had previously deemed devoid of observational significance.

And in that same instant, it was utterly astounded.

Multiple universes had given rise to unprecedented branches.

Some remained as before—this young man, as it had expected, received the “system” it had bestowed, only to make different choices on his path to becoming a Breaker.

Other universes, however, had been eroded by a fission consciousness from some universe, birthing on the timeline a “Shelter 404-β” that should not have existed, supplanting its own interference!

Seeing the bewilderment surging through the screen, the man chuckled lightly and teased.

“You seem surprised?”

After a long pause, the Observer let out a heartfelt exclamation.

“Incredible… You have carved out a future I have never seen. I must admit, even among the vast samples I have observed, the miracle you have wrought is rare and extraordinary.”

After this sincere praise, it continued without pause.

“Though I hate to sound discouraging, for the you in the β universe, what you are about to do may be utterly meaningless… According to your plan, the α universe will repeat countless experiments and fail countless times, and in the end, only one β universe will match!”

“In other words, your probability of success is only one in infinity! Everything you do in this universe has an infinite probability of merely paving the way for some failure in the α universe—or, to put it bluntly, running alongside a failed experiment!”

“To spend over a decade on something with such a high chance of being pointless… Don’t you find this fate too despairing for you?”

Come back.

Return to the normal timeline.

Though the Observer did not say it outright, the man standing here indeed heard the persuasion behind those words.

Indeed.

It was still not too late to turn back.

The man here was not the Professor, but the fission entity numbered β, set as a reborn individual who had returned to the time of first acquiring the system, carrying memories and experience from two hundred years in the future.

He could simply cast aside the responsibilities of that original world, return to the track the Observer had laid out, learn from past mistakes, act step by step, complete tasks when required, and vanish when it was time…

Though that fallen world could not be saved, at least the human civilization of this universe could avoid entering the Wasteland Era, and he could eventually become a Breaker.

That would not be a bad ending.

But that would mean Project 404 was scrapped.

And that was a choice he would never make.

He had no doubt that among the infinite β universes, the version of himself who had aimed the gun at his own head and, at the cost of death, finally stood here, would make the same decision.

That bullet had ended not only the Professor’s life but also the possibility of countless branches!

And the Observer’s reaction precisely confirmed that his guess was correct—

This entity had traversed all universes, yet still could not find a future where the him standing here wavered or made a compromise.

So it grew anxious.

“…Doing nothing is what’s meaningless. If you don’t act, you will certainly never succeed.”

“But what about the people of this world? Have you considered the consequences your interference might bring?”

“Are you really in a position to say that to me? Have you ever considered that question yourself? Wasn’t the Wasteland Era precisely the result of your interference failing?”

The Professor chuckled coldly. His pointed retort left the Observer momentarily speechless.

Without pausing, he continued, word by word.

“Every universe I interfere with is one where you chose me as a Breaker and imposed your interference. My interference merely replaces yours. If I fail, I will naturally erase my interference from this universe, as if neither of us had ever been here.”

“Then their fate will rest in their own hands. No outsider is needed—or entitled—to be responsible for them. I think that might not be a bad outcome for the humans of this world.”

The Observer still refused to give up, making one last attempt.

“Even if it means that your efforts in this universe have an infinite probability of coming to nothing?”

Looking at the Observer desperately trying to persuade him, the man smiled faintly.

He knew.

What the Observer truly cared about was neither him nor humanity—just as he did not care about the bacteria on a leaf, nor whether their efforts would be wasted.

What this entity truly cared about was the Breaker of the stitched universe.

It was worried that he would ruin its good plans.

Such a thing was indeed possible, even inevitable.

Once it replaced its own interference, it would completely lose control of the situation. Even if it could still seek out other consciousnesses to exert influence, that would only happen in another universe or long after its own death.

The observer's interference has boundaries; unless under special circumstances, it is nearly impossible to establish separate connections with two independent consciousnesses in the same universe.

Each of its interferences corresponds to a new universe, and this was determined at the moment of the primordial universe's explosion.

It was precisely for this reason that it persistently tried to dissuade him, attempting to make him change his mind.

But—

What did that have to do with him?

Compared to the heat death billions of years from now, he cared more about the world he once lived in, where the continuations of everyone he knew resided. If they could not continue, his existence would be meaningless.

He was not like those drifting in the void; living in that world, he was a real person, not some ethereal projection!

He would not, after messing everything up, pat himself on the back and say, "It's all your fault for not executing it right," and then walk away!

"Since you've already seen the shot I fired, you should have guessed how I would answer you. How could you still ask such a stupid question?"

"Before coming here, I had already resolved to die."

"This game will begin with my death, and my end will become a new beginning—"

"Give up. I won't turn back, and there is no retreat!"

The pure white space began to collapse, and the boundless edges gradually transformed into the walls of a hospital room.

All the clamor fell silent at that moment.

It left.

Probably would not return.

But then again, its fickleness was nothing new; it had happened more than once or twice.

He thought it didn't need to be so desperate. Since it was an unseen ending, the future was still worth looking forward to.

Besides, his Plan 404 might give it inspiration for saving other universes.

The man sat up from the hospital bed draped with curtains, casually pulled out the IV needle from the back of his hand, and under the strange gaze of the nurse by the bedside, got up, dressed, and left the ward.

An acquaintance who came to pick him up, seeing he was no longer in serious condition, was about to greet him with surprise, but instead met a pair of unfamiliar eyes, and for a moment stood frozen in place.

He remembered that unfamiliar face, but after two hundred years, standing here, he could no longer match that face with the name in his memory, so he merely nodded politely and brushed past.

It was now 2014.

Only seven years until 2021.

In these seven years, he had to complete the preparations for Shelter 404-β and all the groundwork for the game's launch in this old world that had not yet entered the era of prosperity.

There was still a mountain of things to do.

No time to waste...

...

...

Alpha Universe.

Shelter 404, the manager's office on Floor B5, the screen froze on the final gunshot.

"Bang—!"

Hearing that deafening sound, Chu Guang, standing at the door, jolted awake and quickly walked over to the chair.

A rusted revolver lay on the chair, with a spent shell casing beside it.

As for the remaining bloodstains, they had long turned to dust.

The shelter's AI had disposed of the professor's body and then formatted itself.

Now its number was 777...

Chu Guang stared blankly at the pistol, finally fitting the last piece of the puzzle.

He understood everything now.

All about Plan 404 and this shelter.

All about his own origins.

And the origins of the players.

Not only that—

The details he had temporarily stored in the corners of his memory due to insufficient clues now gradually became clear with this final piece in place.

Including where the original residents of this shelter had gone, and how the helmets had ended up in the players' hands.

Just as he had guessed, he himself was the first manager, and over two hundred years, he had come back 777 times!

Sometimes with gaps of ten or eight years.

Sometimes resurrecting dozens or even hundreds of times within a single year!

And the initial rules of the game were precisely what he had continuously refined and summarized through cycle after cycle...

His Adam's apple moved, and Chu Guang looked up at the screen before him.

"Did you have to die?"

As if anticipating this question, the professor on the screen smiled faintly and spoke in a gentle voice.

"Even if I hadn't died, I wouldn't have lived to this day, unless I froze myself into a popsicle... But that wouldn't have meant much, would it? Not many of my old friends are left, and even my youngest students are mostly gone. The only thing I couldn't let go of was the digital life... and I was destined never to accompany it forever."

"Rather than letting it wait for inevitable pain, it's better to arrange a decent ending for it while I'm still clear-headed. So don't feel regret or sadness for me. For me, this is not a bad arrangement."

"As for my death, it was part of the plan. If I hadn't transmitted the memory of pulling the trigger into the Beta universe, the 'fission reaction' I described wouldn't have happened. Even if the observer didn't interfere, even if it didn't use the voice from the void to confuse the other me, that other me would never have executed my plan—not even once."

"Why? I've never heard of morphogenetic field connections using death as a medium—"

Chu Guang blurted out the question, but halfway through, the answer suddenly surfaced in his mind.

Indeed.

Death was not a prerequisite for the morphogenetic field, but it was a prerequisite for Plan 404.

The reason was obvious—

Seeing the dawning realization on Chu Guang's face, the professor on the screen smiled faintly and continued in a matter-of-fact tone.

"It seems you've realized it. Some things are either done once or never at all. If you can't do it yourself, how can you expect others to? You repeated countless experiments, while the Beta fission faced a probability of one in infinity. If he executed the plan, he would face an infinite number of bad endings. If he didn't, that one-in-infinity numerator wouldn't exist, and you wouldn't be standing here today."

"Fascinating, isn't it? That's the morphogenetic field. Resonance isn't spoken with words but expressed through actions—it must be doing the same thing without prior agreement. If I hadn't pulled the trigger, the other me either wouldn't have received the information I sent, or even if he did, he certainly wouldn't have 'pulled the trigger.'"

Chu Guang slowly nodded.

Thinking back, a similar thing had happened on the Orion-class missile cruiser.

At the time, he had learned the whole story from a player's post, and now it seemed the principle was similar.

The difference was that that time, the information transmission across time had occurred under extremely coincidental circumstances, unlike the carefully designed layout of Plan 404.

"So the twenty-plus years I lived in reality... were actually fabricated?"

"Not entirely. Your relationships were real; you did have interactions with the online friends you knew. You not only knew each other for years but also played many games together. As for your identity background, the companies you worked for, and the apartments you rented—those were indeed fabricated, because we couldn't really create a clone in the Beta universe and watch it grow up like a normal person, going to school... That wasn't possible timewise."

"In the first few cycles, you always started as me. As for eventually erasing my memories and becoming 'Chu Guang,' that was a decision you made yourself in one of the earlier cycles."

As he said this, the professor standing in the screen smiled and spoke in a joking tone.

"Haven't you noticed? You don't actually have the contact information of those colleagues or your landlord... especially the latter, who never even thought to ask you for rent."

Chu Guang let out a wry laugh.

"I thought they just found me unlucky and deleted me."

It turned out these people never existed at all—or at least, not in the β universe he was currently matched with.

No wonder the major institutions and organizations in that world couldn't find a trace of him.

His information wasn't even erased by some high-tech means; it simply wasn't there in the first place.

If they could have found his data under those circumstances, it would only mean someone had pocketed the funding.

Watching Chu Guang, whose emotions were tangled, the professor in the screen showed a fatherly smile.

That smile was practically a mirror image of his own—the same smile he wore when he watched the Alliance rise from the ruins like the morning sun—

As if watching his own child.

Even though the blurry image was indistinct, Chu Guang, standing before the screen, still felt as if he were looking into a mirror.

"...Actually, you don't need to feel lost. Just as my assistant said, what constitutes your existence isn't just your memories, but also others' memories of you. Apart from those who never existed, every experience you've shared with everyone you've crossed paths with is utterly real."

"Though I once worried that you, walking further and further away, might not be able to carry out Project 404, the result turned out to be the opposite... It was precisely you, so different from me, who created the miracles I could not."

"And I am gratified that you made that decision—to let go of what I could not. From the moment you called yourself 'Chu Guang,' you ceased to be me and became my continuation."

"Of course, as you said, you want to take control of your own destiny. And now, I intend to give you that choice."

As he spoke, the phantom image vanished from the office screen, replaced by an open folder.

Inside, files were saved under numbers 0 to 776, each with an unknown format and icons blurred into mosaics.

Chu Guang didn't need to ask what they were.

Without a doubt, stored there were the memories from his 776 restarts over the past 200 years!

As for the file numbered 0—

It was the memory of the 'Professor' from 200 years ago, from the old era before the Age of Prosperity, the one who had once inaugurated that age!

"...These are memories you truly experienced, occurring before you awoke at the entrance of this shelter. Some fragments you may have glimpsed vaguely in dreams, but those were just noise from parallel worlds, not complete memories."

"After all, the morphogenetic field doesn't only appear when we need it; it occasionally flashes before us in the form of déjà vu."

Thinking of the wild experiences he'd seen in dreams, Chu Guang made a helpless expression.

"Those were truly unforgettable experiences—can't forget them even after death."

"Indeed... they were painful to witness, but they did happen."

The professor smiled and spoke in a very soft voice.

"Now I give you the right to choose, and here will be the final divergence point of your fate."

"You can choose to remember everything from the past, become the person you want to be—even become me, the 'Professor' who inaugurated the Age of Prosperity... You could be me, and I could be Chu Guang; we would merge into one."

"Or, you can treat it as 'another person's' memories, keeping only your current ones. I remain me, the Professor born in the old era. And you remain you—Chu Guang, who awoke in the year 211 of the Wasteland Era, the 'Administrator' who led survivors to create a new age."

The room was silent for a long time.

Chu Guang's silence this time was longer than before.

But the choice itself wasn't difficult.

"Hmm... though the former sounds more appealing, I'll choose the latter."

No matter how much he knew about the inside story of 'Morphic Lifeforms' and 'Project 404,' one thing would never change—

He was Chu Guang.

That was beyond doubt.

"Is that so? I thought you'd choose that... Haha, that's wonderful."

The professor reappeared on the screen, as if relieved—clearly he hadn't been entirely certain.

Chu Guang couldn't help wondering if another version of himself in a parallel world had made a different choice, inherited the professor's memories, and become an omniscient and omnipotent 'Philosopher King' under a new identity, leading human civilization to decades of millennia-long prosperity across the galaxy.

But that was a matter for another world.

He didn't want to speculate about possibilities that didn't exist.

Whether ending the Wasteland Era or forming the Alliance, none of it was about Project 404.

He had always followed his own heart, and he would continue to be himself, as always.

"Can I keep these?" Chu Guang looked at the files in the folder as if examining an ancient artifact.

The professor's face bore a hearty smile, his expression cheerful.

"Of course you can—they are important historical documents... I don't recommend plugging them into your head, but I never suggested deleting them. However, to avoid interference from the void on our timeline, I suggest you make some appropriate cuts to the content."

Chu Guang smiled.

"Like deleting the system part, right?"

"Yes. Though you and I know that the Observer cannot transmit information that doesn't exist, others don't. I don't want people to mistake science for a gift from fate or the void... that would fall into the trap of nihilism. You wouldn't want that either, would you?"

As he said this, the professor suddenly remembered something and showed an embarrassed smile.

"Oh, and some personal matters... Forget it, I'll handle the contents of folder 0 myself. Folders 1 to 776 are up to you—they have nothing to do with me."

Seeing that awkward expression, Chu Guang smiled knowingly and expressed understanding.

Of course, he would be mindful of those things.

After all, even an Administrator has to take a dump; he wouldn't put footage of himself on the toilet in a museum.

Some things, even if they were to be made public, were best buried in the ground for a while.

"No problem. Actually, even if you hadn't said it, I was planning the same. As for files numbered 1 to 776, I'll leave them to Xiaoqi to organize. And after organizing, I'll set a 100-year confidentiality period before declassifying them."

The professor sighed in relief, a blurry smile on his face.

"That's up to you. My era is over; from now on, things are in your hands. By the way, her name is Xiaoqi? That's a nice name."

"She thinks so too," Chu Guang said with a faint smile. "Barring any surprises, it's probably the best name I've ever come up with."

"Haha, is that so? You should treat her well—she's the child of my most capable assistant."

That blurry face wore a gratified smile.

Though Chu Guang wanted to chat more, it seemed time to part.

What remained here was not the professor himself, but a pre-recorded echo from 200 years ago.

Its sole purpose here was to hand him the final key after everything was over, and to end the mission he had been carrying all along.

The real professor, in the earlier video, had already died in the past, 200 years ago...

"I promise you."

Chu Guang nodded solemnly, watching the ethereal echo fade into the unseen void.