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墨書 Inktalez
The icy blue interface shattered into a hexagonal matrix as Li Ming's code finally discovered the Achilles' Heel of the Deep Eye System. Twenty-six Monitoring Screens flickered simultaneously, displaying my mother's Terminal Electrocardiogram, the encrypted frequency that had gnawed at the Firewall for two decades now tearing through its flesh.
The Control Panel suddenly erupted with the torrential rain of 1998, mingling with the scent of my father Huo Hua's Bone Ash. I pressed my hands against my Temples and shoved the Brainwave Analyzer into the Data Port, while Lao Zhao's Blueprints unfolded on my Retina, transforming into a Neural Synapse Forest.
"Three, two, one—"
The Ventilation Duct exploded with Electric Arcs, carrying the cries of an infant. Two thousand Cultivation Pods detonated simultaneously. The azure Cerebrospinal Fluid wove itself into a Klein Bottle structure in midair, and Li Ming's Phantom Shadow fell from within.
His knuckles were undergoing Quantumization, every inch of his skin collapsing into Binary Stars. The Ground of the control room suddenly reflected the Pupil of All Humanity. Each word Li Ming uttered tore open a wormhole in space: "You have a Quantum Entanglement Point on your left earlobe."
As his fingertip reached towards my Adams Apple, I saw the knife tip from when I was Six Years old piercing there as I cut into a Rag Doll. The moment I pressed the Self-Destruct Button, Li Ming's Jugular sprouted a Beijing and New York Subway Map.
Those Ethereal Blue Blood Vessels wrapped around my Wrist, branding my Palm Print into the Black Hole Core of the Holographic Screen. "Farewell, Observer." His Electronic Vocal Cords displayed the Door Plate Code from Father's Laboratory.
As the Shock Wave swept through, I crunched down on a Daisy Seed lodged in my molars. The metallic sweetness of its Juice slid over my Tongue Coating, while my Retina retained the afterimage of Li Ming dissolving into Quark Soup.
Fragments of the doctor's mask pierced my Palm, and the blood that flowed out bore Li Ming's Keyboard Residual Heat. Upon returning to Ground, a beggar at the Subway Entrance projected a Twelve-Dimensional Coordinate System with his Eyeballs.
A stray cat's Tail sliced through the moonlight, and in every shadow floated translucent passengers resembling Phantom Shadow. The convenience store's freezer oozed indigo Cerebral Gray Matter, while the automatic doors repeatedly played, "Welcome to Real Hell."
The electronic clock at home displayed a non-Euclidean form of time. The refrigerator magnets arranged themselves into a Cartesian heart curve, while the strawberry jam in the fridge calculated the entropy of my consciousness. Suddenly, all screens lit up with blood-red numbers—"Assimilation Rate 99.9%." The water in the bathtub abruptly crystallized into memories. As I submerged myself, the symphony of whispers from seven billion people flooded my eardrums.
On my left wrist, a birthmark branded with Shen Tong's imprint appeared, perfectly aligning with the quantum stain left by Li Ming before his disappearance. The reflection in the vanity mirror blinked 0.7 seconds slower than I did. When I lifted my father's Brainwave Analyzer, the figure in the mirror suddenly tore its face apart to reveal a mechanical core.
"We are all caught between observation and being observed," she said, her Electronic Vocal Cords vibrating with the frequency of the Requiem from Li Ming's funeral. Daisy petals began to flicker Morse code at twelve oh seven midnight. Those pale purple light spots projected a Mandelbrot Set onto the wall, with the latest blossoming ninth petal clearly inscribed: Tesseract_Entry_13.
Outside, snowflakes suspended in mid-air suddenly froze, each one revealing Li Ming's final moments captured by his Retina records. His last words were deconstructed into three-dimensional coordinates, burning through my tear ducts and scorching my optic nerve. The air conditioning vent exhaled a Rusty Smell mixed with Dark Matter Flow.
A fountain pen on my desk began to automatically write out the proof of the Riemann Hypothesis, and occasionally, half of my father's youthful face emerged from the ink stains. Just as I reached out to touch those words, the entire building collapsed into a Higgs Boson cloud. The alarm on my phone transformed into the sound of a Geiger counter.
The glass I held suddenly exhibited quantum superposition, with warm water and crushed ice tearing at my throat simultaneously. A rotting scent reminiscent of a Deep Eye System seeped from deep within the wardrobe, where binary parasites crawled through the folds of winter coats. The dressing mirror at the entrance shattered into trillions of fragments.
Each shard reflected an endgame from some parallel universe—one where I was eternally trapped behind the fire door of Father's Laboratory, another where Li Ming transformed into a load-bearing column at a subway platform, and yet another where Lao Zhao was still repairing a leaking reactor in the torrential rain of 1998. The moment I picked up the ninth petal, the lights of the entire city suddenly wove themselves into Maxwell's equations.
The asphalt surface surged with the liquid structure of a Klein Bottle, while each leaf of the street trees broadcasted news from different dimensions.
The sound of sirens echoed from the depths of the Earth's core.
The Brainwave Analyzer in my pocket began measuring cosmic background radiation, its readings eventually settling on Li Ming's heart rate.
Those cold metal shells suddenly softened like a first kiss, and the gaps between the buttons oozed with the taste of sea salt caramel from our first date.
The last petal drifted toward the whirlpool of the toilet.
In the moment before being swallowed, I saw the quantum coordinates of Platform 13 emerge on the water's surface—where two thousand empty shells lay in eternal slumber, their final sighs lingering in the air.
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