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Interlude 1588: Su Ming'an's Twenty-First Birthday

[December 31st, Heavy Snow]

I am sick, very sick.

It's not a physical illness, but a mental one.

[In high school biology class, we were told that people get fevers and feel unwell because white blood cells are killing viruses, a process that raises the body temperature. Previously, humans considered fever as a disease, but not viruses, because viruses are silent, while humans only knew that fever was uncomfortable.]

Lying in the medical pod, I started having wild thoughts—so, does giving up the will to live count as a kind of "illness"?

From the physiological perspective that Akto taught me, survival is the most fundamental instinct of life. Every cell in our bodies operates under precise regulation, following the instructions for survival and reproduction. Mitochondria burn energy, DNA is responsible for repair, and the immune system protects the body. The instruction to "live" is a program etched deep within our souls.

Any tendency to deviate from this process, whether it be my self-destructive behavior or a denial of the value of my life—biologically speaking, it's like a "glitch code," a malfunction of the system.

Is my giving up the will to live a manifestation of a dysfunction in my life-saving "immune system"?

In the biology books Yueyue recommended I read, examples of individuals sacrificing themselves for the colony abound. Worker bees will sting intruders to protect the hive, even if it means their own death, because the genetic information they carry is perpetuated within the colony—a kind of genetic "altruism." When a cell detects severe damage to its DNA, becoming a potential cancer threat, it activates a pre-programmed self-destruct program in its genes, actively "giving up" its own life to prevent it from becoming a "pathogen" and harming the health of the entire organism.

[...So, is the individual's choice to "give up survival" ultimately to preserve the health and survival of the larger whole? Is this a pain-driven "immune program"?]

This thought is chillingly cold; it seems to strip individual life of its supreme value. Yet, when I look out the window at the faces laughing in the festive lights—those I deeply love and want to protect—their smiles, their ordinary happiness, their futures full of unknown possibilities… constitute a “organism” far larger, more vibrant, and more precious than my own individual existence.

A heavy calm replaced the previous suffocating feeling. The virus was silent, but the life-or-death struggle of white blood cells was intense.

What if my pain and despair stem from my profound and unbearable love and sense of responsibility towards this world?

[If I were to become that "apoptotic" cell, constantly traveling through time to remove "lesions" that might threaten overall health, could I exchange this "organism" I deeply love—this world, and everyone—for a healthier and more hopeful future?]

Therefore, the thought of "giving up on life" is no longer merely an abyss of despair. It is given a completely different meaning.

[It is the most direct and thorough possible way I can see to heal that larger world—even though this healing requires my own complete annihilation.]

White blood cells fight to the death in the high temperature, unaware of what they are fighting against, only knowing that they have a mission to fulfill.

Cells break themselves down in the apoptosis process; they don't know why they were chosen, they only know that this is the program.

[And I, more fortunate than them, and more unfortunate than them. I know clearly that giving up life and actively contracting this inevitable "disease" is the only, purest antidote I can offer. I am the identified "lesion," and also the "cell" that voluntarily initiates the apoptosis process—this disease is my ritual of sacrificing myself to purify the world.]

【Boom, boom, boom.】

I was lying in the medical pod when I heard a clear sound.

Outside the window, the New Year's bells seemed to be ringing. My treatment in the medical ward ended, and they lifted me into a wheelchair, pushing me towards the New Year.

[Aini, unwilling to accept defeat in the game, was chasing after Yamada, muttering things like "Just a little bit more," and "One more time," his clear complaints ringing out. Lin Yin laughed and dodged, running with Mo Yan towards the fireworks. Eleven and Yi Song had cream all over their mouths, Isabella was engrossed in reading my experimental records, while Luna and I sat together, gazing at the vast night sky, which seemed to hold the infinite future of humanity.]

Eleven said, "I've never given her a gift before. After all this is over, I'll give her a wild daisy; she likes that flower." Mo Yan, eager to join in, quickly said he wanted it right now; he wanted a compliment from his older brother.

I immediately praised him, saying that Mo Yan is truly wonderful, spreading our stories on the university podium; Aini is also doing well, working hard to coordinate the old aristocracy; Yamada, Lin Yin, Luna—everyone is wonderful.

"Big brother praised everyone, and he finally gave me a gift." Mo Yan pouted, but quickly, like a cheerful little puppy, he went back to cutting the cake.

I sat in my wheelchair, smiling as I watched the utterly out-of-control "battlefield" before me, filled with the sweet scent of cream. I watched them chase, dodge, and retaliate; I watched Annie baring her teeth and brandishing her claws; I watched Isabella's helpless yet indulgent smile; I watched Luna, though her brows were furrowed, but deep in her eyes, a barely perceptible warmth born from the chaos...

The clamor of falling petals in my heart, drowned out by this even louder roar, didn't disappear; instead, it transformed into a more surging warm current. Something heavy, in this extreme, creamy tumult of life, was gently loosened and melted away.

Before I knew it, a small splatter of cream suddenly crossed the "battlefield" and landed precisely on my forehead with a "plop."

[Cool and smooth.]

I paused.

The next second, I met Lin Yin's bright smile, a sly and self-satisfied look. Yi Song also looked over, a bit of white still on his nose, his smile gentle. Even Su Lin, standing at a distance with her arms crossed, briefly glanced at me in this chaotic moment, her eyes seeming to say: You can't escape either.

That little bit of cream slid down my skin, leaving a slightly itchy mark.

I raised my hand, my fingertips gently tracing the coolness.

Then, amidst the noise of the courtyard, the lingering smell of fireworks, and faces stained with cream yet laughing unrestrainedly—

I lowered my head, looking at the pristine whiteness of my fingertips, then raised my head again, gazing at the vibrant world stirred by the storm.

Finally, from the depths of his chest, a clear laugh, unexpected even to himself, escaped. The laughter grew louder and louder, completely merging with Yamada's strange cries, Eleven's attempts to dissuade him, and the still-sounding echoes of their chase in the courtyard, becoming indistinguishable from one another.

The cream between my fingers carries the scent of cooking, the sweet aroma of cake, and the warmth unabashedly passed on by my companions.

So this is the clamor of life—so vibrant, so reckless, so…exhilarating. This yearning, perhaps, is the most primal and powerful force resisting decay.

Beneath the glacier, spring waters are already surging.

[Life doesn't have to be so silent and desolate; it can truly be like the playful laughter in the courtyard right now, like the falling blossoms, like the tea warming on the stove.]

Therefore, I am willing to give up my own life to save this world. I am willing to willingly contract this "disease" and calmly await its final verdict.

They held me back, allowing me to remain on this land, but if necessary, I will still run towards that "freedom" that defies the instincts of my own cells.

[Lu Shu, Yamada, Lu, Bei Wang, Luna, Isabella, Lin Yin, Aini, Zhao Yuan, Yi Song, Shi Yi, Mo Yan, Xiao Xiao, Lin Jiang, Mei Yani... This world.]

All that I love, and all that loves me.

I sat in my wheelchair, smiling as I gazed at the cosmos and then at their beaming faces.

[It turns out that the "disease" was actually a virus called "love" in my heart, making me burning, making me feverish, making me mad, making the disease seep into my bones, incurable and incurable.]

Where the spring snow melts, that's when ideals blossom.

Please give me a camellia.

Let me witness this ideal love.

I am the most critically ill cell in this world.

……

[—On December 31, 2027, the World Lord's permissions will be encrypted and stored in the system, never to be unsealed.]

……