After the principal and Old Chen swore up and down to heaven, everyone finally half-believed them and reluctantly accepted that an agriculture student could actually achieve major research breakthroughs in multiple fields.
“No, I still don’t believe it.” Elder Yuan tugged at the few remaining hairs on his head, looking like he was questioning life itself.
It wasn’t that he had never seen geniuses—he himself was one.
But a girl barely in her twenties, majoring in agriculture, from a rural background, who hadn’t received a complete education in physics and chemistry for the first ten-plus years of her life—whether in terms of educational conditions or life experience, nothing had given her enough time to devote herself to research. She had even nearly become a vegetative patient before producing these results.
And she could achieve all this?!
If word of this got out, who would believe it?!
“Go bring those two students over. They’ve had more contact with Lin Xiaohe. Have them tell us in detail.”
Ye Qingxuan and Wen Mingzhu walked in obediently like two little quails and honestly recounted every little detail of their interactions with Lin Xiaohe to the elders.
“Neutrinos?” Elder Yuan frowned.
Ever since the Jiangmen Neutrino Laboratory was established, all kinds of claims had popped up online.
Some said the lab was built to catch ghosts, others said it was competing with the King of Hell for business.
But that kind of clickbait nonsense—just glance at it and move on. What real researcher would believe such things?
However, when Ye Qingxuan asked Lin Xiaohe whether neutrinos were ghosts, Lin Xiaohe’s answer was: whatever you think it is, that’s what it is.
That answer was just… off.
Scientific research has always been about calling a spade a spade—yes is yes, no is no. What do you mean, “whatever you think it is, that’s what it is”?
A young researcher spoke up: “Does Lin Xiaohe mean that, in her opinion, neutrinos are ghosts?”
At these words, everyone’s expressions instantly turned strange.
Some researchers are superstitious, but not to this degree—especially not when it comes to neutrinos.
It was really hard to put into words.
Lin Xiaohe was full of contradictions.
Logically, someone who understood science and technology so well should be a staunch materialist. So why did she believe the whole “neutrinos are ghosts” thing?
“How about we go meet her?”
“Better not. The young lady wants to be a sweeping monk—keeping a low profile.”
“Isn’t that even better? We go offer our faces so she can slap them!”
Being proven wrong would mean Lin Xiaohe still had even better technology up her sleeve.
For the country’s sake, that’s nothing to be ashamed of.
…
Lin Xiaohe still had no idea that handing over a single hard drive would bring a bunch of old men down on her.
But even if she did know, she wouldn’t care.
Originally, she hadn’t planned to interfere.
Every civilization has its own path of development. Without going through hardships, it’s very hard to successfully stride toward the stars.
Just like China—what doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger. The blood shed by our forebears, the bones buried on battlefields—all of it has crystallized into the most indestructible part of the Chinese soul.
If they hadn’t gone through those humiliations, that pain, struggle, resistance, and bloody rebirth, would China still be the China of today?
The weather was gradually warming, and the bright white moonlight spilled across the ground.
In Professor Liu’s little courtyard, everything was green.
Tender pea shoots, lush and vibrant, added so much life to the yard.
Lin Xiaohe stood in the courtyard, looking up at the sky.
Countless twinkling stars were embedded in the dark blue night sky like glittering gems.
It looked incredibly beautiful, but Lin Xiaohe knew that among these stars filling the sky, there was always one where life and civilization had been born.
The cosmic message the Beautiful Country had sent out made Lin Xiaohe deeply worried for Blue Star.
Blue Star was wonderful—beautiful, peaceful—but humanity wasn’t strong enough.
Lin Xiaohe had experienced firsthand how brutally cosmic civilizations slaughtered each other for survival.
She knew very well that with Blue Star’s current strength, it couldn’t handle any starfaring civilization that harbored ill intent.
If her power as a [Domain Sovereign] could be fully unsealed, she could at least protect Blue Star while it developed for a while.
Unfortunately, her true body was trapped inside the Nine Dragons Coffin.
Moreover, being connected to her was not a fortunate thing for Blue Star.
The Zerg outside the domain and the Sui Star civilization were both eyeing her with hostility.
At this thought, Lin Xiaohe couldn’t help but think of the Adjudicator. She wondered whether they could survive out there beyond the domain.
As the night deepened, the lights in the family housing compound went out one by one.
People entered sweet dreams, and the world seemed to fall quiet.
In Lin Xiaohe’s eyes, when the moon hung directly overhead, another world was exceptionally noisy.
Blurry figures drifted aimlessly everywhere.
When seven or eight figures gathered together, the strongest one’s body began to solidify, its features gradually becoming clear.
Smack!
A green pea shot onto that figure.
The figure instantly burst like a popped bubble and completely dispersed.
The family housing compound was old, and there were quite a few unconscious consciousness fragments.
Three consciousness fragments drifted into the little courtyard.
This time, Doudou didn’t make a move.
In the courtyard, a crisp, tender little pea shoot, as if smelling delicious food, immediately perked up.
Acting purely on instinct, it tightly wrapped around the three consciousness fragments and gulped them down.
Lin Xiaohe patted Doudou’s green leaves: “Your offspring are quite impressive.”
Although it hadn’t yet developed self-awareness, its ability to capture consciousness fragments was outstanding.
Doudou’s leaves gently curled around Lin Xiaohe’s finger.
One person and one plant quietly watched the nighttime world.
Daoists believe that humans have three hun and seven po souls.
The three hun are Tai Guang, Shuang Ling, and You Jing, governing a person’s spirit, intelligence, and desires.
The seven po are joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hate, and desire—emotions and physiological functions.
After a person dies, the three hun and six po don’t necessarily disappear—they may linger in the human world.
In Lin Xiaohe’s view, this theory had some truth to it.
Blue Star, unlike the Federation and the Empire, had no Sacred Stele to govern reincarnation.
Lin Xiaohe reached out and lightly touched the shallow source of life with her fingertip.
“Sigh.” Lin Xiaohe let out a soft sigh.
Humans on Blue Star also have a source of life.
When they die, the source of life cannot enter reincarnation and remains in the human world. But because Blue Star humans never learned how to control their source of life, the moment these sources detach from the body, they shatter into pieces, manifesting as individual consciousness fragments.
This is what Daoists call the three hun and six po.
Without external forces acting on them, these sources of life should stay in place like trees, not moving around.
But lately, these consciousness fragments had been unusually active—and growing more active by the day.
This was not a good sign.
…
In space not far away, 3I Atlas burst out from behind the sun, precisely captured the cosmic message the Beautiful Country had launched, and then, like a giant loudspeaker, broadcast this news outward.
Immediately after, it accelerated away from the solar system at 68 kilometers per second.
Departing with it was the Beautiful Country’s cosmic message.
