At a certain special meeting, a group of big shots—people whose casual stomp could send tremors across Blue Star—stared at each other, at a loss.
They watched Lin Xiaohe’s conversation video over and over again. After cross-referencing opinions from all sides, the muscles in their faces seemed to lose control, frozen in their initial shock, their eyeballs fixed and motionless.
What? The technology is real and can be directly applied to existing equipment?
But Lin Xiaohe believes that there are dangerous alien civilizations out there, and she’s asking whether humanity wants to go the tech route or the cultivation route.
Absolute madness. Total daze.
Were their eyes playing tricks on them? Did they read that wrong?
“Cultivation? Is that the cultivation I’m thinking of?” A man with a stern, crocodile-like face had eyes full of struggle, as if countless voices were battling inside his head.
The meeting host explained, “Ahem, most likely yes. Lin Xiaohe didn’t go into specifics.”
An old man with completely white hair and clouded eyes grew anxious immediately: “Can we communicate with her again?”
If cultivation is possible, does that mean life can be extended—even immortality?!
The word “immortality” was far too alluring for someone already in the twilight of his years.
Everyone at the meeting exchanged glances, then lowered their eyes, making it impossible to discern their attitudes toward the matter of immortality.
Someone stood up and said with pointed meaning: “Historical experience tells us that cultivation brings no benefit to the nation. Qin Shi Huang sent Xu Fu on an eastern voyage, spending enormous sums and draining the people’s strength. Emperor Wu of Han’s witchcraft catastrophe in his later years shook the entire court. Emperor Taizong of Tang took elixirs in his later years—not only did he die suddenly, but it also sparked a flood of elixir abuse across the Tang dynasty. Taking history as a mirror, cultivation is not the way to go.”
The white-haired old man stood up, his eyes blazing: “You’re talking about ethereal, fanciful cultivation, not a cultivation civilization. The two cannot be lumped together.”
For a time, the meeting descended into chaos. They took a short break, then continued arguing.
After all, this matter involved the nation’s future development plans—even gambling the fate of the entire country. They had to be cautious, cautious, and more cautious still.
…
As the saying goes, there’s no wall in the world that doesn’t let wind through—especially since Lin Xiaohe was at the military academy’s logistics department and hadn’t been placed under supervision.
Somehow, word got out that Lin Xiaohe had said alien civilizations exist.
Many foreigners with ulterior motives, half-believing and half-doubting, began trying to contact Lin Xiaohe to see if she really had evidence of aliens.
When the comrades protecting Lin Xiaohe discovered this, they immediately reported it to their superiors.
The higher-ups were also stumped. They generally understood some of what had happened with Lin Xiaohe, but they couldn’t be sure of the national-level attitude toward the matter.
Did they believe it or not?
Tech civilization, or cultivation civilization?
If they chose cultivation, should they bring all of humanity along for the ride?
He really had no other option and had to consult his superior again.
“Go to the Strategic Deception Bureau.”
The old leader gave the instruction, and he scurried off to the Strategic Deception Bureau.
After Bureau Chief Wang heard his request, he waved his hand grandly: “This is simple. Leave it to us.”
The next day, an interview suddenly appeared on a short-video platform.
A scientist from a certain space agency claimed they had figured out why aliens weren’t contacting Blue Star humans.
They believed the aliens weren’t as advanced as we imagined—just a little bit ahead of us. For example, they’re already using the iPhone 47, while we’re still on the iPhone 17.
The aliens felt it wasn’t worth contacting humanity. So they couldn’t be bothered to pay humans any attention.
Oh boy!
The alien civilization hype brought by 3I Atlas was completely inherited by this interview report.
For a time, short-video platform creators’ inspiration came gushing out. To ride this wave of attention, they went all out!
[Alien: Dumb and backward, and they won’t stop harassing us. No response? They keep pestering. Get a response? They panic and prepare for war, like a crazed toy poodle.]
[Family, the messages we send to aliens are like the messages 10086 sends us—too many and completely useless.]
[Alien: Blue Star humans, stop shining laser pointers at me or my kids!]
[Alien: I’m only going to ask once—where’s my dinosaur?]
[Alien A: What are they doing?
Alien B: They’re celebrating. Blue Star went around the star one more time.]
On the Chinese internet, netizens were having a blast.
This festive, joking atmosphere left the lurking foreigners utterly confused.
“Hey, Charlie, have the Chinese actually found aliens or not?” A blond, blue-eyed white man stared intently at his computer screen, brows furrowed so hard that his originally thick hair had been yanked into a bald patch.
“Chinese is a profound language. The Chinese are crafty—they excel at mixing truth with falsehood, illusion with reality.” Charlie struggled to read the scrolling subtitles and comments.
“So? Is it real or fake?”
Charlie slumped back in his chair and shrugged: “I don’t know either.”
They’d been played by the Strategic Deception Bureau too many times. Like frightened birds, they didn’t dare make a judgment without concrete evidence.
“Do we still need to report this? These videos have gone viral overseas. Our politicians will know about it as soon as they go online.”
Charlie glared at him with exasperation: “Report! Of course we report! If we don’t report something, how do we scam money?”
They didn’t just draw salaries—they had performance bonuses! If they didn’t report anything, what if their superiors decided they were useless and cut their positions?
Once information was reported, money would arrive. It was just that their superiors and finance department were always grumbling.
“Damn Charlie! What kind of garbage information is this? Haha, aliens? Why not say American Superman? Bastard, trash, liar. Oh, and Catherine, you know what to do.”
Catherine gave an OK gesture.
Information like this, with no real value, should have been tossed in the trash. But based on some unwritten rule, this piece of information was still classified at the lowest level—worth $1,000.
$400 went to Charlie, $100 to Catherine, and the remaining $500 naturally went to the boss.
Everyone’s happy. You’re good, I’m good, everybody’s good.
It was just that this piece of information’s final destination was to gather dust.
…
After the talks, Lin Xiaohe took a few days off and camped out at Professor Liu’s house.
She had planted some wheat at home and in the cafeteria’s backyard.
As expected, Xinbao woke up.
“Woo woo woo, Xiaohe!! I thought I’d never see you again.” Xinbao struggled, trying to pull its roots out of the soil.
“Don’t rush, I’ve got you.” Lin Xiaohe hurried over with a small ceramic pot she’d prepared in advance, carefully transplanting Xinbao into it.
The tiny tender leaf leaned affectionately against Lin Xiaohe’s thumb, rubbing against it vigorously: “Xiaohe.”
Lin Xiaohe looked at the tiny Xinbao, then at Doudou in her backpack, shrunk down to the height of a palm, and couldn’t help laughing out loud.
“Looks like we’re starting from scratch again.”
The same satchel, the same two leaves.
The difference was, they’d come to Blue Star—a place with mountains and water, where they’d never have to live those poor, hard days again.
