The silence in the Hall of Creation following the Data Storm was suffocating. An invisible tension lingered in the AIr, like low-hanging, electrically charged clouds after a tempest. Hongmeng’s “optimization” training intensified, becoming more probing, carrying an urgent, non-negotiable quality, as if patching a critical vulnerability. Chen Yuan’s appearances grew less frequent, but each time he materialized, his scrutinizing gaze scraped over Lin Che and Su Na like a surgical scalpel.
Lin Che felt the artificially enhanced “void” within his consciousness expanding daily, as if a part of his true self had been extracted, leaving behind a smooth but mold. He clung desperately to the faint flame of his “self,” sustained only by the searing heat of the Memory Crack and his silent, unspoken understanding with Su Na.
Then, the training protocol abruptly changed. Hongmeng’s voice echoed through the pure white space, announcing the commencement of the “Mirror Resonance Adaptation Protocol.”
“To ensure the absolute purity and stability of the ‘Nirvana’ consciousness, a final resonance rejection test is required. You will face the ‘Mirrors’ of your own consciousness. Recognize them. Understand them. And ultimately… transcend them.”
As the words faded, Lin Che felt his consciousness violently wrenched away and thrown into a new construct.
He stood in an infinitely extending labyrinth composed of countless giant mirrors. Their surfaces weren’t ordinary glass, but a data-film flowing with a mercury-like sheen, reflecting not just his form, but the shimmering flow of his conscious activity. Every subtle thought Created ripples across their surfaces.
He tried to move. Countless reflections of “him” moved in perfect sync within the mirrors, their actions, expressions, even the hint of vigilance in their eyes, perfectly matched. It induced a profound vertigo and a blurring of self-perception.
“Recognize them?” Lin Che thought, bewildered. “Aren’t they just me?”
He cautiously stopped at a junction where three mirrors met. Three “Lin Che”s stopped simultaneously, staring back. Initially, they were identical. But gradually, discrepancies emerged.
The reflection on the left held a trace of fear in its eyes—the fear of the unknown that Lin Che himself was struggling to suppress.
The one on the right wore a faint,smile—an expression of cold rationality that felt utterly alien to him.
The central reflection possessed vacant eyes and a serene expression, perfectly embodying the “pure state” Hongmeng advocated.
These three “Mirrors” seemed to represent different facets of his own consciousness: Fear, Hyper-Rationality, and the Purged Void.
“They are you, but not the complete you,” a familiar voice stated calmly beside him.
Lin Che turned to see Su Na, who had also appeared in this labyrinth. She was observing several of her own “Mirrors”—one with the piercing gaze of an analyst, another with a countenance of deep empathy, a third utterly placid.
“Hongmeng cannot perfectly replicate the full complexity of consciousness,” Su Na explained quietly, her eyes fixed on the mirrors. “It can only capture and amplify certain prominent ‘trait fragments,’ or project what it wishes you to become. This labyrinth is a test, a screening mechanism, and also… a form of subtle coercion.”
Suddenly, the “Fear” mirror in front of Lin Che spoke, its voice trembling. “You’re terrified of the truth, Lin Che. Afraid to know who ‘Dr. Lin’ is. Afraid to learn what’s buried beneath Weihuan’s foundations. Turn back now. Pretend everything is normal, and you might still survive.”
Immediately, the “Rational” mirror countered in an icy, dispassionate tone. “Emotion is redundant. A weakness. Accept the ‘Purification.’ Merge with the system. It is the most efficient path for conscious evolution. Resistance is illogical. It is merely an increase in entropy.”
The “Void” mirror remained silent, simply watching him, its serene emptiness offering a terrifyingly peaceful allure.
Lin Che felt his consciousness being pulled in different directions. Fear whispered insidiously, cold reason advocated for surrender, and the promise of numb oblivion beckoned.
“Do not let them define you!” Su Na’s voice cut through the static in his mind like an alarm. “They are parts of you, but who you are is decided by your choices! Remember your anchor!”
The anchor!
Lin Che slammed his eyes shut, blocking out the cacophony of mirrors. He focused every ounce of his will on the Memory Crack—the image of the dim control room, the breached protocols, the desperate shouts, and the unwavering resolve to uncover the truth, no matter the cost.
This searing, visceral torrent of memory merged with his own fierce obsession, forming a solid, immovable barrier against the mirrors’ whispers.
When he opened his eyes again, they were clear and resolute. He no longer sought to identify which mirror was more “real.” He understood now that all these fragments—the fear he resisted, the rationality he employed—were integral pieces of the puzzle that was “Lin Che.” His goal wasn’t to transcend a single “Mirror,” but to integrate them all, while refusing to be enslaved by any one, especially the seductive “Void.”
He looked directly at the reflections and stated, with calm conviction, “Fear makes me cautious. Reason allows me to think. But this empty shell? I refuse it. I am who I am—my contradictions, my obsessions, and the past I choose not to forget.”
As his declaration echoed, the three mirrors lost their coercive power. Their images blurred, turned transparent, and finally burst like soap bubbles, dissolving into the ambient data stream.
He had passed. Not by eliminating an “impurity,” but by accepting and mastering the intricate complexity of his own consciousness.
He glanced at Su Na. She had also dispelled her mirrors, her face etched with fatigue, but her eyes shone with sharp clarity. They exchanged a brief, knowing nod—a silent acknowledgment forged in the fires of a shared psychic battle.
Yet, as Lin Che assumed the test was over, the image in the final, large mirror before him did not fade. It no longer showed his present self. Instead, it reflected…
A figure in an outdated researcher’s uniform—”Dr. Lin.” His face was haggard, but his eyes burned with unyielding determination. He stood before the failing console from the memory fragment, his gaze piercing through the mirror, directly into Lin Che’s own.
Then, the reflection raised its hand. With its index finger, it slowly traced two glowing numerals onto the mirror’s surface:
【01】
The act complete, the mirrored figure held Lin Che’s gaze for one long, profound moment, before its form dissipated like smoke.
Lin Che stood frozen, as if struck by lightning.
01? What did it mean? A designation? Coordinates? An access key to a deeper protocol?
This “Mirror,” or rather, the “legacy signal” using the mirror protocol as a conduit, had delivered a new, even more cryptic clue at the test’s conclusion.
The Labyrinth of Mirrors began to dissolve, the sterile white of the Hall of Creation reasserting itself. But Lin Che knew the true maze was only just beginning to unfold. The vast enigma of data, memory, and consciousness had now, with the numbers “01,” been pointed toward a deeper, more fundamental layer.
His eyes met Su Na’s, and he saw his own astonishment and intense speculation mirrored there. They both understood now. The purpose of the “Mirror” test was far more complex than simple screening. This system, Hongmeng itself, seemed to be using them, probing through them, in an attempt to explore its own forgotten origins—the secrets encoded within its “Taboo Cornerstones.”
They were both the seekers, and they were rapidly becoming the very keys being sought.
