Inviting her.
Inviting all life forms that had just gained the right to write to contemplate questions that even the Observer Group had never considered.
“Zi Yuan, Leng Ningxue, Mr. Enoch.” She connected to three fleets simultaneously through the oath of starlight network, “How is the situation on your end?”
There was a brief delay in the communication, followed by responding voices from three directions at once:
“Silent Sanctuary has arrived!” Qingniao’s voice rang out first, with the roar of thunder tearing through the void in the background, “We’re breaking down the door! Those bastards sealed the entire sanctuary in Logic Amber, but amber can be shattered!”
“The situation in the Edge Echo Belt is more severe than expected.” Leng Ningxue’s voice remained calm, but her speaking speed had noticeably quickened.
“One-third of the echoes have completely dissipated. We are using mirror technology to salvage the remaining parts, but time is running out.”
“The structure of the Place of the First Fire... is very strange.” Enoch’s voice carried the confusion characteristic of a scholar.
“It looks like a base, but the internal space is folded, like a blueprint that has been revised countless times. We may need more time to analyze it.”
Bai Cheng nodded: “Proceed as planned. But I want to add one thing,”
She looked at the seashell in her palm, then at the words on the stone tablet:
“While executing the mission, keep an eye out for things that have been overlooked.”
“Individuals overlooked by the cleanup protocol, emotions overlooked by the evaluation system, and the... belief overlooked by the experimental framework.”
The other end of the communication fell silent for a moment.
“Are you saying,” Zi Yuan’s voice came through, the sharp sound of a long blade unsheathing clearly audible in the background, “that there are things even the Observers didn’t notice?”
“Yes,” Bai Cheng said. “Just like this hillside, and this child. He existed in the Experimental Field for three thousand years, yet never entered any records. Because he was too random, too ineffective, and didn't fit any logical model.”
She paused:
“But we found him.”
“So we must find others as well.”
“All those life forms who were overlooked, ignored, and judged to have no value, yet still exist and believe that the stars can speak.”
The communication was cut.
Bai Cheng looked back at the stone tablet. The book of commonality rotated slowly before her, its blank pages waiting for new writing.
What should she write?
Should she start with this child and continue recording those overlooked stories? Or should she track down exactly what song the stars were singing?
Or, should she go and question the Observer Group: In your three thousand years of experimentation, exactly how many truly important things have you overlooked?
The three questions circled in her mind.
And just as she was thinking, the hillside suddenly vibrated.
It wasn't an earthquake, but something deeper awakening.
It was as if this land, overlooked for three thousand years, had finally found someone willing to listen, and thus decided to release three thousand years of accumulated echoes all at once.
The writing on the stone /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ tablet began to glow.
The seashell slowly floated up from her palm.
The surrounding patterns lit up one by one, their light weaving in the air, no longer forming blurred images, but clear sounds—
It wasn't a human language, nor the song of any known civilization.
It was the song of the stars.
Bai Cheng closed her eyes.
The oath of starlight earring erupted with unprecedented light at this moment, resonating with the echoes of the hillside, the memories of the seashell, and the belief of that child looking up at the starry sky three thousand years ago.
She heard it.
She heard the song the stars were singing.
It was a song about origins.
About the original appearance of this sea of stars before the Experimental Field was established.
About the initial choices of life before rules were born.
About the most primitive, pure freedom of all existence before the concept of right and wrong was defined.
The song was very faint, yet it pierced through time and space, through the three-thousand-year barriers of the Experimental Field, through the boundaries of the Observer Group's logical models, echoing directly in the depths of her soul.
Words began to emerge automatically on the blank pages of the book of commonality.
It wasn't Bai Cheng who was writing.
It was the stars writing.
It was the song that the child believed in three thousand years ago, using her pen to write down the words they were never permitted to speak.
The first line:
“Before the experiment began, we sang freely.”
The second line:
“If you have finally learned to listen, please let the song continue to be free.”
Bai Cheng opened her eyes.
In her silver eyes, the speed at which the galaxy reversed was slow but steady.
She knew.
She knew where to go next, she knew what to write, and she knew the ultimate meaning of this long journey.
She put away the book of commonality, carefully placed the seashell back in front of the stone tablet, and then turned to walk toward the edge of the hillside.
Below the hillside were all the civilizations, all the rules, and all the defined existences established by the Experimental Field over three thousand years.
Above the hillside was the undefined song of the stars, the unrecorded belief of the child, and the original form of freedom.
And she stood in the middle.
Standing at the intersection of the overlooked and the defined.
Standing on the threshold of the past and the future.
Standing at the beginning of a new era that had just learned to listen and was about to begin singing.
“Let’s go,” she said to the dawn behind her, her voice faint yet penetrating the sea of stars like the tolling of a bell, “Go tell everyone.”
“The stars really do speak.”
“And we must start learning to—sing along with them.”
The ship's engines started.
The dawn changed course, sailing away from this hillside that had been overlooked for three thousand years.
But behind the ship, the light on the hillside did not go out.
The patterns lit up one after another, spreading from the hillside to the earth, from the earth to the starry sky, finally turning into a river of light that flowed slowly toward every corner of the Star Abyss.
Flowing toward the Silent Sanctuary, toward the Edge Echo Belt, toward the Place of the First Fire, and toward all life forms that were struggling, searching, and believing.
Flowing within the river of light was the song of the stars that had never been interrupted for three thousand years.
It was the belief that the child had never given up on.
It was the most primitive echo of freedom.
And Bai Cheng stood on the bridge, the book of commonality opening to a new page in her palm.
At the top of the page, she wrote the title of this chapter:
Echoes of the Nameless
Subtitle:
“When the overlooked becomes the key, when belief becomes power, and when the song of the stars finally finds a listener,”
“The first light of a new era will rise from the darkest oblivion.”
The ink was still wet as the pages gently closed.
As if waiting.
Waiting for all life forms that heard the song to respond to this invitation spanning three thousand years.
