No. 13 still wanted to make one last attempt. "Miao, the real me is terrifying. You wouldn't like it."
"You know I don’t care about that."
If she had cared, she would have left him the moment she noticed the inhuman parts of his body.
No. 13 clearly understood this, yet he still brought it up—meaning there was something even more unsettling in the real world that Xia Miao would struggle to accept.
He lowered his head, his gaze downcast, unable to look at her.
But Xia Miao cupped his face, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I want to return to the real world."
She knew he didn’t dare look at her now—because if he did, he’d lose all his resolve and revert to that cowardly version of himself.
Xia Miao added, "You have to let me see."
No. 13 couldn’t avoid her gaze. After a long, stifling silence, his voice came out hoarse and brittle. "Miao… please don’t abandon me."
Xia Miao suddenly found herself lost in his deep blue eyes—like staring into a galaxy, only for her soul to plummet into a black hole within them. She lost control of her body, her consciousness sinking into darkness. When she opened her eyes again, everything around her had changed.
This was a space bathed in an eerie blue glow, cold and unwelcoming, with only a dimly lit passage urging her forward.
Black, viscous substances clung to the walls, pulsing as if alive, waiting to devour any intruder.
The air was damp and chilling, sending shivers down Xia Miao’s spine.
But she quickly realized—this wasn’t a habitable planet for humans. This was Sair, a world teeming with dangerous lifeforms. Yet, somehow, the air here was breathable.
And then there were the embryos—Sairian embryos that looked disturbingly human. Did this mean the natives of Sair were somehow connected to humanity?
At the end of the passage stood what appeared to be a heavy door—except it wasn’t. It was a mass of black matter, piled up like a barrier.
It seemed to be warning her: Don’t go in.
But Xia Miao said, "I’m going in."
After a long pause, the black substance writhed, slowly peeling away to reveal the deepest chamber.
A powerful instinct screamed at her to turn back.
Ignorance might have been bliss.
But humans were never purely rational creatures.
Xia Miao stepped forward, entering the shadowed space—and what she saw left her frozen in shock.
Rows upon rows of glass cylinders, each as tall as a person, stretched endlessly before her, connected by a tangled web of data cables like a dense, unending forest.
Walking among them, she felt laughably small.
She stopped, reaching out to touch one of the cold glass surfaces—but her hand passed right through it. The edges of her fingers flickered with pixelated data symbols before reforming as she pulled back.
"I’m sorry, Miao."
A massive black figure loomed behind her, its shadow engulfing her.
"I had no other way… This was the only way to keep you alive."
Inside the cylinders, suspended in green fluid, were human brains. Some remained intact, while others showed signs of decay, tainting the liquid murky.
Those were the ones who had "died" in the consciousness world.
Xia Miao didn’t turn around. She frantically searched, as if in denial.
But eventually, she had no choice.
The creature before her defied human comprehension—black carapace, exoskeleton, a tail, claws, a towering frame that exuded a grotesque yet mesmerizing brutality.
Shrouded in dim light, its details were blurred, but one thing stood out: the glass cylinder it cradled, glowing faintly green.
Among all the preserved brains, this was the only one it personally protected.
Even if she didn’t want to believe it, Xia Miao had no choice now.
She looked up, dazed. "I’m dead."
"No! You’re not!"
It bent low, its tail—capable of piercing through its own kind—now only coiled loosely around her silhouette, unable to truly hold her.
They both knew the truth: she was just a hologram now. No matter how close they were, they couldn’t feel a thing.
It refused to accept the possibility of her death even more than she did.
"Miao, you’re alive. You’re right here—in front of me, in my arms."
Back then, the wreckage of the train had been brought to Sair. But this planet wasn’t meant for humans. The oxygen levels alone—normally, humans needed between 15% to 25%, but Sair exceeded 30%.
Coupled with other inhospitable conditions, survival was impossible. Even if they escaped drifting in space, only to suffocate when the oxygen ran out, they’d still die on Sair.
To prolong their "lives" for its so-called observation project, it had no choice but to discard the unnecessary.
It was like "connecting to a network." Their brains were preserved, their consciousnesses uploaded into a shared "world," where they lived on as if nothing had changed.
The "nutrient solution" was just a psychological trick—a daily dose to suppress their subconscious doubts about the world’s authenticity.
Those who "died" in this world affected reality too. The decaying brains belonged to the ones who had perished in "accidents."
And as the "creator" of this world, it could "reset" their minds at will.
Images flashed before Xia Miao’s eyes—
The scientist who caused chaos, carrying an embryo.
Linda, the train attendant who’d lost her mind.
Jiang Jiang, who had sought her out, desperate to escape.
People always noticed something was wrong eventually. They’d try to leave the illusion, to return to reality.
But none of them knew—they could never go back.
