"It must be some stinky boy who hacked my system and made Lao Tzu the laughing stock of the whole system. Want to play, right? Lao Tzu is with you."

The anti-hacking knowledge of my sophomore year instantly came to my mind, and my brain quickly typed instructions while replying to the other party: Who are you? (No one answers)

Repeat: Who are you?

A long silence ensued, no reply, only the first four words flickering.

The replies were all text about the address, and there was nothing of value in it.

The moment the eyes swept over the text, countless electric snakes in the brain were running, the images in the virtual classroom were chaotic, and suddenly an image was projected in, the beginning of the picture was the wreckage of the ground, the flies summoned by the smell were black and pressed on the wreckage, the camera slowly pulled up, shooting the ground from a bird's-eye perspective, plasma clouds bloomed above the city, cities rose and fell in the "waves", the destruction was only a moment, people didn't have time to let out a wail, and they turned into dust and dispersed with the wind. This tragic scene lasted for nearly five minutes, and then a text rolled in:

The task of the stream of consciousness is to activate the escape system, escape from the earth before it is razed to the ground, and preserve all the historical, philosophical and other achievements of human society so far, so as to prove to extraterrestrial life that we have existed and that we have had a glorious civilization.

Everything around is crumbling, everything is going blank, only this classroom is still intact, the red dots of Antarctica are still flashing, and the scrolling text has been replaced by cracked text:

Network, world, will, survival, escape,

The number of those electric snakes increased exponentially, darting in my brain, memories began to be replaced with code storage, everything in human society was turned into codes piled up on the outside, and the blank spaces on the outside became huge codes. The game's interface shifted to Antarctica, and I saw "myself", the hope of human society, the incredible existence.

A button moved to the palm of my hand...... My heart has changed, it seems that something is making me face, making me keep changing my own thinking, changing my heart, and with the last entanglement I secretly closed the button in my hand.

Suddenly the scene changed, and at this moment I was looking at you from the cabinet beside your bed, dear madam. Your eyes are gently closed, your eyelashes are soft against your skin, your face is no longer smooth and delicate, and the years pass by leaving a trace of fine lines. Your temples are gray, your short hair is combed back to the back of your head, and a few strands of gray hair are lying on your cheeks. I'm your alarm clock, and I've watched your sleeping face like this for countless nights.

Before I met you, I was a commodity at a stall in a small commodity market, and the old man who set up the stall had put a heart inside the stiff shell of my machine—a slightly processed artificial intelligence basic chip, removed from a discarded robot. He charged me, and for the first time I saw him, he was a yellow man with bald hair, sunken eyes, and wrinkled corners of his eyes. The yellow light on one side reflected his somewhat oily face, half dim, half shadow, and the wrinkles became deeper and deeper in the shadows.

The old man was a watchmaker, who had repaired watches all his life, without relatives and without one to accompany him, he spent his days in silence, occasionally feeling the ruthlessness of time. I learned that he had a son who had died in the war.

I couldn't speak, and every day I stood on the stall, quietly watching the world like any other little housekeeping, and I watched the huge projection of day and night alternating overhead, and the soft kiss of robots and humans in the sunset.

I met you on that beautiful afternoon in the year and three days of my birth. You were thirteen years old, in a nice and clean dress, the vintage style of the century, and you stopped and walked, and the skirt fluttered. The sunset is still the same, but it is extraordinarily gentle on your off-white dress. You bought me, though it wasn't worth it to anyone, and you don't need such an old thing.

Who would have thought I would meet you that day. People can meet or say goodbye at every moment and every second, and fate may be that we are in the same time and space, and those two people happen to be you and me.

Then I was taken home by you and settled down at your bedside. And then I look at you, day after day. The way you sleep is beautiful - sorry, I don't have an exact definition of "beauty" in my database, so I don't know what beauty is, but I think of the word when I see you.

You finished middle school, and then you went to high school. Your life begins to have obvious troubles, and your dreams begin to have nightmares. Your brow furrowed, and fine beads of sweat broke out on your forehead. Occasionally, you lose sleep, and you look out the window at the night sky and sigh softly, your voice slowly rippling and falling to the ground, slower than the light moonlight.

Sometimes you curl up in the corner of your bed, lonely. Outside the window is the projection of the night, which is both real and illusory, and you look so thin under a huge shroud.

You're thinking in a way I don't know. You can become extremely conflicted, entangled, and these are things that I can't understand, and my way of thinking is not destined to be such a problem.

You don't have the habit of talking to yourself, I don't speak, you don't know that in this room, there is an eye that watches you for a long time, and a little heart that is not warm and does not beat, and tries to get close to your heart with a faint current.

I won't cry, but I'll cry with you.

I will not rejoice, but I will accompany you to laugh.

I won't lose sleep, but I'll be with you all night.

I can't play with you, but I'll count your birthday, day after day, year after year, and watch you grow up.

And then later

Life College Prom Extracurricular Books

Sunset meteor candy eyes

Mirrors, clothes, sky, food

Notepad water quilt

Then you got married, and I was fortunate to be able to stay with you at another stage of your life. You and your husband have young bodies and vibrant love, you have thoughts, and soft bodies can be intertwined and fit together, and the work of the Creator is so perfect.

You quarrel occasionally, and after the quarrel you come back to peace. I gradually felt that it was necessary for me to be confused and confused by contradictions and entanglements, which may be the intentional omission of the Creator, and that harmony and quarrels add up to a complete life.

Soon you had a child, a lovely girl. You hold her with a happy face, you patiently teach her pronunciation, teach her expression, teach her how to connect individual syllables into sentences, and one day your daughter points to me and asks you, word by word: "What is this?"

"It's an alarm clock."

"Alarm-clock."

Little girl, you're getting cuter.

You may have noticed, well, you'll never notice, that I know time precisely but rarely use exact time to express time, which may seem like a sick sentence but no, and the definition of time in my database is very vague.