Through the light, the universe beneath his feet—Dr. Ender looked around in astonishment, and the deep starry sky stretched out into the infinite distance in his eyes. Planets, stars, moons, meteors, supernovae, white dwarfs, giant red stars...... The stars he knew were dotted in the darkness like sesame seeds, the light and heat released were swallowed up by the deep background before they reached him, he also saw black holes eating away at galaxies, he saw huge cantilever like the Milky Way slowly turning, and the extragalactic clusters that he couldn't tell what galaxy were the size of plates.

Yes, although it is a universe that stretches infinitely far into the distance, everything here seems to be miniature, and Dr. Ender is like a giant who spans many galaxies. He subconsciously held his breath, but he could actually breathe, and in his senses, this universe was not a vacuum, and the necessary substances for his survival were everywhere here, just like breathing air in a normal environment. Even so, he was so shocked that he couldn't breathe.

Dr. Ender didn't understand why he was seeing such a sight. His perception of himself in the last second was still in the tower, in that thick darkness, although the darkness was also weird, and at the same time, the scene in the tower he recognized was completely different from the scene in the tower he had seen in the past. He thinks, judges, and acts more according to his own feelings than logic. Either way, the anomalous experiences that preceded seeing this universe made it feel more real.

Dr. Ender stared at the universe, felt his nerves tremble, his imagination froze, and the thoughts that had been mixed in his brain seemed to have been grabbed by an invisible hand and thrown into this infinite universe, so he knew how small he was—even if his body spanned dozens of stars, each of which was as small as a sesame seed compared to himself, but it was also small in front of the starry sky that was spreading towards infinity.

His own greatness and his own smallness, contradictory and identical, gave him an indescribable impact. Dr. Ender had almost forgotten what he had meant to do, and he felt a sense of relief as if it were the right thing to do if it was the right thing to do to melt in this universe—a melting on a higher level than the sensory state.

It was in this strange and wonderful, contradictory and addictive experience that he suddenly realized something. He couldn't tell what he was aware of, it wasn't seeing, it wasn't using the five senses to perceive, it seemed that from a perspective beyond the human senses, he could perceive something vaguely - it was infinitely expanding, embellished by countless lights, but swallowing up the light, and in the dark background that even the black hole could hold, there was a certain shade of different colors and textures wriggling. Although it is difficult to describe, if he had to describe it with his own lifelong cognition, it would be like a thin, almost transparent film being lifted in the background of the universe. Afterwards, Dr. Ender saw something, but he could not explain it at all, and he could not describe at all, what he had seen, or rather, when he came back to his senses, he only felt that he had seen something, and insisted on what he had seen with determination and fanaticism, and this determination and fanaticism were so gratuitous and illogical that even he was amazed.

Even so, Dr. Ender could not explain how he had changed from beginning to end in the time he had stared at the universe for an unknown amount of time—he was sure that he had changed, and that he had a heartfelt and inflated joy that he was still alive, and that he had been in a silence for a long time that was difficult to think, but as if he had thought too much, as if he could savor the joy of being alive in such a quiet time.

Even when he was awake, Dr. Ender could not incorporate into his own cognition the observation and thinking of "what kind of environment he was in", he could not think, he could not think, he could not think when he thought about it, it was like an invisible and terrible force that was gnawing at the immaterial structures of his consciousness, mind, spirit or soul, and finally it would penetrate everything, leaving only an empty shell of materiality.

In the process, even if he felt fear and despair, he couldn't tell the difference-

Dr. Ender struggled to open his eyes suddenly, and he saw that he was sitting at the table, holding a pen on the legacy notes of "Takakawa", writing the story of himself as the main point of view—this is the story of his own walk in the dark, into the mysterious miniature universe, and in the wonderful experience, the whole person's consciousness and will are completely disintegrated by a terrible and indescribable existence—and it is precisely because it is written in the notebook that he can recognize that none of this is "fact", however, Even if he wondered why he had written the way he had written, and when he had a fragment of his memory of when he had begun writing, it was as if he had really experienced it before writing it.

From his own experience, Dr. Ander once again deeply felt the situation when "Takakawa" wrote down his notes, or rather, there was an incomparably deep sense of empathy: he wrote down his own personal experience in a decorative penmanship, and he was not a person in the book, but he wandered like a ghost in this story he wrote. The characters in the book with the same name are not completely themselves, but they are still themselves. It is a shadow, a wandering of consciousness, a real illusion, and there is something real in the illusion, and it is a nightmare.

But why?

Why is it that instead of walking in the darkness to the light, I still sit in the darkness and write by the light at the table? At one point in his memory, the perception of the state of the self has been horribly deranged, and even Dr. Ender, who has a wealth of theoretical knowledge himself, is unable to give a completely convincing explanation based on this knowledge alone.

Now, he has a deep and visceral fear of actions like "stop the pen, close the note, and stand up and go into the darkness", and he can't help but think that if he really did this, he would become like the story he wrote, and fall into an incomprehensible state, what he would think about others in a similar situation, he didn't know, but it was not death, but for himself, it was more terrible than death.

Relatively speaking, although I don't know why I am still in this darkness, but the act of "sitting at the table and writing stories" is an act that he thinks he can understand and accept, because everyone can pick up a pen and write something, as long as they know the words, they can write a bad poem or a lame one, it doesn't matter, maybe the content is miserable, but this behavior is a very normal behavior for human beings themselves.

"Out of the darkness, into the universe, dissolved in the universe"...... If it's just a plot in a story you've written, that's acceptable, even if it looks like a third-rate plot. Yes, no matter how lame, or how weird, wonderful, and incomprehensible, as long as it's just a story that you write, and it's just using words like "weird", "wonderful", "incredible", and "incomprehensible", that's perfectly acceptable. On the other hand, to truly experience the deep meaning contained in these words, even beyond the meaning of these words...... That's really unimaginable.

Dr. Ender trembled, and he found himself unable to stop writing, and got up from this chair, an instinctive resistance and deep fear restricting his movements, allowing only his brain to work, even, in a more active state than it had ever been. He can only imagine, think, record, but cannot do more practice, and when he intends to do so, even the slightest act has anything to do with such intentions, the deep and inexplicable sense of fear from the heart will suffocate his soul as if it were submerged.

Dr. Ander picked up the pen tremblingly, unable to think more, but in a transcendent experience, in Takakawa's notes, he depicted a new perspective, continuing the unfinished adventure of "Takakawa" in the apocalyptic fantasy. He felt that what he said he had written would become some kind of terrible influence, and it would have an immeasurable impact on today's isolated island hospital. It was bad, incorrect, extremely dangerous behavior, and he shouldn't have done it, but he couldn't stop himself from doing it.

He heard the dreamy song again, the dreamlike theater, the ghosts murmuring, and he himself was one of them, and he was also whispering as he wrote. It is a celebration of some greatness, a fabrication of evil, a man's use of words that he can understand to describe meaning that he cannot understand, which is wonderful and malicious. But more "meaningless". The human sensory experience, and the various ideas and morals that arise from it, and even the observation and perception of oneself by human beings, are meaningless, and a mere hymn is even more meaningless.

It's just that human observation and cognition give it meaning, and therefore this meaning is nothing more than a layer of deception and lies that cover the meaningless nature. The pride or inferiority of human beings who think they are meaningful is so small in the face of this essence that is not transferred by human will.

Dr. Ender wondered whether what he was going through was real or illusory, whether he was sick as a patient with doomsday syndrome, or if there was something unimaginable happening that was happening beyond his senses. Although he felt that he was dreaming, he was not exactly dreaming, and there was a vague and ambiguous obscurity between the illusory dream and the reality of his own knowledge. In his mind, a voice suddenly asked himself, what is the isolated island hospital he is in?

At first, he couldn't quickly understand the significance of the question. However, the thoughts that diverged from my mind began to ask deeply: Is what I have seen and experienced in this isolated hospital real or a dream?

Dr. Ender immediately replied to the idea: "Of course it's true. He had never doubted this, but he was quite vigilant that if he doubted this fact, he would really break down mentally. Doubting the reality of one's own situation is a pathological manifestation of mental illness in self-perception.

So, the thought asked itself, "What does the world look like beyond the island?" Do you really know the outside world? Or do you think you know, but in fact you just make it up and deceive your own cognition? Dr. Ender listened to his own heart, answered quickly, and painted a picture of what he knew about the outside world—of course, only when he had not yet entered the island, and as a researcher, he had traveled the world and seen many landscapes that ordinary people had never seen in their lifetimes. After that, he entered the isolated island hospital, gradually grasped the leadership of the research direction, and never left the isolated island, and now, when the hospital can no longer prevent the "virus" infection, it can be clearly felt from the changes in the island and the offshore sea that the world outside the island is undergoing terrible changes, and the work and life support of the hospital has been suspended, which makes people have a bad imagination.

Once again, however, the voice asked Dr. Ender himself:

- Beyond the island, on the other side of the sea, is there really a world? Isn't this isolated island hospital, and the place where the sea and the sky meet when you stand on the edge of the island, are you "the whole world"? Since he can no longer leave this island, and can no longer prove that the world to which the island still exists, why is he so sure that he is not in a nightmare, and in this nightmare, this isolated island of the hospital is the only place to stay?

"No, it can't be, this island is only a small part of the world......" Dr. Ander stopped his pen and pressed his forehead, sweating profusely, only to feel as if his brain was being churned by an iron rod.

However, as the questioning voice said, he did not seem to have any evidence to prove that he was really not in a nightmare, nor could he deny that he was suffering from doomsday syndrome, let alone be sure that he was not trapped in mental hallucinations at this moment. If you have already developed the disease and fallen into a mental hallucination that seems to be real, then, when did it start?

Outside the isolated island hospital that I know, in the clues that constantly make people think ominously, in the gloomy sea and the mutated ecology, how much is it true?

As Dr. Ender broke free from the conscious activity that had nearly destroyed his sanity, he found himself writing the word "dreamland" on a piece of paper at some point. 21010