Rebirth: Starting from Lighting Up the Tech Tree

On the morning of the third day of the conference, there were fewer people under the Weaving Tree than before.

They didn't leave. Some civilizations had been sitting under the tree since the evening of the second day, without moving. The edge of the listener's light membrane curled up slightly, as if someone had picked something up from it. The builder representative stood beside the consciousness replica of that bridge pier, without sending any signal for a long time. The observers were still suspended in the darkest place, the completely black canvas still there, but their own consciousness projections were fainter than yesterday.

Zuo Weiyang woke up leaning against a tree root. She hadn't returned to the access room yesterday, spending the night in the central consciousness space. Yu Ying had gone back and stayed overnight, then returned with a cup of hot soy milk placed beside Zuo Weiyang's lap. Zuo Weiyang didn't immediately pick it up and drink it. She looked at the people still gathered under the tree and the things that hadn't been taken away, and sat quietly for a while.

There was no closing ceremony. There were no final speeches. They were not required.

Zuo Weiyang sent a short announcement through the central authority. She said the conference was over, there would be no summary report this time, and everyone had taken what they needed. The Tree of the Web was still there, and the central authority had made copies of the items displayed by each civilization and left them under the tree. There was no need to keep them as souvenirs, because these things should have always been under this tree. The wind would keep them safe until the next conference.

Only after the announcement was sent out did the meeting place begin to truly come alive.

Zai Zai was the first to leave. He walked to the bridge pier, squatted down, and placed his palm flat on the repaired crack. The crack was slightly warm in his projected consciousness; the temperature from the moment the repairman squatted down and lit the welding torch was perfectly preserved deep within the material. Zai Zai's fingers traced the crack back and forth, then he stood up. He didn't take the physical bridge pier with him; he took only a copy of that lingering warmth. In the direction he left, a small patch of air at the edge of the tree shadows warmed slightly before returning to normal. Zuo Weiyang noted in the central log: Zai Zai took away the temperature of a crack from the few seconds the welding torch heated it. He said the temperature had no unit, but it was probably just enough for a person to squat down next to it for a short time.

When the listeners left, they took the viewer's completely black painting with them. The viewer didn't speak, but when the listener's consciousness projected a ray of light to touch the blackness, the viewer didn't refuse. The completely black canvas lit up slightly at the moment of contact, like a very brief agreement. The listeners' representatives said they wanted to try translating the wavelengths into their own language—not necessarily language, but perhaps some long segment of the luminous band. The viewer didn't reply, but they lingered longer after the listeners left, as if confirming that the completely black canvas wouldn't be misinterpreted by others. Zuo Weiyang wrote in the Central Diary that the completely black painting went to the listeners. It automatically filled itself with a sense of acceptance when it was seen. Now it's going to a civilization that speaks with light; it might reply with a letter.

The builders took away the history of that solitary, gelatinous mass. They didn't take the gelatinous mass itself, they made a replica. The builders' representative said they wanted to place a copy inside the farthest pier of the interstellar bridge, as the first pier that existed only as material and had no purpose. The pier's function wasn't to bear weight, but to provide solitude. The builders' representative added that, like that gelatinous mass, materials also need a corner. Not every inch needs to be useful.

Other civilizations also left one after another.

Before disappearing, the projection of a geometric lattice civilization left behind a small fragment of its own core's computational sequence. It was the first equation their civilization derived using the most primitive logic gates in its earliest days, later proven completely wrong, but the first half of the formula happened to be accurate in calculating the wind speed of their ancient homeland. They wrote on a piece of paper that it wasn't anything remarkable, but seeing the first half of the equation always reminded them of the winds of their homeland. Zuo Weiyang added that piece of paper to the appendix of the central log.

A civilization from deep within the crust of a rocky planet existed as consciousness waves compressed under high pressure, leaving behind a record of geological vibrations. The cycle was extremely stable. They said it was a natural frequency generated by mantle convection deep within their planet, almost perfectly coinciding with the rhythm of their language. Each time they spoke collectively, they would first listen to this frequency, equivalent to a human taking a deep breath. Zuo Weiyang also collected it.

The number of items on the light membrane under the tree is decreasing. They are not lost; they have gone to where they were meant to be.

After noon, only three things remained under the tree. The listener had taken the completely black painting, leaving the gelatinous area empty. The bridge pier was still there, but the temperature of the crack had dropped to ambient temperature. Even though he had been gone for a long time, the crack still retained the shape of his palm when he placed it there. Zuo Weiyang didn't take the bridge pier back, leaving it under the tree.

Zuo Cheng watched from the porch as the meeting ended, one by one, people walked past. The shadow of the last person stretched into an extremely long line outside the porthole. He stepped out of the porch, walked to the Weaving Tree, and stood next to Zuo Weiyang. He didn't ask if there was anything to see; he simply looked at what remained under the tree.

Zuo Cheng said that everyone who came in today left with slightly heavier pockets than when they came in. It wasn't data; it was just some small thing that happened to other people.

Zuo Weiyang said that the first Intergalactic Civilization Exchange Conference has concluded. The next one is uncertain; it might be tomorrow, or it might be a thousand years later. Anyway, the tree is still here, and the wind is still blowing.

Zuo Cheng stood under the tree for a while. He bent down and picked up a fallen leaf from where the lingering warmth still remained. The leaf was a product of his consciousness, weightless, its edges slightly warm. It sat still in his palm for a moment before dissipating. Zuo Cheng didn't say anything. He put his hand back in his coat pocket and walked back to the porch.

As evening fell, the Weaving Tree began to enter its central nighttime mode. The flow of quantum light through the branches and leaves slowed, like the slowing of a day's breath. Zuo Weiyang remained seated on a tree root, turning to the last page of the conference log.

Yu Ying brought over another cup of soy milk and placed it beside her. The temperature was just right.

Zuo Weiyang opened the Central Diary meeting section and wrote her last entry for the day. She said the meeting was over, and everyone could leave their things under the tree; she would watch over them. It wasn't about safekeeping, it was just an action. Watching meant watching the wind lift the leaves before putting them back down. Like that clump of gel on the beach, it wasn't for any particular purpose, but rather to be submerged by the tide and then remain there after the tide receded.

She closed her journal, picked up the soy milk, and took a sip. The temperature was just right, rising from the bottom of the cup to her palm. She leaned against the tree trunk and closed her eyes. The wind came in from an unknown direction, passing through the leaves of the woven tree, through the remaining small objects on the membrane of light, through the last traces before the lingering warmth dissipated.

The tree stood quietly in the wind. Light streamed slowly through the leaves. Nothing was missing at the end of the day. The things beneath the tree weren't taken away, but went to other places. A piece of cloth hung on a branch, swaying gently. The wind was still blowing. The soy milk was still in my hand. That's all. To be continued.