Don't go to the moon, there are gods on the far side of the moon.

There are 29 minutes left until 3:17.

All the nodes remember that moment had already happened.

The hospital nurses remember the door to the shaded ward opening inward at 3:17, with a faceless duty officer standing behind it; the exhibition hall staff remember the model cabinet popping open by itself, with a section of Mount Buzhou missing from inside; the security guard on the roof of Tianheng Building remembers the warehouse door rising, with the removed balancing lamps neatly arranged in a row; and the recorder of the lunar far side lighthouse remembers a black door frame crossing the Earth-Moon boundary, casting a shadow that is not illuminated by light.

Every memory carries the lingering feeling of "it's too late".

The main control cabin's electronic clock shows 2:48.

Qin Lan first had all the countdown screens covered, leaving only a mechanical clock that wasn't connected to the internet, which was then guarded by a time observer.

Others don't act according to a schedule; they act according to what's at hand.

The technician asked, "If they're not standardized, how can the nodes synchronize?"

"The most dangerous thing tonight is synchronization."

Time, which is supposed to be the most neutral thing, has now become a doorknob. As long as everyone waits together for 3:17, that one minute will receive more collective attention than any key. Those on the outside don't even need to order anyone to open the door; they just need to convince everyone that others are waiting too.

Wen Zhaolin said, "The unification of time is itself a form of calibration."

"Therefore, stagger the peak times," Qin Lan ordered. "The clocks at all nodes will be staggered, but the deviations will be registered publicly to avoid creating secret times."

The hospital's mechanical clock is set two minutes fast, the exhibition hall's clock is five minutes slow, the western suburbs retain standard time, the Tianheng duty roster is shifted back three minutes, and the moonlit lighthouse doesn't use a clock face, only a delayed transmission is observed. The deviations at each location are written on paper and posted where the duty officer can see them.

This is not about deceiving the outside world, nor is it about making people forget the real time.

It is to prevent "3:17" from becoming a command for everyone to step forward together.

Each node has its own action anchor point: the hospital is based on the next round of dressing change, the exhibition hall is based on the cleaning truck passing through the east gate, the western suburbs are based on the water boiling, and the Tianheng is based on the security guard finishing eating instant noodles.

The security guard looked down at the bucket: "It's clumped together."

"Even if it's crumbly, we'll still eat it."

Lu Chengong couldn't help but laugh out loud. A few laughs followed in the tense channel. It wasn't that he was underestimating the danger, but if 3:17 wanted to become a divine oracle, he would first have to be on the same list as a bucket of lumps of noodles.

The toolbox was moved to the center of the main control room and was not connected to any external links.

Lin Jibai could only see the small screen inside the box and a corner of light, so he didn't know what time it was.

"Don't tell me," he said, "so it won't try to get a vote from me."

The medical officer reported the stability level as "41".

"Or?" Xiaoman asked.

"still."

Xiaoman didn't ask why it wasn't rising; she simply placed a hot towel under the condensate inlet of the box and filled out the care form as usual. Lin Jibai was awake and able to speak, but he was still trapped in the box. Reality wouldn't automatically take care of the protagonist just because it was a critical moment.

At 2:55, the first batch of advance reactions appeared.

The hospital access control motor started vibrating; the sound of springs tightening came from inside the exhibition hall model cabinet; the lock on the western suburb door heated up; and a delayed light path of the moon's far side lighthouse shortened by seventeen milliseconds on its own.

They seem to remember what they were supposed to do at 3:17.

The gate in the western suburbs didn't have an electronic lock, so Zhou Jianguo simply rummaged through the repair cabinet and pulled out a mechanical bolt. The bolt was an old-fashioned cast steel piece; after being pushed all the way in, it had a cotter pin inserted. It didn't accept remote commands and couldn't read any identity.

Chen Rui squatted down by the door and asked, "Should I plug it in?"

"Explain your reasons first," Xu Wangshu reminded him.

Chen Rui glanced at the thermometer: "The door lock continues to heat up, posing a risk of it tripping on its own. The mechanical limit switch wasn't installed because I remember the door could be opened."

Zhou Jianguo repeated the instructions, and the two of them pushed the pin into the slot together. The cotter pin was inserted by the observer. Each of the three people completed only one step, and none of them signed for the non-existent Cheng Mo.

As the latch clicked shut, there was a very light scraping sound from behind the door.

Someone tried it with their fingernail.

Zhou Jianguo didn't curse or whisper in his ear; he simply reported, "The mechanical latch is in place, the red paint lines are aligned, and the door hasn't moved."

Xu Wangshu demanded that all nodes only report the current state, not the mental images. The door lock's angle, the spring tension, the optical path deviation—a series of specific values ​​pushed the shared future back to a position where it hadn't yet occurred.

Lu Chengong, carrying the broken bow on his back, stood guard by the main control cabin door, and suddenly frowned.

"I remember now. I'll shoot at 3:17."

He remembered drawing his bow, the arrow piercing through the western suburbs, the hospital, the exhibition hall, and the moonlit lighthouse, nailing all the doors to the same line. That arrow would prevent the doors from opening and would also complete the most precise node alignment for the outside.

"Put the bow down," Qin Lan said.

"What if it really opens?"

"Once it's truly opened, let your future self judge. Don't let future memories draw the bow for your present self."

Lu Chengong laid the broken bow flat on the ground, not handing it to anyone else. Handing it over might be another form of authorization. He spread his hands: "Record. I wanted to shoot, but I didn't."

At 2:59, Wen Zhaolin requested to enter the main control room. He said that only he could revoke the old authorization issued at 3:17.

Qin Lan asked, "You remember you'd come?"

Wen Zhaolin was silent for a moment, then said, "Yes."

"Then stay."

"What if I'm the only one who can leave?"

"This statement convinced you once ten years ago."

In the remote view, Wen Zhaolin put the access card into the transparent box and stepped back behind the inspection station.

"I stayed."

At 3:03, the DreamNet rehearsal started automatically.

No one fell asleep. Yet, a short dream flashed before the eyes of all those online: clocks, one after another, struck 3:17; a hospital nurse, having finished pushing her medicine cart, stopped right in front of the door; a cleaning truck at the exhibition hall, swerving around a puddle, bumped into a model display case; the kettle in the western suburbs tripped, and Chen Rui reached to unplug it, his cuff catching on the mechanical pin; a security guard at Tianheng finished the last bite of his noodles, and as he looked up, the balancing lights simultaneously came on.

Mengwang did not allow them to violate any arrangements.

It simply rehearses every daily task as a route to the door.

After the dream ended, there were no screams on the channel. Xu Wangshu spoke first: "Report your body movements."

The hospital staff reported: "My hand was on the handrail of the medicine cart, but the cart didn't move."

Exhibition Hall: "The cleaning truck is parked at the east gate, eleven meters away from the model display case."

West Suburbs: "The latch is intact, and no one has touched the kettle."

Tianheng: "I have the chopsticks in my hand, and there's still half a mouthful of noodles left."

Just because something happened in a dream doesn't mean it happened in reality; and everyone dreaming of the same movement pattern doesn't constitute cross-evidence.

Qin Lan immediately cancelled the original action anchor point. The hospital dressing change was taken over by another group, the exhibition hall cleaning vehicle locked its wheels in place, the water bottle was no longer used in the western suburbs, and Zhou Jianguo verbally described the red paint line on the manhole cover, and the Tianheng security guard could not eat the last bite.

The security guard stared at the instant noodles: "Can I refuse?"

"Yes. Daily tasks are not oaths."

He put down his chopsticks: "Then I refuse to eat."

A notification immediately popped up on the public channel.

[The Tianheng node has responded: Feeding is complete.]

Everyone fell silent.

The security guard's refusal was interpreted by the system as a response. He did not complete the action, but the system interpreted "refusal to continue" as confirmation of the procedure.

Xu Wangshu immediately requested that all "Yes/No" and "Completed/Incomplete" buttons be disabled and replaced with an open feedback system that only displays currently observable facts.

"Refusal is not consent, nor is it consent in the opposite direction," she said. "Refusal simply means not to answer this time."

The printer, however, printed out a line of small print on its own:

Those who refuse to bear witness have already witnessed their own refusal.

The outer side begins to treat the boundary itself as material.

At 3:07, the public channel stopped displaying the number of online users and who was ready to finish. Each node could only see their own current task and a help button. Not seeing the orderly queue increased loneliness, but it didn't push them forward with the feeling of "everyone else is ready, only you are left."

Xiaoman asks Lin Jibai if he wants her to stay with him alone (audio).

"No need," Lin Jibai said. "I'll just keep the daily reports and listen to their complaints."

So all that's left on the channel are fragments of daily life.

A hospital nurse said the tape on bed six was stuck to her gloves again; the exhibition hall staff said the mop wheel had caught her hair; Zhou Jianguo said Chen Rui forgot to bring tea leaves; the security guard said the noodles were too salty; the lunar recorder checked the previous shift's records and found that "threshold" had been written as "fish value".

"Who wrote the value of the fish?" Lin Jibai asked.

The voice from the other side of the moon said, "Anonymous, no consequences."

"I suggest keeping it."

Xu Wangshu tapped on the box: "Say less."

These daily reports lacked a unified rhythm; some were fast, some slow, interspersed with the beeping of cleaning trucks reversing. The sense of synchronizing the moment, where everyone held their breath in anticipation, gradually dissipated.

At 3:11, a silent notification appeared in everyone's field of vision.

Prepare to witness what has already happened.

No one confirmed, and no one clicked reject.

Qin Lan asked everyone to rewrite it directly: We only report the current facts, we do not witness the future, we do not witness implanted memories, and we do not answer for others.

After the notification disappeared, the printer in the corner automatically printed out an accident report.

The West Suburbs Gate opened.

The hospital doors opened.

The exhibition hall doors opened.

The dark portal on the far side of the moon completes the mapping of the ground.

Cheng Mo was not listed as the person in charge; instead, it was written as "all witnesses".

Xu Wangshu tucked the paper into the evidence bag: "It doesn't need a doorman anymore."

Xiaoman understood: "It wants everyone to remember that the door was opened."

An individual's memory can be verified, or it can be deferred. If each point in the chain of events contains the same memory, people will treat the mutual corroboration as fact. You remember, I remember, and so the door that has not yet been opened will be established in the testimony first.

Around 3:16, the clocks in various locations displayed different numbers. The only standard mechanical clock was covered with a cloth by the time observer. No one chimed the seconds.

The hospital is short a pack of cotton swabs, and the nurse turns to the locker; the exhibition hall cleaner complains that the floor is never clean enough; the Tianheng security guard pushes the remaining half of a bowl of noodles away; the moon's far side lighthouse transmits a delayed record; the western suburbs observer stares at the red paint line on the mechanical latch.

There was another scramble behind the door.

The latch didn't move.

It was 3:17.

No one cheered.

Qin Lan demanded that all nodes remain in their current state for three minutes, and were not allowed to approach the door for inspection simply because they had "successfully" completed the task. The subsequent review might also be rehearsed by Mengwang as a make-up exercise.

Three minutes later, the door seal, manhole cover, box, latch, and optical path were confirmed to be intact.

Xiaoman leaned over the toolbox: "Brother, it's done."

Lin Jibai asked, "What's over?"

"It's nothing," she said, wiping away her tears and smiling. "It's just your yogurt's expiration date."

"Then apply for a discount."

Just as Xu Wangshu was about to shut down the temporary channel, the printer suddenly started up again.

Instead of an accident report, it produced a duty roster statement for the following day. The date, name, and expected actions were already filled in, awaiting only the signature of the person in charge.

The first line belongs to Xu Wangshu.

[Tomorrow at 03:17, I will remember that the door opened again.]

There is an even smaller line of text below.

[Refusal to sign is also considered as acceptance of the response.]

There are 160 seconds left until 03:17.

Qin Lan did not start the countdown. A countdown would cause everyone to wait for the same moment simultaneously, and synchronization itself could become a necessary collective action on the outside.

Each node obscures the precise seconds, leaving only the local mechanical clock with a deliberate offset of a dozen seconds.

"It gives us a time," Xu Wangshu said. "Don't turn that time into a ritual."

Public channels are not allowed to confirm in unison.

The hospital reported the IV drip rate, the western suburbs reported the temperature of the six bolts, the exhibition hall reported that half of the instant noodles were left, and the moonlit lighthouse reported that valve number three was normal.

None of these points mention the door; each one proves that the person is still in their own reality.

Lin Jibai's stability level dropped to 39. Using all past maintenance records, Zero assigned him a new position: Chief Duty Officer.

[Border maintainers should complete general confirmation by 03:17.]

Xu Wangshu covered the screen with black tape, leaving only the small flashlight controlled by Lin Jibai.

"You don't need to provide a solution."

A muffled voice came from inside the box: "Dr. Xu, medical treatments are increasingly resembling fixing a leak."

"As long as it works."

"Is the adhesive tape reimbursed?"

"Shut up."

At the same time, all nodes experienced the illusion that the door locks had popped open. Some people reached for the keys, some stood up half a step, only to be pulled back by a mundane question from someone nearby.

"Has the medication for bed number three been changed?"

"Have you taken photos of the manhole cover?"

"Have you sent the video of your daughter?"

"The instant noodles are all soggy, are you still going to eat them?"

In the dream network, Xiaoman saw countless doors forming a corridor. Behind each door, a nurse entered an empty ward, Chen Rui lifted a manhole cover, Wen Qingyue entered the authorization vault, and Lu Chen shot an arrow at the black door frame.

Deep inside, Lin Jibai stood in a frame without a door, a gray name tag hanging on his chest: Chief Duty Officer.

The thing asked, "What if the door is broken and no one's on duty?"

Tears welled up in Xiaoman's eyes, but she answered clearly, "Bad."

The door frame shook.

"It can be repaired, but no one can stand inside forever."

In reality, a toolbox flashlight will emit three short and two long flashes.

I can hear it.

When 03:17 arrived, there was no broadcast, no slogans, and no one pressed the confirmation button for humanity.

The main control cabin door handle automatically presses down to the bottom.

The door was not opened.

Qin Lan had already had the electronic linkage removed, leaving only a mechanical latch that had to be manually lifted from the inside. The outside had the authority to operate, but there wasn't a single physical hand on it.

A voice numbered zero sounded from outside the door: "Please prove you are inside."

No one answered. They continued reporting IV drips, bolts, instant noodles, videos, and valves.

The gray figure on the access control screen gradually became transparent.

The global record of abnormal memories suddenly flipped to the next page.

[03:17, the human world has refused to open the door.]

[Refusal can be used as confirmation from inside the door.]

Xu Wangshu's expression changed drastically: "It's turning rejection into an answer."