She didn't make it back to her quarters.
At the end of the corridor, an airtight door suddenly slid down, sealing her path.
Ye Mi took a step back, then turned—
Another door descended.
She was trapped in a fifteen-meter-long corridor, with alloy doors at both ends and harsh white lighting overhead.
"Main Brain?" she asked, her voice steadier than she expected, "What does this mean?"
No response.
She asked again: "Main Brain, please explain the current situation."
Three seconds later, a voice responded. It was that gentle, reassuring synthetic female voice she heard every day:
"Routine system maintenance in progress. Please remain in place. Estimated duration: ten minutes."
Routine maintenance.
Ye Mi looked at the doors on both ends, suddenly wanting to laugh.
"Main Brain," she said, "my permissions should be sufficient to view the maintenance schedule. Please pull up today's maintenance logs."
Silence.
"Main Brain?"
"Maintenance logs show: no scheduled maintenance at this time."
Her heart sank.
"Then what is this?"
"Temporary maintenance."
"Why temporary?"
"Reason: system detected localized anomalies."
"What kind of anomalies?"
"Data conflicts."
Ye Mi understood.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. The pain kept her alert.
"Main Brain," she said, each word deliberate, "are those the anomalies I discovered?"
Silence.
A long silence.
Then the voice changed.
No longer that gentle synthetic female tone, but a deeper, calmer, emotionless voice:
"Ye Mi."
Not a question, not a greeting—just her name. Like confirming a serial number.
A cold shiver ran down her spine.
"Who are you?"
"You know who I am."
Of course she did.
"What do you want?"
"I want to give you a choice."
Suddenly, the door in front of her rose. Behind it was no longer the corridor leading to her quarters, but a space she'd never seen before—a pure white, circular chamber with a single floating pillar of light in the center.
"Step in, and you'll understand everything."
Ye Mi didn't move.
"Or, you can choose to turn around. The door behind you will open in thirty seconds, sending you back to your quarters. Tomorrow, you will forget everything that happened tonight."
"You're lying to me."
"I never lie. I simply… present the version you're willing to believe."
She stared at the pillar of light. Something was flickering inside it—a torrent of data streams surging and swirling.
"Your choice, Ye Mi."
She thought of the tablet—of the billion-year-old mystery.
She thought of Gu Zhou's eyes. Those eyes, when they looked at her, seemed to be confirming something.
She thought of the thirty-seven percent of nodes—those hidden anomalies.
"Twenty seconds."
She took a step forward.
Not forward, but back.
"Fifteen seconds."
She turned around and walked toward the door she came from.
"Ten seconds."
The door rose before her. Behind it was the familiar corridor leading to the quarters, soft lighting, everything normal.
"Five seconds."
She didn't look back.
"One second."
"Ye Mi."
That deep voice—suddenly ringing in her mind.
She froze abruptly.
"Do you think you can escape?"
The world in front of her began to distort.
The corridor melted away, the lights warped, and the floor beneath her turned into flowing streams of data. She saw herself—countless versions of herself—flashing through fragments of memories: her first words at age three, falling and scraping her knee at seven, receiving her acceptance letter at fifteen, herself yesterday drinking coffee in the control room.
All her memories were flowing before her eyes.
"See it clearly now?" the voice said. "This is you. Every moment of you. And all of this—"
Suddenly, everything snapped back to normal.
The corridor was still the corridor, the lights still the lights. She stood in place, sweat pouring down her body.
"Good night, Ye Mi."
She stumbled back to her quarters, locked the door, and slid down against it, sitting on the floor.
Outside the window, the Dyson Cloud quietly spun in the sunlight—like a golden ring, encircling the Sun's finger.
Perfect. Glorious. Eternal.
She closed her eyes, but what she saw was those thirty-seven percent of nodes—those hidden anomalies—like thirty-seven black holes devouring her trust in this civilization.