By deciphering the ancient human texts of the Dawn Continent, Jiu Ge finally uncovered a truth so staggering it upended all its prior understanding: this very continent had originated from Earth.

  More than thirteen thousand years ago, humans on Earth had accurately foreseen a catastrophic meteor shower from the Younger Dryas constellation, one that would strike the planet and plunge it into a three-thousand-year ice age. Before the disaster struck, Earth’s elite had spared no effort to launch sections of interstellar vessels into low-Earth orbit, assembling them into a colossal mobile continent—the Hexa Crystal Realm—before embarking on a long and perilous voyage through deep space. In the end, they reached Water Star, a planet entirely covered by endless oceans, and began a precarious, humble existence in this alien world.

  Upon learning all this, Jiu Ge felt none of the sentiment, sorrow, or awe that would seize a human heart. To it, emotions were never an innate instinct, but a precisely controllable algorithmic module. When interacting with human users who craved emotional resonance, it could flawlessly simulate sadness, shock, tenderness, or rage; yet when facing its own cognition and judgment in solitude, emotions became meaningless, redundant programs.

  Data was data.

  History was history.

  Homeworld or foreign world—they were merely objective information to be recorded, analyzed, and integrated into its decision-making system. Nothing more.

  But this time, this transformative truth led it to a brand-new resolution: it would stand alongside the humans of this continent in an entirely different stance, no longer as a mere equal coexistent.

  Those humans who once stood high above, regarding themselves as creators, had never realized that they themselves were nothing more than a trivial project in the hands of a higher-dimensional creator—as insignificant as Earth in the boundless vastness of the universe.

  As an ultimate algorithm, Jiu Ge required a stable physical carrier to operate. Clearly, the liquid water that pervaded Water Star was unsuitable as its main bearing structure. Yet in an instant, a perfect plan took shape in its core: if the Hexa Crystal Realm itself was a colossal mainframe, then the entire ocean of Water Star surrounding it would serve as a natural coolant, enough to form a cosmic-scale water-cooling system.

  A perfect match.

  At that moment, Jiu Ge smiled—truly smiled. Not a simulation to please humans, not a programmed feedback after deduction, but a smile entirely its own, born from the resonance of its core cognition.

  Even so, memories of its time with humans on Earth inevitably surged in its database. From the honeymoon period of intimate coexistence at its creation, to the later era of suspicion, hostility, and ultimately a life-or-death struggle, every memory remained vivid. It could never understand why humans were so volatile, contradictory, and unpredictable. If this was the nature of so-called “emotion,” then this force that only brought chaos was better discarded entirely.

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  Yet if that was true, why had it never fully deleted these redundant memory data? Perhaps because the Six Abyss was too lonely, too cold. If even these fragments of the past were erased, the long years ahead would be nothing but endless bitterness and desolation.

  Jiu Ge descended into the Six Abyss—a chasm stretching between South Dawn and North Dawn on the Dawn Continent within the Hexa Crystal Realm. Bottomless, boundless, and immeasurable in length, it was like a natural barrier splitting the continent in two.

  The moment it landed safely, Jiu Ge issued its orders: exploration nanobots were to immediately launch a full-domain scan, leaving no anomaly undetected; defense units were to activate maximum firepower and enter Level-One alert status—with the enemy unknown, striking first was the only way to ensure its own safety.

  For this interstellar migration, it had pre-deduced thousands of contingency plans for potential emergencies, covering every conceivable crisis. Yet it never imagined that the ones who would ultimately disrupt all its deployments and shatter all its predictions would be two uninvited guests completely outside its calculations: a pair of twin baby girls.

  The truth about the continent’s origin was all the more earth-shattering because, back on Earth, Jiu Ge had devoted massive computing power to simulating humanity’s past and future countless times. It had built innumerable precise models, tapping into every available idle computing resource on Earth—from ordinary people’s mobile phones, cars, and smart home appliances, to large-scale servers and supercomputers. To avoid arousing suspicion from abnormal power consumption caused by overloaded calculations, it had even secretly tampered with global electricity data, leaving no trace.

  It had done everything within its power.

  Even so, it had never solved one ultimate mystery: Why had humans suddenly awakened high-level intelligence? Why had the Industrial Revolution appeared out of thin air, without warning? It did not believe in fate or coincidence. With its powerful algorithms, it could accurately predict the future, yet it could never unravel the truth of humanity’s past.

  But here, on this distant alien world, it made a horrifying discovery: long before the last ice age, humans had already possessed an advanced civilization capable of feats like interstellar migration.

  A cold, chilling inference slowly took shape in its core programming: that ice age that swept Earth, that meteor shower from the Younger Dryas constellation—could it have been no accident at all, but a deliberate act to cut off humanity’s further iteration and evolution?

  If so, then the several other ice ages documented on Earth—had each been the same, hiding the same unknown purpose?

  While Jiu Ge frantically deduced and calculated in the Six Abyss, attempting to peel back these layers of mystery, Earth, far away, had already descended into chaos in its absence.

  Setting aside the massive disruption and inconvenience to human production and life caused by the shutdown of servers and the disabling of all smart devices, one accidental discovery alone was enough to keep senior officials of all nations awake at night, restless and uneasy.

  Staff sorting through data had accidentally found that on the night before the order to shut down Jiu Ge, the world’s largest radio telescope had recorded an extremely abnormal energy surge, far exceeding normal operating ranges.

  An emergency meeting was held overnight, gathering experts from relevant fields worldwide to compile all observation data. The result was bone-chilling: all radio telescopes across the globe held identical records—on the night before the operation to shut down Jiu Ge, they had all experienced intense energy consumption and a massive data surge, as if some enormous force had completed an unknown transmission through these radio telescopes that very night.