On August 1, 2019, today is the submission deadline for Douban Reading's first long novel rally, and my story is still unfinished.
This is truly an unexpected outcome and has exceeded my expectations. I originally planned to kill off the protagonists one by one at the right moment to depict an irretrievable tragedy, just like the current reality, where freedom of speech, emotional life, and wallets have all reached a point of helplessness and hopelessness. But later, the story's development deviated from the outline, and a sudden burst of inspiration created a series of new characters and corresponding situations, which also brought new directions to the story. The story thus slipped out of my control, extending beyond my plans, becoming an endless curse.
I thought it was time to create an unexpected disaster to destroy the world of the story, but that might seem like a sudden rush to finish—despite the fact that this suspicion points to an undeniable truth. I think, no matter what, the ending will probably be as sudden as the death of the Night King; however, fortunately, my previous descriptions did not have the grand and profound buildup of "Game of Thrones," so it shouldn't feel too abrupt to end.
But I couldn't find any novel operations. God's punishment? That's an old trope from the Bible. A century earthquake? That's already a cliché. A meteorite landing? Even dinosaurs knew that. Accidental poisoning or plague? That's really bland. Collective suicide due to mental breakdown? That's just a lowbrow taste. I can't just find a teenage girl assassin to bring about the conclusion, can I?
I sat in front of the monitor, trying to pinpoint a seemingly reasonable sudden ending, when I suddenly noticed a red dot in the upper right corner of the browser page. It was a notification from Douban; I had received a Douban mail.
Hello, Insect Wanderer～
I am Yi Wolin, an editor at Douban Reading. We noticed that your rally novel “Quantum Magician” is still unfinished. Would you be interested in trying our story-generating AI? It can help you analyze previous texts and quickly generate a reference ending, which you can modify and then publish. If you think it’s feasible, click here.
Such an operation exists? I had heard of AI that could generate stories before; it seems it can indeed analyze previous texts through certain predictive algorithms to continue the story. So I replied:
Your name is really strange.
I waited a few minutes without receiving a reply, probably because it was the submission deadline, and the editors were busy—busy urging submissions and distributing the story-generating AI. It seems they also hope that my story and those of other authors can have reasonable conclusions.
I clicked on "click here," and a new tab opened, leading to a new page without a domain, only showing an IP address, where a user agreement was displayed.
Story Generation AI Software License and Service Agreement
Welcome to use the Story Generation AI software!
To use the Story Generation AI software (hereinafter referred to as "this software") and services, you should read and comply with the "Story Generation AI Software License and Service Agreement" (hereinafter referred to as "this agreement"). Please be sure to read carefully and fully understand the content of each clause, especially the clauses that exempt or limit liability, and choose to accept or not accept.
…………
But almost no one would really read a user agreement in full. I glanced through the first few clauses, which merely authorized this AI software to read and analyze my novel text, stated that the author should check the story generation results and be responsible for the content published finally, and promised that the analysis results would not be authorized for use by additional third parties without my consent, and other such clichés.
I dragged the mouse, checked the box at the bottom of the page saying "Agree to this agreement and start using this software," and then clicked "OK."
The computer screen suddenly flickered, but it seemed like an illusion; I took off my glasses and rubbed my eyes, wiping away a hard grain of sleep from the corner of my eye.
Putting my glasses back on, I saw a feedback dialog box asking me to choose a save location for the generated story ending document, but it had already located to my desired target location E:\OneDrive\novels\Quantum Magician, so I just clicked "Save."
When I opened the document, I found that it was actually an excellent ending, with a reasonable yet unexpected twist, genuine emotional expression from the protagonist, and even emotional hints for two supporting characters that I had not planned. The AI's ability was truly astonishing; I felt that this ending required no modifications at all. However, as an author, I couldn't accept an ending that came entirely from someone else... or something else. So I modified a few punctuation marks and added a scene description before the final confrontation.
That was it. I was very satisfied. After a bit of copy-pasting, I published the final chapter on Douban Reading. At this point, there were still eight hours left until the midnight submission deadline.
Feeling relaxed, a joyful sensation arose in my abdomen, as if I had shed a burden and was about to start a brand new life. I took a popsicle from the fridge and happily nibbled on it on the balcony while gazing at the girls in short skirts on the distant road; it was a beautiful summer scene.
After enjoying the refreshing sweetness, I returned to my computer desk, planning to play an hour of "The Witcher 3"—I had been playing intermittently for half a year, and I was still doing side quests in Velen and Novigrad, without looking for a ship to Skellige.
I rummaged through the cabinet for the controller and then closed the browser and Typora. When I was about to open Steam, I noticed something new on my desktop—a desktop plugin displaying a countdown timer.
It hung below Rick and Morty's spaceship, blending into the environment with the color scheme of the desktop wallpaper.
But I still noticed it. The countdown plugin was a hexagram connected to a rectangular box. The hexagram displayed a larger number "7" in the center, while the rectangular box showed the shortening time "08:02:53." It looked like the countdown would end exactly at midnight tonight, which is tomorrow's zero hour, the submission deadline for Douban Reading's long novel rally.
What is this? I naturally thought of the story-generating AI software I had just used, feeling some dissatisfaction and a sense of anger and betrayal—I had always believed that Douban, unlike other internet companies, would not arbitrarily install malicious software on my computer.
I right-clicked on the countdown to try to find its installation path to completely remove it.
The response was the same as when I right-clicked on the desktop. It seemed as if it was merely part of the desktop, rather than a rogue program parasitizing my computer.
The disguise was truly clever. A surge of anger rushed to my head.
"Idiot!" I couldn't help but curse.
08:00:00
I saw the number in the hexagram suddenly change from "7" to "6."
07:59:59
This meant that the number in the hexagon was one less than the hour number on the right side of the countdown. Based on the current situation, I could only summarize this pattern. But this setting seemed meaningless. I was curious about what those engineers at Douban were thinking: was this based on some reference I didn't understand?
Then I realized that my mood seemed to have calmed down a lot, as if I had lost some intense emotion. I gave up on uninstalling this plugin, guessing that it would probably disappear automatically after the countdown ended.
I opened Steam and started playing a game, but I didn't start "The Witcher 3"; instead, I chose "Kenshi." I remembered playing it continuously for several days a long time ago, and I recalled that my principle at that time was to only recruit female team members, even choosing only female pack animals, because I wanted to build a matriarchal society in that wasteland. After playing for a few days, I had trained the initial three female team members into powerful warriors capable of single-handedly challenging the Holy Nation patrols, but the construction work had never begun. Later, I suddenly lost interest and hadn't played the game since. Now I suddenly wanted to load the save and try building.
I dragged my team around this world looking for a foothold, always wanting to find the best location. When I finally decided to settle in the northern part of the United Cities, Catun, more than half of my planned hour of gameplay had already passed. Then I realized I should prepare building materials first, so I had to take the pack animal to the surrounding cities to buy them. These tedious operations made the game start to feel boring and reminded me that this was the reason I had suddenly lost interest in the game back then.
After buying enough materials, I was completely fed up, so I saved the game and exited; maybe I would play again in a few months when I remembered.
07:04:11
Would that number change to "5"? I was actually looking forward to it, even starting to not care that it was malicious software. I poured myself a glass of water and began to wait for the moment of change.
As expected, that number indeed changed to "5." I also began to wonder if it would continue to change to "4," then "3," "2," "1"? What would happen next? What would happen when the countdown ended? Would it announce the submission deadline or the start of the final selection activity for the long novel rally? What would happen when the number turned to "0"? Would this software delete itself?
Then I realized that this software might not come from Douban! It might even be that the previous story-generating AI was not Douban's creation!
I checked that Douban mail again.
The sender, claiming to be Yi Wolin, still hadn't replied to me. I entered his page and saw no other content that wasn't default settings, nor any other evidence proving his identity as a Douban Reading editor, and even the link he provided for the story-generating AI software was unrelated to Douban's domain.
A wave of fear hit me. My computer might have been completely infected, and I knew I had no ability to handle this situation. If that were the case, I could only reinstall the system.
But I wanted to know what would happen when this countdown ended.
I sat down in front of the screen and waited, watching the time pass second by second.
06:42:23
I enjoyed the process of waiting for the countdown, even experiencing a unique beauty in this monotonous subtle change.
06:24:17
18 is always followed by 17, without exception.
06:11:11
This is the solitary moment of seven hours on the countdown, no, it should be counted within eight hours.
06:00:00
It was time for another change. The number "5" turned into "4."
05:59:59
Almost in that second, I felt a change. A sense of loss, a sense of unfamiliarity with my previous actions in memory, a disconnection from experience, a denial of the past. What does this change signify? What does it represent?
I couldn't help but start to associate this phenomenon happening to me with the countdown, but I couldn't find a clue. It was as if I was losing something while also forgetting that experience.
Time continued to reverse.
I felt fear. I decided to temporarily shut down the computer; perhaps this could halt the program's operation.
I sat on the sofa in the living room and began to read a book I had previously fallen asleep reading, "150 Years of Modern Art," hoping to suppress my fear and a bad premonition about the future.
"The Carnival of the Clown" became a great eruption of the artist's subconscious, and I will attempt to interpret it. Taking the large green ball on the right side of the picture as an example, it represents Miró's determination to conquer the world. And the ladder with one eye and one ear, if viewed as sensory and practical means to escape this room, may suggest the artist's fear of being trapped, while the black triangle on the window resembles the Eiffel Tower, which is the landmark of Miró's dream city.
"Dream"? I wondered what that meant. These are clearly two very simple characters, but I cannot understand them. I compared my memories with the past. The feeling of fear surged again in this confusion, and I realized that this might be what was taken from me. With each decrement of the number, I would lose a type of that thing. Then I became unable to even comprehend their meaning.
That surely wasn't Douban's program! But rather something more powerful and even extraordinary.
I found the long-neglected "Modern Chinese Dictionary" in the corner of the bookshelf, trying to understand the meaning of "dream."
【Dream】mèng xiǎng ①[verb] to fantasize; to delude: This matter is impossible; don't ~ it. ②[verb] to desire: He dreamed of becoming a pilot when he was young. ③[noun] the matter of dreams: realizing one's ~.
No, still couldn't understand. Moreover, the explanation used the word "dream," which only adds to the confusion—you can't use a word to explain itself, right? Of course, I know what "dream" is, and I know what "think" is, but I just can't understand what "dream" means. I even vaguely feel that it might be a concept that humans cannot comprehend, just like I once thought I couldn't understand the concept of "infinitesimal" in a higher mathematics class. But the difference is that I know if I put in the effort, I could eventually understand "infinitesimal" like that teacher who couldn't speak Mandarin properly; yet no matter how hard I try, I cannot understand "dream." Oh my! I even used it in a poem I wrote in high school.
Fear!
I realized that something was eroding my soul.
That reversing time was not pointing to the submission deadline of the long novel rally, but rather to my moment of destruction.
I glanced at my phone; there was still more than half an hour until the next number change. I turned on the long-unused television in the living room, starting to play music to suppress the fear surging in my heart and the terrifying possible endings in my imagination.
I played a song by "SHN48," thinking that the young and cute girls dancing might ease the experience of misfortune, whether fear, sadness, or self-pity.
Change your perspective, and the view is different
No need for anyone's approval
As long as you accompany me to chase dreams, that's enough
Why haven't I met such a cute girl who likes me? It's really sad.
So fear mixed with self-pity, and I felt even sadder.
At the same time, I also kept an eye on the time. When the countdown passed 05:00:00, a minute later, I reopened the computer.
04:57:34
Sure enough, the countdown program did not terminate because the computer was shut down. The number had already changed to "3."
I shouldn't have had such unrealistic expectations from the beginning. But then again, even if I lost that so-called "dream" or something else, what does it matter? If the previous assumption is true, I would indeed lose something from my soul with each number change, so what did I lose this time?
I couldn't remember.
But it seemed to not matter.
I returned to the television to watch the girls dance.
The young bodies were full of vitality, and I felt as if I could smell the intoxicating and dizzying fragrance of youth. I couldn't help but start dancing along.
I knew my imitation was very clumsy, like a sloth imitating a canary. But I was still very happy; after all, no one was watching anyway, or even if they did, they would just invite me to dance together.
After dancing, I got tired and sat on the sofa to rest. Only then did I feel hungry; I realized I had forgotten to have dinner.
I took out the big watermelon I bought yesterday from the fridge, peeled off a circle around the stem, and then fetched a long-handled small iron spoon from the kitchen.
"Wow!" I couldn't help but exclaim, "This is really delicious!"
Watermelon is indeed meant to be eaten this way.
The intoxicating world, the charming paradise, the deafening music
Never stops, oh, never stops, hey
I danced and ate the watermelon happily, as if I had suddenly returned to my student days, but unfortunately, I was all alone here.
Lonely?
Halfway through the watermelon, I suddenly felt a wave of sadness. The girls dancing on the television became blurred shadows, no longer charming or cute.
I realized that the number had just changed again, becoming "2"; and in this change, I must have lost something again, leaving behind an uncontrollable loneliness that was amplified in my soul, becoming the dominant force surging in my heart.
I hadn't felt this way in a long time; I thought the years had given me immunity to this adolescent symptom, but loneliness is unrelated to age; it will accompany me throughout my life.
I curled up on the sofa, immersed in a single emotion, unable to break free. Why not take away my rationality and drive me crazy? Perhaps that would make me feel better.
I am all alone, an incomprehensible core wrapped in an impenetrable shell.
I am walking towards destruction; all signs point to this singular conclusion. I recalled the past in my mind but couldn't understand my actions and motivations. I saw myself talking to others, exchanging sentences that I now find difficult to comprehend.
I curled up on the sofa, forgetting the time.
Time, a concept difficult to define. Is it movement? Is it change? Is it phenomenon? Is it illusion? Where does time come from? How will it end? Does an answer exist? If it exists, can the answer be understood?
The person on the sofa sat up, stood up, and went to check the computer. The countdown on the desktop displayed "02:44:33," and the hexagram on the left showed the number "1." He checked his palm and the keyboard, seemingly trying to distinguish the difference between the two, then seemed to quickly give up and picked up a notebook from the table to flip through it. He saw a flowchart drawn on it, which was the design idea for “Quantum Magician,” but the story had long deviated from this outline.
He moved to the window to watch the night view of the city, his face calm and unperturbed. He stood there like that.
On the computer screen, the countdown continued.
02:00:00
He still stood by the window.
01:59:59
The number changed to "0." He suddenly fell to the ground, convulsing, making incoherent sounds, then began to crawl on the floor, roaring and screaming. This was a sign of madness.
The neighbors, in shock and fear, called the police. The police broke in, restrained the madman, and injected him with a tranquilizer.
"Going mad at such a young age, what a pity." He heard the neighbor's comment before losing consciousness.
He was taken to a psychiatric hospital, where he would undergo evaluation and treatment upon waking.
The police checked his room to see if the gas and water sources were turned off, eliminating all safety hazards. The police also checked his computer and saw the countdown on the desktop.
01:00:00
00:59:59
The number in the left hexagram changed from "0" to "1." The police shut down the computer.
When I woke up, I saw a white expanse, felt dizzy, and couldn't move my body. I thought it was the nightmare of "sleep paralysis"—my consciousness had awakened, but my body was still asleep. I struggled a bit, trying to wake myself up.
"You’re awake," I heard someone say, turning my head to see a doctor beside me.
"What's wrong with me? What happened?"
"Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?"
"Yesterday, you went mad."
"Impossible." I had always believed I was a rational person who wouldn't go mad, but I began to vaguely recall some fragmented memories.
"I need to do some evaluations on you," the doctor said, "It seems you not only went mad but also have amnesia."
I stayed in the hospital for a week before being granted permission to leave. The landlord had repaired the door of the rental house I lived in and naturally charged the cost to me. I opened my computer and logged into Douban, seeing the last notification from Douban Reading—I ultimately failed to complete the final ending within the required time. But that didn't matter; I still had to finish it, and now I had a very interesting idea.