don't open your eyes [unlimited]

Chapter 144 Cocklebur (2)

Zero stayed on for the time being.

It's not entirely because the lollipop tastes really good... Of course, this is indeed a very important reason.

More importantly, he soon discovered that although this young man with a beautiful curly head was extremely smart and possessed quite advanced technology, he was completely ignorant of many common-sense issues about "reality".

If the other party is allowed to drift around here, once detected by the first generation cocoon, it may fall into an unexpected crisis.

"Are the real rules so strict?"

The young man was curious about everything he said, took out his portable notebook, and recorded the newly acquired knowledge: "Everyone should have their own name..."

Zero had a headache, and rubbed his forehead slowly twice: "Yes... this is the least strict type of rule."

When he first learned that the other party did not understand the necessity of the existence of such a thing as "name", he was actually somewhat surprised, but immediately figured out the logic behind it.

In reality, a name represents a complete and independent personality collection, meaning a person's existence itself.

Even so, many people will gradually lose their names-those titles that gradually fill the whole life may become a combination of surname and job title, and may be polite and alienated "Mr. X", "Ms. X", Or maybe it's some emotionless code name...

And when it comes to a world that is purely made up of cognition, the necessity of the existence of names becomes even rarer.

Occasionally, No. [-] wondered for a moment, whether the teacher's erasure of his past and name also meant trying to erase his original "self".

"That's true." The young man thought about it carefully, then nodded, "Everyone who comes from the opposite side has a name."

The realm of the dead is also divided into inner diameter and outer periphery.

People who still have names live along the coast, and most of them still have unsolved wishes and people who have been waiting... These memories about reality are associated with "names".

Those who have owned them seem to cherish them very much. Even if they gradually become deserted, they will never give up their names, and they will not leave the beach and move to the core area.

But those consciousnesses that have entered the interior are completely opposite. They no longer remember who they are, and they don't care much about such things.

Residents who live there greet each other very casually.

Most of the time, people will only remember the other party's occupation or code name, and occasionally they will make up a random name when they are in the mood-today someone calls you a fire-breathing dragon, then you will be a fire-breathing dragon at this second.Tomorrow, it will be replaced with Miao Frog Seed, as long as no one else disagrees, then there is no problem.

... As for the newborn individuals who were originally born in the realm of the dead and conceived by the ocean of subconsciousness, there is no need to name them.

The young man turned over another page of the notebook and laid it on his knees: "What is self?"

Seeing his extraordinarily standard posture of listening to the class, No. [-] was a little dumb, and first asked a question that was not very relevant: "Do you still need a notebook for your technology?"

"It is needed at any time, especially for newborn, young individuals who have not yet cocooned."

The young man's expression suddenly became serious at this moment: "Remembering is different from writing it down."

Zero was slightly taken aback.

The young man called up the virtual screen, which also recorded the information and materials provided by No. [-], and it was quite concise, accurate and refined.

This is his "cocoon". He has not yet completed the step of breaking the cocoon, and he is still absorbing a lot of information and new knowledge from the outside world-now there is more than one piece of content from No. [-] on these silvery shiny filaments .

"This is to remember." The young man pointed to the information flow on the screen, "Because there is no output process, I received this information from the outside world, but without my own thinking and identification..."

"Taking notes is a process of thinking, discerning, and output." Number Zero nodded, "I understand."

The corners of the young man's mouth curled up.

There was a smile in those beautiful eyes again—at times like this, Number Zero always had the illusion that there seemed to be something extraordinarily bright in the depths of those pure black pupils that seemed to be covered with thin ice. The luster flows slowly.

Like the sparkling sea of ​​ice that tempts visitors to go deep, or the mysterious aurora that surges silently in the sky of the polar night over the snow-covered polar sky.

……

Zero thanked him earnestly, kept this method in his mind, and prepared to go back and use it to train those pioneer students.

... This plan stayed in his mind for a few seconds before it was finally covered by more self-deprecating thoughts, pulling him back to reality mercilessly.

No. Zero twitched the corner of his mouth lightly. He didn't think much, but just returned to the other party's question: "It's hard to say."

The definition of self has been in constant controversy since the day there was psychology. Different schools of thought stick to their own views. It is not an exaggeration to say that they are quite different, and they are still arguing on many occasions.

"Generally speaking... it is your cognition of 'yourself' itself as an independent individual."

Zero stopped talking and looked at the other party: "Your world is made up of cognition, are you allowed to know yourself?"

The young man seemed to be exposed to this concept for the first time. He stopped writing and understood it carefully for a while before nodding his head: "At least it's not allowed..."

It's just that no one has ever tried to do it.

For them, this is not a very necessary thing.Residents living in the depths of the realm of the dead, everyone’s identity is fluid—on a whim, they may turn themselves into a tree, a river, or even fly through the clouds, which is completely different in reality. Some kind of mysterious fantasy creature that might exist.

And because he had gone too far, some undetected changes had occurred in his body, so he was temporarily restricted to the most original state.

"Do you want to try our feelings first?" The young man stood up and held out his hand to him.

Number Zero was startled slightly: "Is it possible?"

Those eyes slightly bent down as if inviting.

In the next moment, a strange force suddenly pulled him into an unknown world.

—if that can be defined as "the world".

He found himself turned into a tree.

A tree that has lived for an unknown number of years and whose roots have covered the entire forest—that is not just a change in visual form.

He could clearly feel the flow of the morning wind, the cold water vapor slowly condensed on the leaves, the sunlight was divided into pieces by the branches and leaves, and those pale golden rays of light penetrated into the veins of the leaves.

On the ground beneath his feet, beneath those hard crusts, was warm, soft, dark soil.

The sound of subterranean water veins flowing slowly through the soil was different from any stream or river, reminding him of those cold medicine flowing through the veins in the infusion tube...not accurate.The sound is even livelier and more alive.

The water flowed through the soil and gravel, looking for an outlet, some of which could smoothly flow into the more abundant undercurrent, and some were captured by the well-developed root system, moved up the branches, and flowed lively in his body. The nourishment of the water continues to sprout.

Those tender green and soft buds could not even stand the harsh wind. He temporarily covered them with sun-drenched leaves, leaving a little gap for the sun and dew to fall in smoothly.

He can hear the sound of the whole forest, or maybe that can't be called "listening", this kind of perception does not need to impose any more complicated definitions.

He can perceive every corner of this forest.

The young trees are vying for the small piece of sky that has not yet been filled with branches and leaves. A handful of mosses are slowly blooming flowers the size of rice grains. The squirrels are dexterously shuttled around the trunk, stopping on the branches to watch vigilantly.

There are more birds in the forest, all kinds of birds, combing their beautiful feathers in the morning dew, chirping and quarreling about where the first ray of morning light falls.

He stood here quietly, maybe for hundreds of years, maybe for a few months, maybe for a moment.

Until the last withered yellow leaf fell, the forest became quiet, without the rustling sound of the wind rubbing the leaves, and a small dead branch broke with a click.

"It's a dying dreamland for trees. They die as usual every fall and are routinely reborn every spring."

Someone held his hand: "In your world, the oldest and deepest leafy tree you can see is also a curious young child every spring."

The hand dragged him, pulled him out of the silence that gradually settled into a deep sleep, and he found that his hand had become a wing.

The color of the wings was no longer bright, but he still accurately recognized from the unique feather colors that this was the iridescent lorikeet in the forest that was the most flamboyant and keen to show off its feathers.

The feeling of flying preceded everything else, clearly occupying his consciousness.

No wonder human beings are always obsessed with various extreme sports that look more like flying: skydiving, air surfing, wingsuit flying... and can't help but add a little flying element to various beliefs, whose god or If the totem can't fly, then I'm afraid I have to find some cooler skills to justify it.

This may be a small complaint of primates to their ancestors: look at their wings and see that they can catch up with the wind.

He learned to fly as if it came naturally now, just by flapping his wings violently—the thrill of gliding and diving made him think of almost nothing worth worrying about.

Those feathers that had faded and lost their luster began to melt in the wind, and the sunlight became a warm cosolvent. The feeling was not painful, but more like a pleasant trip to a hot spring.

The melting didn't interfere with the flight, and he looked back at the cloud, stained a beautiful pale pink by the melted feathers, floating in a sky so blue it was about to drip.

"When a bird dies, it turns into a cloud."

He was hugged from behind, and fell from that cloud: "It's different from the clouds in your place, this kind of cloud will chirp... When they get impatient to be a cloud, they can find an egg to drill in , turn back into a bird, or make it rain."

Does rain also dream?

He didn't think about it, but he was falling like a drop of rain.

This process looks really fast on the ground.

It was so fast that I noticed that the sky was turning cloudy, I smelled the unique wet and cold smell of rain in the wind, and realized that in the few seconds when I ran without an umbrella, there were already pea-sized raindrops falling down, without any delay. Drenched people mercilessly.

But from Yu's perspective, all this happened slowly, as if there was no need to rush.

The trajectory and time of falling from a cumulonimbus cloud to the ground are fixed. He only needs to rest his arms on his pillow and enjoy the surging clouds and the extremely bright lightning flashes among the clouds leisurely.

It’s okay to sit if you’re willing, and it’s okay to lie down if you’re tired from sitting. If you’re interested, you can also try difficult diving.

He landed on the feathers of a bird first, and the water-repellent layer quickly turned him back into a round water drop shape. The bird quickly shook him off, and burrowed into the nest among the rocks at a faster speed.

Then he was thrown onto the leaves. This was the youngest tree that grew the most. Now it has become very strong and lush. There are many animals living in the branches. The green leaves have become the best slide.

He stumbled and slipped a few times - this kind of adventure must be more exciting than any rafting, of course the rain will not hurt, only excitement, stimulation and dizziness... He fell to the destination as a drop of rain, hitting a tree waiting for a new life. Aware of a bit of cocoon.

This is the flow and change of consciousness, which is not restricted by physical rules at all, and does not follow any scientific principles. He suddenly understood why the little curly hair didn't understand these things at all.

Living in this kind of world, it is really hard to understand why a drop of water can't turn into a butterfly.

He broke the cocoon.

This process is not laborious, and when the time comes, you will naturally know what to do—if you really can’t, the wind will teach you, and the blades of grass will teach you.

That gust of wind was originally a horse, and it wanted to run faster, but after it turned into a peregrine falcon, it turned into a gust of wind again, and then it was going to be a frigate bird. Fly more than 400 kilometers.

A blade of grass was once a buried stone.It finally came to the ground with the movement of the earth's crust, waiting excitedly for the day of weathering, but it was mined and polished into agate.

It continued to exist as an agate handicraft for an unknown period of time, and finally one day, it was accidentally smashed to the ground.

The sunlight did it a favor, and it died as a work of art and was reborn as a shadow in a small patch of light.There are many dreams the shadow can choose from. It determined its target without hesitation, and threw itself into a lawn.

The feeling of making grass is super good. It can not only touch the most familiar and friendly ground, but also touch the flowing air and the sun-it has made 2947 grasses, and has accumulated enough experience. Next, it is going to make a bigger flower. taller flowers...

The nearby consciousness chatted with him one by one, boasting that the butterfly skin he picked was very beautiful.

He looked at his own shadow in the sun.

At that moment...he suddenly realized that this was not just a dream that was too good to wake up from.

The Realm of the Dead has no real concept of time except near the beach.

These deaths and new births happened in a slow and orderly manner.

The reincarnation of consciousness seems to have nothing to be sad about, as the end of one identity is the beginning of another.

He was briefly pulled into that reincarnation, and that process was infinitely long, and it was just a blink of an eye.

……

He opened his eyes a moment later.

The young man with curly hair was lying on the back of the chair, looking at him with bright eyes: "Did you have a good dream?"

Number Zero wanted to speak, but his throat seemed to be blocked by something.

It seemed that he hadn't spoken for a long time, and he was so immersed in this relaxed comfort that in the few seconds he woke up, he even forgot how to speak as a human being.

He lowered his head and looked at his arm that had become a tree trunk.

"Your consciousness is really seriously damaged."

The little curly hair came over, hugged him and helped him adjust his posture, and looked at his body with a headache—it was just a dream, and the other party's consciousness had been disturbed to such an extent.

Zero lowered his gaze.

He looked at his consciousness that had become a mess, couldn't help but raised the corner of his mouth, pulled out two parrot hairs, and said slowly: "This is the expression of losing the 'self'."

There are many reasons for this situation. Some people are because of repeated blows and finally self-denial; some people are because they cannot bear a certain too painful memory; intense confusion...

None of this has anything to do with him.

Taking out the little curly hair of the notebook: "..."

Zero's eyes fell on him, and he couldn't help but smile slightly.

His problem is that he won't be sober for long.

The teacher was very dissatisfied with his presumptuous claims, and every time he found out that he used other methods to train those pioneers in private, he would impose extra severe punishments—mostly by throwing him into those dreams of narrow escapes.

The only way to solve those dream realms is to "modify cognition", but this is originally a double-edged sword.

"I can do a lot of things."

Meeting the other party's gaze, Number Zero raised his hand, easily returning the lignified skin to its original state: "Just convince yourself."

He made those colorful parrot feathers disappear, and pressed his left eye with one hand, so that the rain-colored pupil returned to normal.

"You can also create things." Zero signaled the bandages and medicines, and let the scalpel appear in his palm—this time he carefully removed the blade, "or modify something, such as changing your chair. a shape."

In the next second, the chair turned into a rickety wooden horse.

Little Curly was startled, and quickly jumped off the little friend's exclusive wooden horse, staring at him with rounded eyes in surprise.

"Don't be afraid." Zero said warmly, "I won't hurt you."

He has long been used to this kind of reaction, and he can't blame other people for it... After all, being able to modify his cognition to this level is actually only a hair's breadth away from insanity.

The necessary prerequisite for doing this is that he really convinced himself to "believe" these things.

He had to really believe that the chair was actually a toy horse, and that he had a scalpel in his hand.

"I just want to remind you that I'm actually dangerous."

Zero said: "Because you are already too close to our world, I can also modify you in theory... such as get the second button of your shirt."

He watched the young man lower his head in a daze, spread his palms, and put the button back: "Thank you very much for the dream you brought me. This is my best dream."

The little curly hair still looked at him without moving his eyes.

The hand stretched out by the other party not only grabbed the button, but also grabbed his hand: "Do you want to leave?"

"I find your world very good."

Zero said: "It's so good... I can't help but want to stay."

He would have liked to, if possible, no matter the cost...but he was too dangerous, too unstable.

When he woke up at home on a short vacation last time, he found himself standing on the edge of the balcony.

He didn't have any subjective wishes—he guessed that he might just suddenly think that it was a dream, and jumping off the balcony in a dream was an extremely simple basic operation, as long as he adjusted his cognition properly, he could easily land on the ground. on the ground.

This is not the first time this has happened. He often enters a dream in reality without warning, and when he wakes up, he finds that he has arrived in a strange place, and all the memories in the middle are completely blank.

This is still in the real world. When his cognition can't change the reality around him, he can at least wake himself up in time and wake up from his dream.

If he stayed in a world made up entirely of cognition, it could be changed and destroyed almost at will.

As long as he falls into any hallucination, mistakenly thinking that he is in a dangerous environment, or in a battle royale training... he may cause unimaginable harm to those lovely residents.

"Let me hurt a stone that took 940 million years to come to the ground, took decades to get free, and made grass [-] times before finally blooming?"

Zero smiled: "When I wake up, I will be so guilty that I will pluck my hair like crazy and become bald."

It's been too long since he made any jokes, and he tried his best to make one, but the little curly hair that drooped listlessly still didn't stand up.

"It doesn't have to be like that."

The sullen young man squatted down and tried to press the button up: "I don't think you are very fierce."

No. Zero raised his hand, gesticulating with his teeth and claws in a super terrifying way: "How about this?"

The young man squatted on the ground, blinked his eyes, and looked at him with sullen lips.

Zero was dumbfounded, he leaned back and closed his eyes for a while, and said softly, "Your buttons are still on the clothes."

The button in Little Curly's hand suddenly disappeared out of thin air.

The young man froze for a few seconds, then looked down at his shirt, which instantly returned to its original state, and even became more neat and tidy than before.

He raised his head subconsciously and looked at Zero who was leaning against the repair cabin.

The other party didn't seem to be too relaxed, a thin layer of sweat faintly seeped from his forehead, but his shoulders and backs had already returned to the silence and sharpness when they first met.

Zero lowered his eyes and didn't look at him, but kept modifying the objects around him almost provocatively.

Every time the other party said a word, that thing also changed its appearance along with it.

"The wound on your hand has healed, the bandage will fall off automatically, and there will be no scar left."

"Your microphone is actually a recording pen, the same model as mine."

"You're wearing Bear pajama bottoms and Pikachu slippers."

"Your curly hair is actually straight...huh?"

This time it was Zero's turn to be startled.

He stopped talking, raised his gaze a little surprised, and looked at the small wool roll in front of him that was still standing still.

"You can use this method." Those eyes suddenly lit up, "You have been following me, and when you are not sure whether you are in a hallucination or reality, try to cast a spell on my hair."

Zero pressed his forehead hard: "No——strictly speaking, this is not a spell..."

But Little Curly obviously doesn't care about this.

He carefully studied his healed hand for a while, then picked up the recording pen with great interest, looked at it, and put it in his pocket.

Then, he ran to the spare parts warehouse, rummaged for a long time, and took out all the stocks.

He held the big buckets of lollipops, ran back clattering in comfortable bear pajama pants and soft-soled Pikachu slippers, and put them all in front of Zero.

"I've been drifting outside for too long, and most of the stock has been used up. I only have this lollipop left."

The little curly hugged his knees, squatted in front of those lollipops, and looked at him expectantly: "Can you help me make them into strawberry, pineapple and lychee flavors?"

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The author has something to say:

Captain: sharp, silent, ruthless.

Xiaozhuang: Picked up Aladdin's magic lamp and began to make a wish.

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