Music interrupted An Zhe’s thoughts. The old tape recorder in the corridor was playing the ups and downs of Symphony No. 5, the Fate Symphony. Rum stood by the window with a score in front of him. He was playing the harmonica to the score, imitating the melody of the symphony. It was unknown how long it took him to stop.

He wondered, “Do you understand music?”

An Zhe shook his head.

Run pointed to the recorder. “After listening to a song, do you know how to blow it out?”

An Zhe increased the frequency of his head shaking. He could only appreciate one-ten thousandth of the ups and downs of this complex symphony, let alone reproduce it.

“There needs to be a score.” Rum turned the sheet music and whispered.

He said ‘score’ but his eyes were on the screen in the middle of the laboratory.

It was as if a virtual string in the sky was gently moving. The chaos and complex thoughts instantly became clear. An Zhe suddenly had wide eyes. “The volatility is a symphony. Polly, he wants to find the score. Then… then he can do many things.”

Rum looked at An Zhe with dark eyes. “You are smarter than me.”

An Zhe also looked at the screen. Could the secret of the distortion disaster be analyzed from these lines? His eyes were lost.

Or perhaps this never-ending chaos was already a truth in another sense.

An unspeakable silence enveloped the laboratory and An Zhe lowered his head. The fate of humanity was as elusive as that line. All this might have nothing to do with a mushroom but he sometimes felt it was difficult to breathe.

It was hard to explain why but his fingers were on the keyboard as he faced the communication channel with the Northern Base.

The movements of his fingers weren’t flexible anymore, just like his mycelium could no longer stretch out. His fingertips would tremble with difficulty when he hit the keys. Without fiber optics and a base station, the communication cost was very high. Just like the telegraph communication of the last century, he had to save words.

He sent: How is the base?

It seemed an absurd coincidence. At around the same time, the communication channel lit up and a similar message was sent from the Northern Base.

“How is the research institute?”

The Northern Base could pay anything for the purity of human genes. They hated monsters and the Trial Court would never tolerate heterogeneous species. It seemed that only Dr Ji, a kind-hearted scientist, would tolerate the existence of the fusion faction and care about its condition.

“Everything’s fine,” An Zhe replied.

Pretending that everything was going well was a unique human skill that he had learned. A few seconds later, the other side also replied. “The base as well.”

An Zhe pondered for a long time in front of the communication channel before slowly tapping the next sentence, “Is the Judge well?”