Pressure

The final command from the confidential chamber was swiftly relayed to Li Ziping, just nine minutes after Wu Qingchen had suffered the assassination attempt.

By then, Wu Qingchen’s surroundings had changed dramatically.

Two minutes after the explosion, to his left, right, and behind him, two massive slabs of bulletproof glass—identical to the one before him—had been deeply embedded into the floor of the venue.

Five minutes after the explosion, outside the two-layered bulletproof glass cage, at least two hundred armed soldiers had appeared, forming three concentric circles, their gun barrels openly aimed at every tactically sensitive spot.

Seven minutes after the explosion, hundreds of soldiers and dozens of devices completed a rigorous re-inspection of all three thousand attendees and their belongings. The delegates’ seats were collectively moved five rows back, and all personal items were temporarily confiscated.

The entire process was surprisingly silent, remarkably swift, and unusually smooth.

Anyone who objected to the process being so silent and smooth was promptly restrained by four soldiers, lifted onto a table, then, along with the table, documents, telephone, paper and pen, and their cries of “violent interference with human rights, invasion of privacy,” all carried out of the venue and thrown through the doors.

Nine minutes after the explosion, the command finally arrived. Li Ziping tapped the microphone, his face expressionless as he announced: “The United Nations Security Council’s Celestial Phenomenon Event Conference, Agenda Item Five, begins its final vote. Voting period is five minutes; failure to vote will be counted as abstention.”

The delegates began to speak to each other and their phones at an accelerated pace, and two minutes later, they had all completed their last consultation with their domestic and international counterparts.

Around three minutes in, the British delegate cast the first vote, and the massive screen behind Wu Qingchen displayed the first approving country.

Within two seconds, the United States and Z Country followed, raising the tally to three, and due to Russia and France’s support, it quickly jumped to five.

Such a clear stance from the five permanent Security Council members left no room for misunderstanding. After a brief pause, the remaining delegates pressed their voting devices without hesitation.

On the giant screen, the list of approving countries rapidly grew beneath the column, the total number flickered upward, while the column for dissent was almost empty, and abstentions were few.

Time passed quickly. Wu Qingchen glanced around the venue from afar, then turned to look at the giant screen behind him. Li Ziping’s voice came to his ear: “Mr. Wu Qingchen, time is running short. Please cast your vote.”

For reasons unknown, even though the Republic of Sierra Leone was likely heavily involved in the attempt on Wu Qingchen’s life, Li Ziping—or rather, the Secretariat of the Security Council—retained his voting right and had prepared a new voting device for him.

Wu Qingchen turned once more. On the giant screen behind him, the column of approving countries was densely packed, while the opposition column was almost empty, containing only two nations whose names Wu Qingchen had never even heard.

One hundred seventy-five countries approved human experimentation on him; thirteen abstained.

It was precisely the outcome Wu Qingchen had quietly calculated for, but seeing the enormity of that number, an indescribable pain filled his heart.

He memorized the complex spelling of the only two dissenting countries and pressed the voting device, now warm in his right hand.

Approve.

The malice from Sierra Leone was more direct than the support of the 175 countries; Wu Qingchen did not want its name to appear under the dissent column.

It was the final vote.

Li Ziping wasted no time and immediately announced: “Final vote on Agenda Item Five, Celestial Phenomenon Event Conference, United Nations Security Council: 176 in favor, 2 against, 13 abstentions.”

“The agenda for definitive experimentation on the suspected subject of the Celestial Phenomenon Event—Mr. Wu Qingchen—is approved. First experiment commences: May 8, 2012, 19:13.”

Wu Qingchen turned, and the giant screen displayed the time clearly: May 8, 2012, 19:13—precisely this moment.

Damn it!

Director Liu Tao, who had remained silent to Wu Qingchen’s left, gestured, and two soldiers quickly opened the side door of the hall.

At the doorway, two doctors in white coats were undergoing thorough checks by six soldiers. From their practiced gestures—hands out, turning, mouth open—it was clear they had become well-acquainted with the process in the corridors before.

The detailed examination was repeated three times; nothing unusual was found.

Several soldiers pushed the bulletproof glass aside, forming a narrow gap. The two doctors wheeled in a small apparatus through the slit, and the glass was immediately pushed back into place.

When they were at least two meters from Wu Qingchen, Director Liu Tao signaled for them to halt.

“Professor Gu Feng, Professor Luo Nanying…” Li Ziping stepped forward and nodded to the two doctors. “Before you arrived, Dean Zhao, General Zhou, and Professor Yang should have already explained to you the gravity and importance of this experiment in detail.”

The two doctors nodded in unison. Li Ziping straightened his attire, standing upright once more, his face unconsciously adopting a solemn expression. “Now, on behalf of the nation, I must reiterate: Professor Gu, Professor Luo, your presence here signifies you are the most experienced, the most skilled minimally invasive surgical specialists in Z Country, perhaps in the world. That itself is an honor no one can take away.”

“You both understand: this procedure concerns the safety of all humanity, and caution cannot be overemphasized. The nation has one requirement: safety above all. More specifically, should you feel any difficulty or encounter any unexpected event during the operation, you must stop immediately.”

Once again, the doctors nodded.

“Then…” Li Ziping stepped back: “Let us begin.”

Professor Gu Feng, standing on the left, donned a blue mask, approached the sole seat at the podium, lifted Wu Qingchen’s left sleeve with his left hand, and supported his left arm with his right.

Professor Luo Nanying rolled the apparatus closer, pressed a few buttons, and a slender metal arm extended towards Wu Qingchen’s exposed left arm.

It should have been a simple step.

Yet, the entire process took at least half a minute, and when the fine metal arm finally settled into position, those inside the glass cage heard Professor Luo Nanying exhale deeply.

Li Ziping and Liu Tao frowned simultaneously.

Without regard for the reactions of others, Professor Luo Nanying checked the metal arm and Wu Qingchen’s upper arm several times, then moved to the apparatus.

Upon returning, he held a moistened cotton swab and applied it to Wu Qingchen’s upper left arm.

The cotton was cool; Wu Qingchen’s arm involuntarily trembled, his brows drawing together.

Perhaps the sudden movement or the pronounced frown caught Professor Luo Nanying off guard. His hand froze mid-motion, beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. “Mr… Mr. Wu Qingchen… this… this is only… ordinary… ordinary iodine disinfectant… We… we cannot… would never… do anything… anything to you…”

“Professor… Professor…” Li Ziping quickly stepped forward, catching Professor Luo Nanying as he nearly collapsed. “Calm down, calm down!”

“I… I’m fine… Of course I’m fine…” Luo Nanying struggled to turn, his mask slipping to reveal trembling lips. “Minister Li, this… this really is just ordinary iodine, there will be no adverse reaction, absolutely none… I… all these years… Minister Li, the country trusts me so much… I… I… I have let down my homeland… let down…”

The wrinkles on Luo Nanying’s face quivered, his tone grew urgent, and by the end, his voice was choked, his legs unable to support him, body almost collapsing to the ground.

“It’s alright, professor, I know it’s iodine, no adverse reaction is possible. Please rest assured, everything is fine.” Li Ziping gently guided Luo Nanying to the edge of the glass cage and signaled two soldiers to assist him. “Professor Luo, you’ve hurried too much, and you’re exhausted. This is our oversight, not yours. Please rest.”

Handing Luo Nanying over to the soldiers, Li Ziping sighed deeply before turning. “Professor Gu, you’ll have to take the lead now. Would you like to rest first?”

Gu Feng slowly shook his head. With his hood and mask, his expression was unreadable; all could see were his hands folded at his abdomen, gazing quietly to the right of the podium, where his departing colleague was being helped out by soldiers, his steps faltering.

Only when Luo Nanying finally disappeared through the side door did Professor Gu turn back, picking up a new cotton swab to resume the interrupted procedure. “Mr. Wu Qingchen, this is just regular iodine, completely harmless. For safety, we cannot administer anesthesia. But rest assured, this is a simple minor surgery, painless and harmless. Just keep your left arm steady; no need to tense or deliberately relax.”

After applying the disinfectant smoothly, Professor Gu returned to the apparatus, adjusted it, and lowered the slender metal arm above Wu Qingchen’s left arm, leaving about two centimeters of space.

Having done this, Professor Gu closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

All three at the podium, including Wu Qingchen himself, understood the pressure Professor Gu faced.

The experiment on Wu Qingchen was, in essence, a straightforward surgical procedure, so simple even a newly graduated surgical intern could perform it.

Yet no doctor could guarantee absolute safety each time; the world held too many variables that could lead to countless accidents: machinery, electricity, temperature, the slipperiness of the operating room floor, the roughness of the operating room floor, too much chili in the morning noodles, too little chili in the morning noodles, and so forth.

More seriously, this procedure in the great hall allowed the lowest margin for error in global history.

At this moment, operating on Wu Qingchen was like operating on seven billion people at once; even the slightest mistake could have unimaginably severe consequences.

If only a slightly greater motion, if Wu Qingchen’s left arm felt even the faintest pain…

Perhaps, a worker at a construction site in Z Country, high up on a scaffold, might unexpectedly feel pain in his left arm, lose his grip, and drop a steel pipe from hundreds of meters above.

Perhaps, a truck driver on an American highway, feeling sudden pain in his left arm, might misjudge a turn, crashing into an innocent guardrail.

Perhaps, a surgeon in a Brazilian hospital, suddenly feeling pain in his left arm, might misalign a scalpel, piercing the patient’s heart instead of cutting the lung.

Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps…

The definitive experiment on Wu Qingchen was a procedure almost devoid of technical difficulty.

A procedure even a medical intern could perform.

Yet, in all of human history since the birth of the profession of “doctor,” it was the most stressful operation ever.

At this moment, the fate of humanity rested in Professor Gu Feng’s hands.

At the podium, Professor Gu closed his eyes, gathering his focus.

Several seconds later, he opened them, calmly moved to the apparatus, guided the metal arm above Wu Qingchen’s left arm, pressed several buttons quickly, and the tip of the slender arm moved slightly, then swiftly withdrew from Wu Qingchen’s arm.

The metal arm moved about half a meter. The apparatus let out a faint “buzz,” and all indicator lights dimmed.

“All went well.”

With a voice so hoarse and dry it was barely recognizable, Professor Gu squeezed out those words. Throughout the procedure, he had remained calm and steady, but suddenly he staggered, nearly collapsing.

Wu Qingchen had not even reacted yet; the surgery ended without him feeling the touch of anything on his left arm.

Ignoring the elderly professor, Li Ziping and Liu Tao hurried to Wu Qingchen’s side, their eyes fixed on the spot where the metal arm had just touched his upper arm.

There, on Wu Qingchen’s left upper arm, the previously smooth skin now bore a shallow cut, about three millimeters long.

Without hesitation, Li Ziping and Liu Tao rolled up their own left sleeves:

The same spot, the same angle, the same shallow cut, three millimeters long.

A chorus of sleeve-rolling echoed through the hall—countless exposed left arms, already or newly bared:

The same spot, the same angle, the same shallow cut, three millimeters long.

In a flurry of gasps, low murmurs, and exclamations, the voice of the American consul, seated closest to the podium, was the first to reach them: “My God, is this 2012?”

----

Almost at the same time.

Shanghai, Z Country Biological Technology Group headquarters, in a spotless laboratory, dozens of researchers with rolled-up sleeves cried out in unison.

Near the entrance, an elderly researcher with black-rimmed glasses trembled as he extended his left hand, nearly dropping the phone receiver.

----

The capital, Z Country’s National Defense General Hospital, in a clean, warm nursery, rows of nurses pressed close to rows of infant cribs, ignoring the babies’ discordant cries. The nurses’ eyes, all that could be seen, widened into round circles.

At the center of the nursery’s front door, the head nurse, whose hands were usually the steadiest, had just bent to pick up her dropped phone.

----

Japan, a prison execution ground, cold wind sweeping away the acrid scent of gunpowder.

A soldier lowered his rifle, stepped forward, squatted beside the fallen prisoner, checked his pulse, sighed softly, closed the prisoner’s eyes, and rolled up his left sleeve.

The next moment, the soldier’s pupils contracted sharply. He grabbed his waist radio: “Colonel, the worst has happened.”

----

In this instant, similar scenes unfolded across tens of thousands of cities in over a hundred countries, and such reports converged at lightning speed.

Less than three minutes after the definitive experiment on the suspected subject of the Celestial Phenomenon Event—Mr. Wu Qingchen—“suspected” had ceased to matter entirely.

From this moment onward, the life and death, evolution, reproduction, and fate of seven billion people, across two hundred countries and two thousand ethnic groups, gained a new, uninvited pathway.

From this moment, regardless of skin color, age, wealth, or faith, humanity simultaneously acquired a body beyond their own control, yet intimately tied to their lives.

After four and a half million years of enduring countless disasters, humanity faced another colossal threat.

Is this the worst outcome?

No—it is far, far more than that.