The Static Hour #8

"Beyond the world?"

Yongkang’s brow twitched. He stared at the girl, trying to glean something from her expression.

"Do you mean... the sky?" he asked tentatively, pointing upward.

The girl smiled faintly, her tone peaceful. "What you see is not the whole picture. What you cannot see does not mean it doesn't exist."

The statement left Yongkang momentarily speechless. He instinctively wanted to argue, but found he couldn't prove that "what is unseen does not exist."

The girl offered a gentle, friendly smile. "Hello, I'm Su Ya. You must be the boy Old Bug mentioned, right?"

'Old Bug? Who is that?'

Yongkang frowned slightly. The name was unfamiliar. He wanted to ask who "Old Bug" was, but another question took precedence—

"Is this 3200... your God?"

Su Ya shook her head, her voice calm. "Not exactly a God."

"But if you understand it that way... it's not entirely wrong."

She paused, her gaze sweeping over the scavengers still kneeling in the rain, then turned back to Yongkang—

"Do you believe in the existence of God?"

Yongkang was silent for a few seconds. He had never truly considered the question. 'Unseen does not mean non-existent.' The thought flashed through his mind, yet he couldn't convince himself it was true.

Su Ya smiled slightly, her voice soft but carrying a thread of certainty. "3200 may not be God... it is a voice from beyond the world."

She lowered her head, glancing at a scrap of paper in her hand, on which a few items were simply noted. She looked around, then began walking towards Yongkang.

"It is everywhere, yet it never appears."

"It only leaves behind voices, guidance... and its mission."

Su Ya crouched down, rummaging through a pile of mechanical refuse with deliberate, systematic movements, as if searching for a specific component.

"No one has ever seen it, and no one can prove whether it truly exists."

'If no one has seen it and no one can prove it, doesn't that mean it doesn't exist?'

But before Yongkang could speak, Su Ya had found a part. She examined it carefully, checked the note in her hand, and then added quietly, "But its influence has already permeated this land."

Yongkang's frown deepened.

"That description... is essentially no different from a god," Yongkang murmured.

"Gods are creations of man," Su Ya said, wiping the dust from the part.

"When faced with an inexplicable presence, people always try to give it an image, to make it understandable, to make it familiar."

Yongkang narrowed his eyes. "So, you materialized 3200, turning it into your faith?"

Su Ya chuckled, her tone unchanged. "I told you, what is unseen does not mean it doesn't exist. Perhaps it's just beyond the scope of our comprehension."

She picked up a broken piece of metal from the ground and handed it to Yongkang.

"Help me out, hold this. I need it."

Yongkang took it unconsciously, looking at her with confusion; when did he become her assistant?

Su Ya continued to search, speaking softly. "Humans are fragile. In this world, we always need some kind of support to soothe our inner turmoil, don't we?"

She smiled gently, her voice light, like she was stating a fact, or perhaps expressing a sense of powerlessness.

"And God—perhaps is the best support."

Her tone remained calm, devoid of fanaticism, and she made no attempt to persuade Yongkang; she was simply stating a concept.

Yongkang pursed his lips. "So you think God really exists?"

Su Ya shrugged, saying dismissively, "Perhaps."

"Maybe God isn't the kind of being you imagine, but a phenomenon that our dimension cannot grasp."

She tilted her head, her voice placid yet with a certain conviction. "Or perhaps, because our understanding is limited, we can only name it 'God.'"

She paused, picked up a palm-sized circuit board from the recycling pile, and slowly continued. "When humans face the unknown, face fear, they choose to create a god to fill the void, to make the world understandable."

"A God never needs to be real; as long as it can bring faith and order, then God has value," Su Ya finished.

Yongkang gave a cold laugh. "So, as long as people believe, something that doesn't exist becomes real?"

Su Ya looked at him, her eyes calm. "No, it's because it changes people's behavior and thinking. What you believe determines how you live."

"Then what about 3200?" Yongkang stared at her. "Does it really exist? Or is it just your fictional faith?"

Su Ya stopped moving, turned, and looked at him with a hint of disbelief. "We didn't invent anything; we merely... discovered its existence."

Her voice was low and steady. "That is the difference."

She sighed softly, her tone unemotional. "If we create a belief, it is merely a myth."

"But if we discover a higher level of consciousness... then it is not just a god, but a truth that transcends our understanding."

She found another component in the pile and handed it to Yongkang. "Hold onto this, I need this one too."

Yongkang looked at the parts in his hand, thinking, as Su Ya continued. "We... once doubted, once tried to deny it, but... that voice gave us immense courage and strength. No one could question it anymore."

She paused, looked up, her gaze deep and distant. "If... I told you that one of us had heard its voice, would you still question the existence of 3200?"

Yongkang's pupils contracted slightly.

—Heard it?

His breath hitched. The images of the figures kneeling in the rain flashed involuntarily in his mind.

The girl suddenly turned and ran toward the entrance of the meteorological station. Before Yongkang could think, he instinctively chased after her.

"How... how did you hear it?" he asked urgently.

Su Ya moved lightly, like a cat used to weaving through ruins. Rain streamed down her black hair, but it didn't affect her pace.

"Come on, you'll see the real—'world beyond,'" her voice drifted back, soft and low, like an invitation reaching out from the darkness.

Yongkang had just started running when he heard her call back—

"Oh, and remember to bring my things!"

The girl’s figure disappeared into the darkness.

Rain dripped from the worn eaves, hitting the rusted iron door with a regular, muffled clang, like a silent countdown waiting for some forgotten signal to sound.

Su Ya quickly approached the entrance to the weather station, her steps light but determined. She didn't look back to see if Yongkang was following, as if she already knew his choice.

Yongkang clutched the components Su Ya had given him, keeping close behind. He now noticed the scavengers around them were also moving in silence.

Heads bowed, they placed the "refuse" they had just collected into bamboo baskets and walked toward the weather station without exchanging a word.

From all directions, the scavengers passed silently through the rain curtain, like a tide drawn by some invisible force, converging on the weather station.

They didn't look like simple scavengers, but rather people fulfilling a mission. Yongkang couldn't help but look up at the building standing in the rain.

A rusty, heavily-pocked iron door stood silently, like an entrance forgotten by time. The red paint on the door was peeling, the mottled marks crisscrossing, as if recording countless exposures to wind and frost. But what was most striking were the slogans carved into the door panels in different handwriting:

"Civilization must not perish; memory must not be erased."

"Without remembering the past, the future cannot be changed."

"The heritage of humanity should not become garbage."

Rain ran down the carvings, like tears following the fissures of time, soaking the words that had been repeatedly written and etched.

Yongkang's gaze swept over the slogans, an odd feeling passing through him—these words seemed not just to speak of the past, but to serve as a warning, a vow, a struggle against oblivion.

"This is our faith," Su Ya's voice whispered, calm and solemn.

She pushed open the iron door. A damp, heavy air rushed out, mixing the smells of paper, machine oil, and dust, like a long-sealed memory that had just awakened.

The scavengers walked into the weather station in an orderly, silent manner, their actions practiced, as if they were long accustomed to this routine.

Some gently touched the slogans on the door as they crossed the threshold, their fingertips lingering on the carvings, as if confirming that the words still existed.

Others murmured softly, as if praying to an unseen presence.

An elderly scavenger stood before the door, took a deep breath, and then slowly stepped inside.

His expression was serene, yet held an inexpressible reverence. Watching this scene, Yongkang's heart tightened slightly.

Was this really just the "abandoned weather station" he thought it was?

He stood at the entrance, took a deep breath, and then walked in.

Yongkang had imagined what secrets the interior of the weather station might hold—

Perhaps it still served its original purpose, or had been converted into a shelter, or even a forgotten laboratory...

But the sight before him utterly subverted his understanding—

The moment he stepped into the station, he stopped; the scale here was far beyond expectation, awe-inspiringly vast.

Shelves rose like massive walls to the ceiling, arranged in layers of orderly racks, maintaining the structure's coherence, like a silent fortress of knowledge.

Carefully classified display areas were filled with meticulously archived items.

This was not merely a dumping ground for refuse—it was a museum of surviving human civilization.

Books, newspapers, manuscripts, machine parts, obsolete cassette tapes, yellowed photographs, and even old works of art...

These memories, which should have faded with time, stubbornly persisted here, given a chance to prolong life, like a silent struggle against oblivion.

Yongkang's breathing momentarily halted.

He knew this world was destroying history. He had seen books turned into scrap, records tampered with, images deleted... but he had never imagined anyone attempting to preserve it all.

Not just preservation, but the establishment of a complete, accurate, and perfectly ordered system, done with an almost fanatic dedication.

This was different from the scattered efforts of scavengers hiding relics of the past—this was a large-scale resistance, a deeper will, a conviction that civilization must not perish.

A stubborn defiance against the entire world.

The scavengers walked toward several administrators in a synchronized, ritualistic manner. Without needing words, they smoothly poured the items from their bamboo baskets into designated areas, then waited nearby for inspection.

The administrator, wearing worn but clean gloves, examined each item one by one, carefully unfolding a yellowed newspaper, scanning the lines of text to ensure it was not severely damaged or missing pages, before writing down in a ledger with a charcoal pencil—

"Old newspaper, Section 13, intact, Date: April 17, 1992."

Another administrator checked a thick book—A Brief History of Humanity. His fingers traced the spine for a moment, finding certain pages damp. He quietly said to his companion, "This one needs repair. Take it to Section 27 first."

"Section 27, books for repair: A Brief History of Humanity, wet pages: 23," the other administrator noted in the ledger, his strokes precise and swift.

In the corner, a scavenger handed over a rusted metal part. The administrator took it, examined it from all angles, and frowned slightly. "This is some kind of mechanical core... but not modern technology. Send it to Section 9 for further analysis."

In a matter of seconds, all items were directed to their respective storage locations.

There was no chaos, no noise, only the sounds of order and recording—the faint scratching of charcoal on paper, the rustle of turning pages, the whispered numbers and codes of conversation, like the murmuring of time itself.

Yongkang's eyes widened, his heart rate quickening slightly.

Standing in this massive archive, he was overwhelmed by an inexpressible shock.

The system here was not something built in a few days or months, but accumulated and operated over a long passage of time.

How long had these people been fighting against this world?

He had never considered that scavengers were not just scavengers, but witnesses and protectors in this war.

This was more than just a storage warehouse or a simple shelter.

"This..." he whispered, his eyes betraying confusion and questioning.

Su Ya led him through the aisle, pointing to the storage sections on both sides. Her voice was steady and resolute. "These things are trash to some people, but to us, they are the memories of humanity."

Yongkang looked at the organized and archived data, and the scavengers recording information everywhere. In this moment, he realized—

This wasn't just a repository for memories; it was an undertaking for the revival of civilization.

And this undertaking must have been supported by a powerful system.

This was not happenstance, but a determination that could not be ignored.

Someone was fighting, resisting, and leaving something behind.

He looked at the silent archive before him, as if he could feel that behind every book, every photo, every part, someone had once touched them, cherished them, and chosen to leave them here.

What was stored here were not ruins, but testimonies.

He blurted out, "This is not trash, and it's not just memory..."

His finger gently traced a yellowed page, and he whispered—

"This is—proof that humanity once existed."

Su Ya smiled slightly, her gaze distant.

Her finger gently brushed the yellowed page, her movement soft, as if touching a history long sealed away.

"The future of a civilization depends on whether it remembers its past."

She paused, looking into the distance, as if the statement was not just for Yongkang, but for the space itself.

"This is also one of the tasks given to us by 3200."

—"3200."

The name appeared again, leaving an invisible weight in the air.

Su Ya took the components from Yongkang's hand, looking him straight in the eye, her tone calm but carrying a weight that was hard to ignore—

"Of course, 3200 didn't instruct us directly. Instead—someone guided us to do this."

Yongkang's brow furrowed, the questions in his mind deepening.

Who was guiding them?

This person, perhaps, knew the world's real secret...

Yongkang collected his thoughts, following closely behind Su Ya.

They arrived at a hidden library.

Towering bookshelves stood straight, arranged in layers, the rows of books organized with excessive precision, classified clearly, almost flawlessly.

The collection covered every field—history, philosophy, science, anthropology, mathematics, religion, art... even science fiction held a place.

This was not an ordinary library; it was more like a deliberately rebuilt temple of knowledge—a museum existing to preserve human intellect.

Yongkang walked slowly toward the shelves, his eyes gliding over the spines, casually scanning the titles.

Just then, a few titles made him stop abruptly.

His pupils contracted slightly, his breathing becoming uneven.

1516 — Utopia

1781 — Critique of Pure Reason

1818 — The World as Will and Representation

1927 — Being and Time

His heart began to pound, his fingertips lightly touching the spines.

These titles... why did they feel so familiar?

He didn't recall reading them, couldn't even be sure if they had ever appeared in his life.

But an inexpressible sense of familiarity, like a cold tide, surged from the depths of his mind.

Yongkang looked at these books from different eras and suddenly realized—the covers showed virtually no signs of age.

The paper was as white as new, the spines were uncreased, and the pages showed no signs of yellowing or brittleness. These books looked nothing like centuries-old texts; they looked like fresh copies straight from the printer.

He hesitated, then slowly reached out and pulled one out—

Being and Time.

The moment he opened the page, a small line of handwriting came into view:

"To you, 1748,

Das Wesen des Daseins liegt in seiner Existenz. The essence of Dasein lies in its existence."

Yongkang's heart missed a beat.

"To you, 1748"?

The phrase was like a key, gently knocking on a long-sealed corner of his mind.

Who left these books? Who wrote this line?

Could it be—

What did 1748 represent?

His thoughts raced. He involuntarily glanced at Su Ya—

The number "1747" was clearly tattooed on her wrist.

It matched the tattoos on the other scavengers. 1722, 1738, 1701... These numbers, seemingly random, hinted at some kind of pattern... What did they mean?

If Su Ya was 1747, did 1748 refer to a person? A group? Or... a crucial index number?

What connection did this number have to his own existence?

In this moment, Yongkang felt an unprecedented tremor—he was nearing a truth buried in the world's fissure.

Yongkang's mind was reeling, trying to make sense of this series of anomalies, but he was interrupted by Su Ya. She gently patted his shoulder, gesturing him toward the empty space in the center of the bookshelves—

"Don't stare off into space, come and help," she said, a hint of a smile on her lips. "You'll definitely be interested in this thing."

Yongkang followed her gaze. In the clear space between the shelves, stood a crude but strange electronic device.

Several copper wires twisted around metal coils. The numbers on the dial were almost entirely worn off, and some solder joints were crudely fixed with unknown tape. Su Ya handed Yongkang a flashlight, opened a toolbox, and began connecting the parts she had just collected, attempting to repair the electronic instrument.

"I've tried countless times with this thing, but it never responds," Yongkang said, holding the flashlight so the beam fell on the instrument, examining its structure closely.

"What is it used for?" Yongkang asked, puzzled.

Su Ya stopped working and smiled slightly, her tone light, yet with a strange certainty—

"Talking to God!"

She sounded like she was joking, but her eyes were intensely serious.

Yongkang re-examined the instrument—antenna, speaker, headphones, microphone, tuning device... it looked like a radio, but more complex and bizarre.

It was a transmitter, assembled from recycled parts.

"Talking to 3200...?" Yongkang asked, half-skeptical.

"Yeah," Su Ya said, casually turning the tuning dial. The pointer stopped at 0.719MHz.

"0.719MHz"—Yongkang's heart pounded.

This wasn't the first time he had seen that number. It had appeared in Yongkang's life multiple times, like an unignorable warning, a signal waiting to be deciphered.

"Old Bug and I put this together," Su Ya said softly, her fingertips gliding over the edge of the casing, a flash of nostalgia in her eyes.

"We hoped to use it to contact the people beyond the world."

Yongkang's throat felt dry. "Beyond the world?" He lowered his voice, the tension in his tone noticeable. "Are you saying... someone contacted you through this channel?"

Su Ya turned to look at the transmitter, her voice calm, yet carrying an inexpressible anticipation—

"Yes."

Her gaze was fixed on the stationary frequency number, as if looking at some unattainable entity.

"We once received a signal, a signal from beyond the world."

She paused, seemingly weighing her words, then added, "More accurately... 'someone' once received the signal, and we merely learned the content from that person."

"That person?" Yongkang's nerves instantly tightened. He asked almost instinctively, "Who is he?"

Su Ya bowed her head, silent for a few seconds, as if organizing her thoughts. Then she slowly spoke—

"How should I put it... he was our guide."

She paused, her tone subtle, with a hint of hesitation, before finally choosing a more evocative word—

"Or, many people called him—the 'Prophet.'"

—The Prophet.

The title carried strong religious overtones.

Yongkang's rational mind told him that whoever this "Prophet" was, he was clearly more than an ordinary person to this group of scavengers.

This person was likely the one who transmitted the voice of the "world beyond." Perhaps, he was also the true driving force behind this library, and the initiator of everything.

Yongkang's gaze returned to the transmitter, and a bigger question emerged in his mind. "Where is that person now?" he asked tentatively.

Su Ya's fingertip gently turned the dial, attempting to adjust the signal again, but she didn't answer immediately.

After a moment, she whispered, "He... vanished."

—Vanished?

Yongkang frowned, keenly aware of the word. His tone became more serious. "What do you mean? Died, or...?"

Su Ya shook her head, a trace of unmistakable bewilderment in her voice. "No one knows. He simply disappeared from this world, leaving no trace."

"The only thing we know for sure is that since the day he vanished, this channel has never responded again."

The air inside the room seemed to grow heavier.

"So... you are still waiting for him?" Yongkang asked tentatively.

Su Ya looked at the transmitter, her voice calm, yet sounding like she was speaking to herself. "We are not waiting for him; we are waiting for the signal."

Yongkang fell silent, the questions multiplying in his heart.

'What world is the 0.719MHz frequency connected to? And how can I find the answer?'

Su Ya swiftly turned the dial, trying to adjust the signal one more time. However, what came from the radio was still only a monotonous and faint—

"Hiss— Sizzle—"

The electronic noise echoed in the quiet space, like a voice forgotten by the world.

Outside, the rain slowly dripped, like the whispering of time itself, waiting in the still darkness for that signal—

To sound again.