Chapter 39 (Virtual Reality I): Special Edition

Sixty-five million years ago, Venus.

Hodison was one of the greatest inventors in the history of Venus, a dozen years older than Nikola Tesla, and had once been Tesla’s employer.

Over a century ago, Hodison invented the electric light, direct current, and the phonograph, among other things. He was hailed as the man who illuminated Venus.

In his later years, Hodison’s deepest wish was for his name to be recorded in the annals of Venusian science as the greatest inventor—without equal.

He dismissed Tesla’s inventions and theoretical hypotheses, such as alternating current and the so-called superlight wave, as trifles, frequently declaring in public that alternating current was unsafe and the misuse of superlight waves would bring immense risks.

As it turned out, Hodison’s warnings proved prescient. The superlight wave power plants built on Venus injected excess energy into the crust, accelerating plate movements and causing the land in the Tower Island region to rise, the sea to recede, and the entire Venusian landscape and ecosystem to be destroyed. Earthquakes and volcanic eruptions followed in quick succession.

The superlight wave power station built on Saturn’s moon triggered an explosion, forming a massive ice sphere in the Saturn system and causing Jupiter’s orbit to contract toward the Sun, threatening to annihilate Venus, Earth, and Mars in the habitable zone of the solar system.

How could Nikola Tesla be considered as great an inventor as Hodison? He was, in truth, a scientific madman devoid of reverence, and the very culprit behind the destruction of Venusian humanity.

Hodison believed that scientific research and invention were distinct matters: the former could be boundless and unrestrained, but the latter demanded utmost caution, for the Venusians had but one solar system, and only three planets in the habitable zone.

Since the Venusian Alliance government publicly admitted that the superlight wave power stations had caused a series of crises, public opinion was in an uproar. The government announced a rescue plan: to shatter Mars, stabilize the solar system, extract genes, upload consciousness, and rise anew from the ashes, further polarizing the populace.

The vast majority were realists; given a lifeline and hope of rebirth, they would grasp it, abandoning fruitless complaints.

Though the opposition was a minority, their voices echoed loudly across social media.

Curiously, while all opposed Tesla’s plan, their beliefs and demands differed, sometimes even clashed.

According to Venus’s current technological capabilities and plan, once Venusians chose to upload all consciousness from their brains, their bodies would lose signs of life—effectively dying.

Opponents shared a rejection of consciousness upload, but their reasons varied greatly.

Some with strong religious faith believed everything was ordained by heaven; uploading consciousness or cloning bodies was blasphemy. After death, one would ascend to paradise—why disrupt the divine order with human intervention?

Naturalists saw birth, aging, illness, and death as self-evident laws of nature, individual events unconnected to the group; disease, traffic accidents, or the destruction of the solar system were merely different ways to die, all ending the same. Death was death—spare them the lukewarm platitudes about Venusian survival or solar system security.

No matter how loud the dissent, it could not affect the rescue plan in any substantive way. The Venusian Alliance government did not intervene against the opposition.

Perhaps emboldened by this, some radical dissenters proposed taking action to prevent the shattering of Mars.

Their reasoning was that Tesla and Venusian Academy scientists claimed only by actively shattering Mars could the destruction of the habitable zone be halted—but who could guarantee their calculations were correct?

What if Jupiter’s orbit would never have changed, and Venus could “muddle through,” maintaining an ecosystem suitable for human needs? Then, Tesla and his cohort would have caused the opponents’ deaths by shattering Mars. That would be murder!

To kill one to save fifty: the eternal, insoluble philosophical dilemma.

The Venusian Alliance’s stance was resolute; parliament and government served the vast majority. In the face of life and death, maintaining the stability of the solar system and the continuation of Venusian humanity was paramount.

The radicals were dissatisfied; they needed a more persuasive leader. In scientific achievement and personal prestige, Hodison was the ideal candidate, rivaling Tesla.

Thus, an impassioned essay by Venus’s greatest inventor, Hodison, shot to the top of trending topics. He wrote:

The government need not, and has no right to, actively shatter Mars. This is my position, and my reflection as a scientist on so-called science.

In my youth, like most scientific workers, I thought science was much smaller in scope than philosophy and theology. Yet, as I aged and Venusian science advanced, the boundaries of science grew ever more blurred.

Someone asked me if I believed in divinity. I replied: if you mean the omnipresent, omnipotent kind, I do not. But if you say the divine is the creator, then I must believe, for otherwise we cannot explain why the universe on a grand scale and particles in the microcosm are so evenly distributed and structurally similar. Human activity, regardless of scale or distance, is too unified, too perfect—it seems created.

When Venusians could run code programs in computers, set scenes and characters, build electric vehicles and robots, even upload consciousness, I had no reason to deny this view: The scene of Venusian life and humanity itself is a program written and run by the “creator”—his designed game.

If our so-called reality is merely virtual, then the creator surely knows the crisis we face. If he does not tire of us, the solar system and Venusian humanity will not perish.

The so-called rescue plan requires us to go to great lengths, sacrificing lives for the so-called majority. But for the creator, it might be very simple—he need only gently press the restart button.

Hodison’s influence was indeed extraordinary. The rescue plan forcibly passed by the Venusian Alliance parliament was once again thrust into the spotlight; though few opposed it, the situation grew ever more dire. The solution lay with the originator; Speaker Kent and President Abbott visited Hodison.

Hodison, knowing their purpose, spoke first: “Tesla’s superlight wave power station created the crisis. I believe his so-called rescue plan is an even greater crisis. You should halt the Mars shattering plan.”

“Esteemed Mr. Hodison, now is not the time to assign blame—besides, Tesla only proposed the theory; we built the station. The path of scientific exploration is always fraught with risk,” Speaker Kent replied. “If we take no action to resolve the crisis, we will all be destroyed—unless you have a better solution.”

“If you’ve come to me merely to circle around measures and solutions, it will be hard for us to agree. I feel compelled to share my reflections on science and divinity over the years.”

As Hodison spoke, he opened a holographic projection, outlining his logic. In the past centuries, Venusian science had achieved tremendous progress.

Elegant and concise formulas and laws were discovered; the vast world could be explained by mathematical logic and reproduced by programming code.

From images to video, to virtual reality technology, science’s power of simulation had advanced to the point where truth and illusion were almost indistinguishable.

President Abbott understood Hodison’s thinking, realizing that the discussion would yield no consensus, as both sides differed fundamentally in their understanding of science. Considering this, Abbott followed Hodison’s line of thought:

“If there truly is a creator as you say, and we do nothing, can you guarantee he will automatically save the solar system and Venusian humanity?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He can decide whether to shatter Mars himself, or perhaps find a simpler way to stabilize Jupiter’s orbit,” Hodison replied.

“I’m truly speechless. Then, as you say, could you describe what you imagine the creator to be like?” Abbott asked helplessly.

It was indeed an intriguing question. If the creator could construct any scene in three-dimensional space and create any form of life, how would he proceed?

Hodison believed the creator would build a vast, stable structure, set it in motion, and fill it with all manner of living creatures—for that would be the most entertaining.

Beetles, dinosaurs, even tyrants—any creature could be designated as the protagonist of a particular round.

Yet, as the game’s scenes and protagonists shifted from round to round, the creator might suddenly realize that being a mere spectator was dull—why not join in directly?

The creator, as a player, would enter his own virtual reality game for the greatest thrill. Thus, the protagonist among all his creations would likely be a “special edition” modeled after himself. This most intelligent special edition would be the creator’s kindred—humanity.

Therefore, the creator’s most probable form of existence is a human!

If our universe is a scene set in a virtual reality game, then its maker is likely another human in a different realm, whose indistinguishable avatars are scattered among the bustling crowds.

&

A poem of collected lines:

All know the Green Emperor leads spring’s return. (Song Dynasty, Zhang Gongxiang)
Private wisdom cannot fathom creation. (Qing Dynasty, Yu Yue)
To serve as example for the solitary recluse. (Song Dynasty, Liu Caishao)
A long star offers you a golden cup. (Qing Dynasty, Qu Dajun)