Pan stood up and paced behind the players. “As a game, Three Body only borrows the background of human society to simulate the development of Trisolaris. This is done to give players a familiar environment. The real Trisolaris is very different from the world of the game, but the existence of the three suns is real. They’re the foundation of the Trisolaran environment.”
“Developing this game must have cost an enormous amount of effort,” the vice president said. “But the goal is clearly not profit.”
“The goal of Three Body is very simple and pure: to gather those of us who have common ideals,” Pan said.
“What ideals do we have in common, exactly?” Wang immediately regretted the question. He wondered whether asking it sounded hostile.
Pan studied everyone meaningfully, and then added in a soft voice, “How would you feel if Trisolaran civilization were to enter our world?”
“I would be happy.” The young reporter was the first to break the silence. “I’ve lost hope in the human race after what I’ve seen in recent years. Human society is incapable of self-improvement, and we need the intervention of an outside force.”
“I agree!” the author shouted. She was very excited, as though finally finding an outlet for pent-up feelings. “The human race is hideous. I’ve spent the first half of my life unveiling this ugliness with the scalpel of literature, but now I’m even sick of the work of dissection. I yearn for Trisolaran civilization to bring real beauty to this world.”
Pan said nothing. That glint of excitement appeared in his eyes again.
The old philosopher waved his pipe, which had gone out. He spoke with a serious mien. “Let’s discuss this question with a bit more depth: What is your impression of the Aztecs?”
“Dark and bloody,” the author said. “Blood-drenched pyramids lit by insidious fires seen through dark forests. Those are my impressions.”
The philosopher nodded. “Very good. Then try to imagine: If the Spanish Conquistadors did not intervene, what would have been the influence of that civilization on human history?”
“You’re calling black white and white black,” the software company vice president said. “The Conquistadors who invaded the Americas were nothing more than murderers and robbers.”
“Even so, at least they prevented the Aztecs from developing without bound, turning the Americas into a bloody, dark great empire. Then civilization as we know it wouldn’t have appeared in the Americas, and democracy wouldn’t have thrived until much later. Indeed, maybe they wouldn’t have appeared at all. This is the key to the question: No matter what the Trisolarans are like, their arrival will be good news for the terminally ill human race.”
“But have you thought through the fact that the Aztecs were completely destroyed by the Western invaders?” the power company executive asked. He looked around, as though seeing these people for the first time. “Your thoughts are very dangerous.”
“You mean profound!” the doctoral student said, raising a finger. He nodded vigorously at the philosopher. “I had the same thought, but I didn’t know how to express it. You said it so well!”
After a moment of silence, Pan turned to Wang. “The other six have all given their views. What about you?”
“I stand with them,” Wang said, pointing to the reporter and the philosopher. He kept his answer simple. The less said the better.
“Very good,” Pan said. He turned to the software company vice president and the power company executive. “The two of you are no longer welcome at this meet-up, and you are no longer appropriate players for Three Body. Your IDs will be deleted. Please leave now. Thank you.”
The two stood up and looked at each other; then glanced around, confused, and left.
Pan held out his hand to the remaining five, shaking each person’s hand in turn. Then he said, solemnly, “We are comrades now.”
19
Three Body: Einstein, the Pendulum Monument, and the Great Rip
The fifth time Wang Miao logged on to Three Body, it was dawn as usual, but the world was unrecognizable.
The great pyramid that had appeared the first four times had been destroyed by the tri-solar syzygy. In its place was a tall, modern building, whose dark gray shape was familiar to Wang: the United Nations Headquarters.
In the distance were many more tall buildings, apparently dehydratories. All had completely reflective mirror surfaces. In the dawn light they appeared as giant crystal plants growing out of the ground.
Wang heard a violin playing something by Mozart. The playing wasn’t very practiced, but there was a special charm to it, as though saying: I play for myself. The violinist was a homeless old man sitting on the steps in front of the UN Headquarters, his fluffy silver hair fluttering in the wind. Next to his feet was an old top hat containing some scattered change.
Wang suddenly noticed the sun. But it rose in the opposite direction from the dawn light, and the patch of the sky around it was still completely dark.
The sun was very large, its half-risen disk taking up a third of the horizon. Wang’s heart beat faster: Such a large sun could only mean another great catastrophe. But when Wang turned around, the old man continued to play as though nothing odd was happening. His silver hair shone brilliantly in the sun, as though it was on fire.
The sun was silvery, just like the old man’s hair. It cast a pale white light over the ground, but Wang couldn’t feel any warmth from the light. He gazed at the sun, which had now completely risen. On the giant silver disk he could pick out lines like wood grains: mountain ranges.
Wang realized that the disk did not emit light. It only reflected the light from the real sun, which was on the other side of the sky, below the horizon. What had risen wasn’t a sun at all, but a giant moon. The giant moon moved briskly up the sky at a pace that could be detected by the naked eye. In the process, it gradually waned from a full to a half moon, and then a crescent. The old man’s soothing violin strains drifted on the cold morning breeze. The majestic sight of the universe was like the music made material. Wang was intoxicated.
The giant crescent now fell into the dawn light and grew much brighter. When only two glowing tips remained above the horizon, Wang imagined them as the tips of the horns of a titanic bull rushing toward the sun.
“Honored Copernicus, rest your busy feet here a while,” the old man said, after the giant moon had set. “Then after you’ve appreciated some Mozart, perhaps I can have some lunch.”
“If I’m not mistaken…” Wang looked at the face full of wrinkles. The wrinkles were long and their curves gentle, as though they were trying to create a kind of harmony.
“You’re not. I’m Einstein, a pitiful man full of faith in God, though abandoned by Him.”
“What is that giant moon? I’ve never seen it the previous times I was here.”