Chapter 001: Prehistoric Civilization
Research has indicated that before the rise of human civilization, other highly advanced civilizations may have once existed on Earth. It is widely acknowledged that many ancient relics were not created by humanity. In fact, there are numerous monuments that, even with today's advanced technology, we are incapable of building.
Based on such speculations, some scholars have proposed the theory of prehistoric civilizations.
In 1998, within an Egyptian pyramid, archaeologists discovered an artificial heart implanted in the left chest of a boy mummy. Modern medicine has only been producing artificial hearts for the past twenty years, yet this device had been placed in a child's chest over five thousand years ago. This astonishing fact lent further credence to the concept of prehistoric civilization.
Even more shocking, in 2018, scientists unearthed a liquid nitrogen tank at Zhoukoudian near the capital. Inside the tank were five hearts—hearts remarkably similar to those of humans, yet definitely not human.
There are those who speculate these hearts belonged to a species that had not yet fully evolved.
With the advancement of scientific civilization, humanity's longing for immortality has only grown, giving rise to the field of cryonics. As the name suggests, scientists use liquid nitrogen to freeze entire bodies, preserving them in tanks. Theoretically, in a more technologically advanced future, these frozen individuals could one day be revived.
The problem, however, lay in the fact that the liquid nitrogen tank from Zhoukoudian had existed for at least three thousand years.
The moment this news broke, a wave of shock swept across the globe.
After the tank was opened, the five hearts inside thawed rapidly—no one expected that, upon thawing, the hearts would begin to deteriorate.
The Cryonics Center in the capital was urgently tasked with receiving the five hearts, but unfortunately, only four could be saved; one was completely lost to necrosis.
The center refroze the four remaining hearts, which had survived for three thousand years.
However, for reasons still unknown, the hearts continued to deteriorate even after being refrozen—though the process was greatly slowed.
The government intervened immediately, forming a special research team led by Professor Han Yi.
Professor Han Yi did not shrink from responsibility. He led his team tirelessly, tackling countless challenges, and soon reached a conclusion: these ancient hearts could potentially survive inside the human body.
This was encouraging news, but with all gains come risks.
Data showed that the pulse of these ancient hearts was extremely powerful—likely more than a human body could bear.
Given that even after refreezing, the hearts were still decaying, Professor Han Yi proposed a daring idea: rather than let the hearts fade away in liquid nitrogen, why not take this opportunity for a bold experiment?
Implant them into human bodies.
This proposal sparked fierce debate within the research group. Some believed it could be a breakthrough, potentially reshaping our understanding of prehistoric civilizations. Others feared it would create monsters, violating ethical boundaries.
Yet all agreed on one point: at this stage, it seemed the only chance to preserve the ancient hearts.
If cryonic preservation was impossible, perhaps new life could be granted through a human host.
Professor Han Yi's radical proposal gained official approval, though not through standard protocols. The project would be overseen by the National Office for Special Incidents, and all participants were required to sign confidentiality agreements.
The project commenced at once.
Since this experiment required hosts, the first step was to find suitable candidates.
By "hosts," they meant living human beings.
How to choose them? Whom would they ask to volunteer for such a dangerous experiment? The risks were immense—whoever became a host might not survive.
The National Office for Special Incidents issued a directive: select volunteers from the military, giving priority to orphans, to the young and strong.
A public notice was issued, emphasizing the gravity of the mission: a secret assignment, sacrifice for the nation, odds of survival one in ten.
Despite the near-cold tone of the notice, the recruitment proceeded smoothly.
Countless patriotic youths stepped forward—who among them would shrink from danger? Having joined the military, were they not already prepared for sacrifice, burning with the zeal to lay down their lives for their country?
Yet reality proved even harsher than imagined.
The first group of hosts consisted of sixteen spirited young people—none survived.
That night, Professor Han Yi could not sleep.
He felt as though he had become an executioner, personally sending sixteen young lives to their deaths.
Sixteen patriotic orphans—all gone, with no family left behind, not even eligible for compensation.
Once, he had been a healer, saving lives. Now, he felt like a butcher.
Sixteen brave souls had lain on the operating table, facing death with courage, yet none survived.
The pulse of the ancient hearts was beyond all expectation—once implanted, each beat could be fatal.
Indeed, these hearts could function inside a body, but no human vessel could withstand such force.
A heart is like a compressor—if a human heart's pressure is rated at one, these ancient hearts exerted a crushing ten.
No human body could endure such pressure.
Under these conditions, internal organs would hemorrhage, blood vessels would burst.
Leaning on the railing, Professor Han Yi looked utterly exhausted.
No one truly understood the pain in his heart, yet he had to lead his team forward, knowing more might die by his hand.
This mission, entrusted to him by the nation, was one he would see through even at the cost of his own life.
But the complete failure of the first trial set back the project severely.
Zhou Yirong stood in the corridor, hesitating as he looked at the tall yet desolate figure. He was unsure whether to speak.
Sixteen sacrifices weighed heavily on everyone in the team.
Hearing footsteps, Professor Han Yi turned to Zhou Yirong and asked, "Why aren't you asleep? There's much to do tomorrow."
After a moment's hesitation, Zhou Yirong spoke. "Professor, I think we should continue the host trials…"
Professor Han Yi frowned. "Weren't you the one who led the opposition?"
Zhou Yirong replied, "Either you don't begin, or, having begun, you must not stop."
"You know as well as I do—if we continue, more will die."
"I know… But I was thinking, and perhaps you were too, that there may be a group of people who can withstand it…"
Professor Han Yi fell silent.
Zhou Yirong continued, "Astronauts can endure ten times normal pressure during rocket launches. I think—"
Click.
Professor Han Yi lit a cigarette.
Astronauts!
Easier said than done—how many astronauts does a nation have?
In China, after years of training, only about twenty were actively serving.
One in ten thousand selected to be a pilot, and from those, one in a thousand to become an astronaut.
The next day, Professor Han Yi submitted a request: for astronauts to participate as hosts in the experimental trials.
The progress of humanity has always been paved with sacrifice, yet people do not waver, even when each step forward exacts a heavy price.
Some research ventures are fraught with uncertainty, but in the twenty-first century, people understand that only by advancing can we become stronger.
While the special research team toiled day and night, a major incident struck the capital.
A mysterious virus began spreading rapidly.
All those infected, regardless of age or gender, developed hard scales on their skin—like the beastly transformations seen in sci-fi films.
The capital, an international metropolis with a dense and highly mobile population, became an ideal ground for the virus's transmission.
At first, there were only two or three clinical cases—too few to draw attention.
But within just three to five days, cases rose from a handful to several hundred, multiplying at a pace reminiscent of the SARS outbreak.