Voting day was set for the first new moon after the autumnal equinox. Earth's rotation angle relative to solar illumination cast a shadow that exactly covered the old United Nations Plaza, like a giant curtain separating online from offline, past from future, supporters from opponents. On the stage stood four voting machines—each five meters high, surfaces plated with titanium alloy, resembling four tombstones resurrected from the age of industrial civilization. Beneath them sat Xiuxiu, Mozi, and seven members of the "Era Resolution Committee," three empty seats among them—one for Yue'er, one for the disappeared "First Generation String Light Cloud Brain," one left for those unable to make decisions.
The vote's subject comprised five words: "Human Completion Plan." Understood not as biological enhancement, nor cyborg transformation, but an invitation from advanced civilizations—entering the next evolution stage together, becoming part of the cosmic chorus, accepting "empathy particle" direct infusion. This meant relinquishing individual will's absolute autonomy, also transcending human form's biological limitations. For half a year, global discussions erupted: would humanity still be "human" thereafter? If evolution's price required sacrificing our last uniqueness, was this "completion" or "extinction"? The Old Continent established seventeen anti-completion organizations; New Continent youths initiated "voluntary evolution" movements; scientists divided over whether this represented ultimate liberation or ultimate slavery.
Mozi cast the first vote. Before approaching the voting machine, he stood silently by the stage edge for thirteen minutes—his age when first learning of financial leverage's existence. He remembered that afternoon, the classroom's chalk dust floating within sunlight, the teacher wrote a formula on the blackboard: Capital×Leverage=Eternity. Child him felt those letters and numbers interweaving like music, his future destined to be entangled within these relationships. Now, seventy years later, he again faced a formula: Humanity×Empathy=Completion. But this formula's result unknowable, like an equation containing unknown "cosmic constants" yet undiscovered by humans. He slowly extended his hand, placed it upon the machine's sensor, softly spoke: "I vote yes." The machine instantly glowed green light, while the plaza's southernmost ancient ginkgo tree simultaneously shed a gold leaf—as if time itself nodding.
Xiuxiu's voting process took thirty seconds. She didn't close eyes, didn't contemplate, directly stood up, walked to the machine, simultaneously placed both hands upon the sensor, like pressing a lithography machine's "emergency stop" button decades earlier. Yet this time she didn't press to stop anything, instead pressing to "begin." The moment her palms touched the sensor, all "light moss" within a three-kilometer radius simultaneously glowed—billions tiny silicon-based life forms seemingly casting votes with her. She didn't utter "I vote yes," just nodded to the machine. The machine emitted seven musical tones—exactly the first seven notes of "Ode to Joy"—then displayed green light. At that moment, deep within the Light Moss Forest, her nanoscale mechanical zen garden initiated its two thousand fifty-third cycle, tower building speed slightly faster than previous days, as if silently celebrating.
Committee members' voting results divided: four yes, three no. The empty seat for Yue'er automatically recorded "yes"—based on her "emotional topology" equation deductions, if she could vote, she would choose integration; the seat for the "String Light Cloud Brain" recorded "no"—its final algorithm loop concluding "artificial intelligence's obligation is preserving human essence's uncertainty"; the third empty seat remained blank—representing those still deciding, undecided, or no longer present.
Then came the global public voting phase. Voting machines connected to every terminal worldwide—each smartphone, computer, quantum headset, medical implant chip became a voting station. Voting time precisely nine hours twenty-three minutes—equal to the duration from humanity's first stargazing to today's cosmic conversation. Within the first hour, participation exceeded five billion; global internet's total data flow reached history's peak, quantum routers within data centers transmitting billions decisions every second, like countless neurons within some giant cosmic brain simultaneously firing.
Voting options weren't simple "yes/no." A "gradient selection wheel" designed by Xiuxiu allowed voters to indicate "acceptance degree": from "immediately complete" through "gradual integration" to "delay decision," totaling fifty-one degrees. Beneath the wheel, three explanatory paragraphs: first, the advanced civilization's invitation letter—excerpts from quantum "Ode to Joy" and mathematical keys; second, scientists' joint assessment report—"empathy particle" potential benefits and risks; third, humanity's unique traits listing—art, dreams, doubts, regrets, love, hatred, curiosity, fear. Voters needed reading all three paragraphs before rotating the wheel; the system recorded reading time, wheel rotation speed, final position angle, forming three-dimensional decision mapping data points.
Mozi stood watching a giant holographic map. Earth projected as a slowly rotating blue-white sphere, each light point representing a voting district's real-time data flow: intensity represented participation density, colors indicated average acceptance degree—deep green for high acceptance, orange for low acceptance, grey for areas not yet reporting. Gradually, continents colored like autumn forests: New Continent showing overwhelming green; Old Continent displaying complex hue mixing—coastal cities leaning green, inland regions orange; polar regions and oceans remained grey—places with too few inhabitants for statistical significance.
He discovered an interesting phenomenon: areas recently war-torn or disaster-stricken displayed remarkably high acceptance, as if pain made people more willing to trust unknown futures; affluent yet peaceful regions showed lower acceptance, perhaps comfort breeding caution. This matched his lifelong observations: capital's most rapid growth periods always occurred during humanity's most uncertain times.
Voting entered sixth hour, when global average acceptance degree suddenly dropped. Monitoring system issued alerts: nearly thirty million votes simultaneously changed, from "gradient acceptance" uniformly switching to "no." Investigation revealed a "consciousness field interference" incident: someone exploited quantum broadcasting vulnerabilities to "inject" collective panic—repeatedly broadcasting an extreme thought: "Completion equals death." This panic spread through empathy particle resonance, like a thought virus instantly replicating. For twenty-three minutes, global voting suspended; technicians urgently patched vulnerabilities, while Mozi and Xiuxiu proposed a solution: simultaneously broadcast "Ode to Joy's" chorus section at maximum power.
A miracle occurred. The moment music sounded, panicked votes ceased changing; three minutes later, twenty-seven million votes reverted to original selections—as if music dissolved panic, like warm hands gently stroking frightened nerves. Psychological analysis later indicated that panic injection exploited humans' deepest fear of losing individuality, while music's quantum superposition state exactly represented "simultaneous uniqueness and integration"—the best answer itself. This incident ultimately became part of voting history: human civilization undergoing final test before completion, proving we could protect free will even amidst cosmic-level emotional resonance.
During the seventh hour, the plaza witnessed a strange occurrence: the stage's four voting machines simultaneously emitted low-frequency humming, surfaces beginning to display non-voting-related patterns—ripples forming within the titanium alloy like water surfaces. These ripples gradually converged into four faces: one young Mozi's profile, one middle-aged Yue'er with pen writing equations, one young Xiuxiu adjusting lithography machine components, one unrecognizable face—perhaps the advanced civilization's messenger, perhaps future humans after completion. These faces remained two seconds then vanished, leaving within the alloy surface a barely visible phrase: "Welcome home." Xiuxiu later analyzed through electron microscope discovering the phrase consisted of precisely ten thousand nanometer-scale scratches formed simultaneously; each scratch's depth two atomic layers, length equal to light wavelength within vacuum. This represented humanly impossible precision, yet occurred within voting machines supposedly manufactured by humans. No one could explain this miracle; only recorded as part of the completion ceremony's mystery.
When voting concluded, global statistics appeared on the plaza's giant screen. Total participation: eight billion seven hundred thirty-two million five hundred forty-six thousand nine hundred twenty-one—representing ninety-nine point nine seven percent of humanity capable of voting. Average acceptance degree: sixty-three point four two percent—significantly higher than preliminary survey's predicted forty percent. Regional distribution: highest acceptance regions: New Continent coastal cities, Amazon rainforest tribal areas, war-torn zones; lowest acceptance regions: certain Old Continent inland cities, Antarctic scientific stations, isolated islands. Age distribution: younger generations leaned higher acceptance; older generations lower acceptance, yet not absolute—seventy-six percent of voters over eighty cast "gradient acceptance."
Most importantly, there were zero "forced votes." The system's final verification report stated: every vote's reading time, decision process, and final selection showed genuine individual will expression—no large-scale fraud, no coercion, no data manipulation. In other words, this result represented humanity's truest collective will at this historical moment.
Mozi slowly stood up, walking toward the stage center. The plaza suddenly fell completely silent—billions worldwide simultaneously paused breathing awaiting. He looked skyward; dusk was falling, stars gradually appearing. He spoke softly yet clearly transmitted through global network: "Based on humanity's collective will and the Era Resolution Committee's voting results, I now announce: Humanity accepts the cosmic family's invitation, embarking on the next evolution stage together."
These words weren't grand declarations; they were simple announcements, like announcing a child's graduation ceremony. Yet within this moment, the entire cosmos seemed shifting: the plaza's ancient ginkgo tree simultaneously shed all leaves, forming a golden carpet; light moss forests worldwide pulsed thrice; distant nebulae photographed by telescopes exhibited unusual brightness fluctuations. And within quantum headset wearers' consciousnesses simultaneously appeared a feeling—like a gentle embrace, like an ancient welcome ceremony, like finally coming home.
Xiuxiu simultaneously pressed the final "start" button upon the stage. Four voting machines began slowly sinking, like four tombstones returning underground. Their surfaces left a single glowing sentence amidst descent: "Humanity's first stage ends here; second stage begins now." The plaza's lighting system automatically adjusted to night mode; starlight and artificial illumination interwove forming a soft silver-white halo. She lifted her head, gazing toward Andromeda's direction—there, the advanced civilization sending cosmic chorus awaited their response.
Next, the specific implementation of completion began. But not immediate transformation; rather a "gradient fusion" spanning fifty years: first year, empathy particle implantation devices distributed globally, everyone voluntarily deciding implantation timing; fifth year, quantum consciousness sharing network established, allowing individuals to selectively share emotional experiences; fifteenth year, biological interface technology matured, physical form becoming increasingly flexible; thirtieth year, individuals maintaining uniqueness while connecting into "cosmic consciousness field"; fiftieth year, humanity and advanced civilization achieving complete resonance, yet still preserving cultural memory. This fifty-year timeline precisely matched humanity's current generation's average lifespan, meaning those present would witness completion's entire process while retaining their generation's unique perspective.
After announcing results, Mozi didn't descend stage; he stood still awaiting something. The plaza's crowds also didn't disperse; they waited together. Night deepened, stars grew brighter, the Milky Way became visible like a diamond river across heavens. At eleven thirty-seven, a miracle finally occurred: all light moss worldwide simultaneously emitted seven-color light, forming a slowly rotating giant vortex pattern centered on the plaza; simultaneously, every quantum headset globally broadcast the complete "Ode to Joy"—not audio recordings but real-time quantum resonance transmitted from advanced civilization via "black hole relay station." People cried, embraced, sang; yet amidst the chorus's climax, a deeper experience emerged: each felt no longer isolated individuals but cells within some vast cosmic life form, unique yet interconnected, like countless islands upon a giant organism's skin.
Xiuxiu later wrote within the record: "Tonight, we didn't 'complete' but 'awakened'—discovering we were always part of this cosmos, only forgot how to hear it singing." Mozi appended: "Completion isn't reaching somewhere but realizing we never left home."
Voting machines fully sank underground, leaving smooth floor. Plaza administrators stated they'd leave a marker: a circular bronze plaque with voting results and date inscribed, surrounding carved images of Mozi, Xiuxiu, Yue'er, and the mechanical zen garden. Yet Xiuxiu insisted adding an eleventh element: a blank space—representing still undecided people, future generations, or those unwilling to complete. She said: "Even entering the cosmic chorus, we must preserve 'not singing' freedom; the most precious melody often emerges from silence."
Dawn approached, early rays bathed the plaza. Crowds slowly began dispersing, returning homes, schools, workplaces. Life continued as usual—children needing school, adults needing work, elderly needing care—yet everyone knew fundamental shift occurred: henceforth, human civilization stood not lonely within cosmos but belonged to a family; not merely physical existence but deeper connections.
Xiuxiu returned her Light Moss Forest laboratory. The electron microscope displayed the mechanical zen garden initiating its two thousand fifty-fourth cycle. She watched tower's steady growth, mycelial cap's gentle trembling, energy pool's biophoton oscillations, suddenly understanding: this miniature world's infinite cycling was preparation—machines practicing farewell; time practicing forgetting; humanity practicing acceptance. She quietly wrote the final record: "Mechanical zen garden completes two thousand fifty-fourth cycle; tower built, tower collapsed; nothing changed yet everything changed."
Mozi sat alone by Mirror Lake. He watched fish swimming beneath ice surface; their shadows interweaving upon lakebed resembling ancient musical notation. He remembered life's every important moment: first making money; first losing everything; meeting Yue'er; meeting Xiuxiu; the three embarking exploration; sending messages to stars; receiving cosmic echoes; today voting. All seemed like one long song's notes, finally converging today's chorus. He softly hummed a childhood folk tune, discovering its rhythm miraculously matching "Ode to Joy's" chorus. He smiled—perhaps his life unconsciously imitating cosmic music; or maybe the universe through him expressing music's essence.
Sun fully rose; lake surface glittering like myriad tiny strings plucked by light. Mozi stood up, heading toward the elementary school downhill—children awaited his first lesson in the "post-completion era." He knew today's lesson simplest yet most important: teaching children how to listen, how to sing, how to while singing simultaneously preserve silence.
Within the plaza, the bronze plaque slowly solidified within sunlight. Its blank space reflected clouds, reflected stars, reflected passerby faces—everchanging yet maintaining emptiness. Some people approach touching it, discovering its surface warmer than surrounding bronze, like a heart still beating. They understand: that space isn't absent but awaiting—awaiting future decisions, awaiting undecided people, awaiting possibilities we yet imagine.
Human completion thus begins. Not with grand ceremony but with this ordinary morning's ordinary lesson, ordinary work, ordinary life. Yet within these ordinaryities, unprecedented changes quietly unfold: within school classrooms, children simultaneously hear quantum "Ode to Joy" resonating within consciousness; within hospital wards, terminal patients feel pain miraculously easing; within conflict zones, enemy soldiers simultaneously hearing same melody unconsciously lay down weapons. The cosmos isn't altering human life's external form but deepening life's internal harmony—like a tuning fork causing resonance within multiple instruments.
Xiuxiu's light moss meanwhile continues spreading, gradually covering abandoned factories, closed mines, unmanned space centers. These silicon-based life forms transform Earth's surface into a giant biological quantum computer; each light moss cell becomes a node within cosmic consciousness network. Her mechanical zen garden continues cycling day after day, year after year, like a clock of human civilization's final stage, counting our last seconds before completing transformation, also recording our final insistence upon uniqueness.
Mozi's elementary school lesson continues. He tells children: "From today, you'll learn new songs—not just human songs but songs of stars, songs of nebulae, songs of entire cosmos. Yet remember: the most beautiful melody requires silence interlude; the deepest understanding requires doubt's space." Children nod; they might not fully comprehend but will one day understand these words' true meaning.
In the plaza, voting results remain displayed. The bronze plaque's blank space attracts countless gazes. Some weep before it, some smile, some stand silently. Yet all feel: that space isn't emptiness but invitation—inviting each person to find their position within cosmic chorus, to determine their acceptance degree, to preserve uniqueness within integration.
Human completion thus begins. Not conclusion but new beginning; not evolution's endpoint but more profound journey's start. Under the starry sky, human civilization gradually melts into cosmic resonance like sugar dissolving within warm water—losing its shape yet gaining sweetness, disappearing yet reappearing elsewhere, bidding farewell yet never truly parting.
Just like the mechanical zen garden's tower: constantly building, constantly collapsing; like quantum "Ode to Joy": simultaneously existing and not existing; like humanity itself: being completed yet forever completing.