Once We Lived in Nanjing

[Interview Transcript Excerpt: The Fruit of Two Million Years of Maturation]

What is the fruit?

I asked.

I don't know; we can only guess the result.

Wang Ning answered very crisply; he was still wearing his mask, barely covering half of his face with its pale blue surgical fabric. His black, short and thick eyebrows were nestled above a pair of small eyes, their pitch-black pupils scanning the surroundings rapidly. Drops of water clung to his closely cropped hair. We sat by the window; in the humid and gloomy winter of Nanjing, it was raining outside. No raindrops were visible, but the transparent streams converging on the glass were apparent. The streets were eerily quiet, and passersby hurried along, holding differently colored umbrellas but wearing masks of the same color.

We met at a KFC, where I ordered two colas and two bags of fries.

Wang Ning took off his mask and sucked in a big gulp of ice-cold cola, exhaling a long sigh: Ah, this damn damp weather. How long have you been in Nanjing, teacher?

About a week.

I replied.

These days, going out isn't safe, Wang Ning quipped, never knowing when a diagnosis might explode on us.

Director Wang, let's continue discussing the fruit.

I steered the conversation back on track.

Well... I'm just talking nonsense, you know, making speculative guesses that haven't been experimentally verified, not rigorous, no legal responsibility, teacher, just take it as a story.

Wang Ning talked while holding a fried fry between his lips, which tilted as he spoke.

Heav... Heav...

Old Wang looked at me, furrowing his eyebrows.

Heavenly.

I reminded him.

Ah, yes, Teacher Heavenly, what do you think the fruit is?

I pondered: Is it humans?

Right, but not entirely correct. You might think that the fruit refers to something like the fruit of wisdom, because humans are advanced primates, possessing higher intelligence. Hence, humans are the fruit, the fruit that nature has taken millions of years to produce.

Wang Ning replied.

But the fruit isn't entirely human. The word "fruit" really means the literal fruit, not some implication, nor a metaphor. Teacher, have you seen crops? Harvesters harvesting crops, like wheat, rice, cotton, and such. When we talk about the fruit of a crop, we mean just the grains of rice or the cotton and peaches, not the whole plants... Now, teacher, look, if I were a crop, then what is the fruit of the crop?

Wang Ning pointed to himself.

I looked over this man, who weighed at least 140 kilograms, from top to bottom and then from bottom to top, finally resting my gaze on his face.

That's right, here, isn't it?

Wang Ning tapped his own head.

Quite brutally straightforward, no beating around the bush, but we thought about it for quite a while back then. Our initial thought was similar to yours, taking it one step further, also assuming the fruit meant an implication, a metaphor for humans as higher intelligent beings. But later, we realized that reality is simpler than we had imagined. In Swordman's view, we are not the fruit; we are the crops, truly crops, in the real sense of the word, except the crops planted in the field don't move, and we are the moveable crops.

Saying so, Wang Ning straightened up and asked me:

Don't human bodies resemble crops?

I realized he was right.

Human bodies really are like crops; they stand upright on the ground, with the heavy fruit perched at the highest point, not essentially different from rice or wheat. With seven billion people in the world, there are seven billion crops, densely packed and growing on Earth.

Looking at the history of human evolution, this crop has stood up straighter and straighter, bearing increasingly tempting fruits.

I stared at Wang Ning's face, which gradually began to change in my eyes. He was no longer a living human being, but rather a fleshy plant laden with protein and fat—the eating, the learning, as well as working and resting—all seemed to be nurturing that fruit, supplying nutrients to that large, round fruit.

Now that the fruit has matured, is it time to harvest?

This thought sent shivers down my spine.

I hurriedly took a sip of ice-cold cola to cool down my head.

Teacher Heavenly, you don't look so good.

Wang Ning alerted me.

This fact is somewhat terrifying, and I need a moment to compose myself.

I randomly chewed a few bites of fried potato chips, then continued with my question:

So those large eyes, or in other words, Swordman's purpose in destroying humanity, is it for headhunting?

Yes, according to the information we acquired later, this thing often cuts people into segments about twenty to thirty centimeters long. We analyzed it, and it might be a kind of procedural harvesting operation. Because people come in all heights, weights, and figures, yet heads are almost always about the same size; they cut the crops into small segments, collect the fruits separately, and other parts are crushed just like straw. Swordman isn't a weapon, they're probably agricultural harvesters.

Wang Ning said leisurely.

It's a frightening and absurd notion that what ultimately destroys humanity is an agricultural harvester.

Earth—Wang Ning pointed out the window—is nothing but a giant farm. Whenever the crops are ripe, they come to harvest. After one round of harvest, there will be another.

Another cycle?

I asked.

Humanity will be extinct, and sooner or later other life forms will fill the void. One day, intelligent life forms will once again emerge on Earth, and the fruits will slowly ripen again, just like leeks.

Wang Ning said nonchalantly.

Teacher, let's think further ahead. Do you think we are the first batch of crops to be harvested on Earth? Earth's history spans four point six billion years, and life first appeared on it three point six billion years ago. Yet, a flourishing Civilization could be born and destroyed in less than ten million years.

What's the purpose of them harvesting heads?

I asked.

Perhaps it's to collect intelligence? That's a question for Swordman, we don't know either.

Wang Ning shook his head.

Terrifying indeed, it's something beyond human understanding.

I said.

Indeed, humanity cannot fathom them, but deep down in our subconscious, we know they exist—just as a newborn gazelle knows the cheetah is a deadly threat. It's a memory embedded in our genes. Our thoughts come from the brain, and as the brain is the fruit, and as a fruit with consciousness, it possesses the instinct of the fruit, which is to avoid being harvested.

Wang Ning raised both hands, wiggling his fingers.

Our every action is directed by our brains. We can regard all of humanity's behaviors—conscious or not—as efforts to escape Swordman's harvest. Whether as individuals or as a community, human behavior is always outward and expansive. We want to leave Earth, land on the Moon, land on Mars, expand into the colonization of outer space, because we know we cannot hide on Earth forever. Staying on Earth indefinitely leads Civilization to ultimate extinction—our brains tell us so, right?

I nodded.

But why does the brain tell us this? In fact, it can't clearly articulate this intense drive to leave our birthplace, why must we venture out? Why do we believe staying on Earth forever would eventually lead to extinction? We think it's because of humanity's eternal exploratory spirit, eternal curiosity, eternal desire for expansion, but where does this desire come from?

It comes from fear, from the collective instinct of the brains as fruits, a subconscious present from birth—that if you don't flee the farm, one day you will be completely harvested.

Wang Ning paused, then continued:

Any animal making an effort to expand its population is trying to avoid extinction at the hands of something. It's a subconscious desire rooted in the genes; you might not be aware of its existence, but you are definitely acting according to its dictates.

I was dumbstruck.

That's Old Zhao's hypothesis, a bit sensational.

Wang Ning added.

Take it as a story.

I vigorously rubbed my cheeks. I had never considered the human collective from such a bizarre perspective: they are actually a bunch of crops, crops attempting to flee the farm under the command of their fruits.

They have been trying to escape from here since birth.

But think about it, and it makes sense. If rice and wheat could walk, they would definitely scatter and run when the combine harvesters approached the field.

I took a big gulp of cola, swallowing it down my throat. The cold drink cools my brain a little, so I won't be taken away for isolation by the temperature screening staff at the subway station later.

So, the large eyes chasing that girl, was it just an agricultural harvester harvesting the last crop?

That's right, the behavior of the large eyes is very peculiar, extremely peculiar. From a human perspective, it's monstrous and evil, but from other life forms' viewpoints, it's practically nature's good friend... What were we talking about earlier?

The night of your first video communication.

I reminded.

Wang Ning nodded his head.

Alright, then I'll continue: