In the heart of the city stands a magnificent building known as the "Symbiosis Tower." It is not constructed of steel and concrete but is made up of countless precise, transparent glass tubes, flowing with the vitality that sustains the city's operation—information flow and intelligent light. The core area of the tower is a place called the "Clean Creation Room." Here, skilled "Light Constructors" use special spectrometers to weave intangible thoughts and codes into stable, efficient, and visible light flows, driving the city's gears to mesh precisely.
The young Light Constructor, Wen Lin, independently designed and built the tower's latest and most critical subsystem—the "Dawn Circuit." He replaced the old, inefficient, and easily clogged "Stone Stacking Method" with a unique technique called "Light Condensation." The Dawn Circuit is elegant and efficient, its light as clear as morning dew, dispelling the murky heat fog produced by the old system. Wen Lin is the sole creator and maintainer of this circuit, and his name is engraved in the most prominent position on the circuit's base. The management of the Symbiosis Tower has publicly praised Wen Lin's contributions, stating that the Dawn Circuit is "the cornerstone of the tower's future."
However, on a seemingly ordinary morning, when Wen Lin entered the Clean Creation Room as usual, preparing to optimize a node of the Dawn Circuit, cold reality struck him. His identity light key—the crystal that allowed him to access the core of the circuit, adjust the spectrum, and even transfer ownership of the circuit—had failed. The once silent, pure light curtain door at the entrance of the Clean Creation Room now ruthlessly barred him from entry, leaving only a vague and distant projection.
Shocked, Wen Lin questioned the tower's management through an emergency communication link. The response was not a direct explanation but a series of cold words wrapped in the candy coating of "tower regulations" and "collective interests." Several elders dressed in outdated "Stone Stacker" robes (who were former maintainers of the old system and knew nothing of Light Condensation) appeared on the communication screen, their tone suffused with a stifling, condescending pity.
"Wen Lin," the leading elder said slowly, twirling a stone slab marked with the scars of the old era, "your Dawn Circuit... its brilliance is indeed dazzling. But the problem is, it is too 'cohesive.' We cannot clearly observe every turn of its internal light path. This does not comply with the ancient regulations of the Symbiosis Tower's 'transparent co-construction.' How can such an important system become a 'black box' that only you can fully understand?"
Another added, with a hint of barely perceptible mockery, "According to Article 137 of the tower regulations, any 'non-standard' or 'overly specialized' core component must have its management rights returned to the tower's 'co-management committee.' This is for the long-term stability of the tower, to avoid risks caused by individual factors. You still have the right to 'inject light flow,' which is the committee's greatest goodwill and trust."
Wen Lin felt a wave of absurd dizziness. The so-called "black box" was merely a more advanced Light Condensation structure that they could not comprehend! The so-called "risk" stemmed precisely from their ignorance and rejection of new technology... He watched helplessly as those Stone Stackers clumsily attempted to connect to the Dawn Circuit. Unable to grasp its intricacies, they crudely grafted their familiar, heavy, and inefficient stone structures onto the circuit's entrance and exit. The originally clear light of dawn was forced to pass through these rough, obstructive stone gaps, its brilliance dimming and distorting, emitting a low hum of being overburdened. The entire Symbiosis Tower seemed to tremble slightly as a result.
Wen Lin was forced to leave the core area of the Clean Creation Room. However, the real torture was just beginning. In the tower's internal communication channels, on the light screens in public rest areas, and even in the corners of the "Symbiosis Briefing" aimed at city residents, a cold, pervasive insinuation began to spread. When the management mentioned the Dawn Circuit, they no longer referred to "Wen Lin" by name, but instead used terms like "a former Light Constructor," "a certain experimenter," or simply the ironically loaded "that black box master."
"Recently, the Dawn Circuit has experienced some light flow leakage," a Stone Stacker said expressionlessly during a briefing, addressing the light screen, "This reminds us once again how dangerous it is to rely on the mysterious technology of 'a certain person.' Fortunately, we have timely reclaimed management rights and are gradually replacing some opaque parts with the robust and reliable 'Stone Stacking Method' to ensure the tower's foundation is solid." Below, some uninformed junior Light Constructors murmured in agreement, their gazes toward Wen Lin filled with confusion and detachment.
Wen Lin stood in the shadow of the tower, watching the light he had poured his life into being usurped, defiled, and stigmatized. He had even been stripped of the power to touch it, let alone protect it. He had become a ghost living in the "Symbiosis Tower," a "certain person" hunted by a carefully constructed rumor of the system. His very existence seemed to have become an erroneous annotation that needed to be erased in the tower's operation. What he felt was not anger, but a deep, bone-chilling coldness—a profound absurdity and sorrow of being rejected and reviled by a system he had nurtured with his own hands.
Until one day, you find yourself standing in front of a similar building, looking up at the light refracted by the glass tubes, which stings your eyes. You reach out to touch it, only to find that your fingerprints have been quietly erased by the system.
You once thought that code was pure, open-source, and free. You believed that contributions would be respected, technology would be understood, and names would be remembered.
But the reality is that some people would rather revert everything to their familiar Stone Age. They dismantle your structure, graft their blocks, and then tell everyone, "Look, this is more stable."
And you, from creator, have become—"a certain person" in their words.
It turns out that the tower has always been there.