Through the thin clouds, the morning light sprinkled on the stone slab roads of this town on the edge of the "New World". The air was filled with moist earthy aromas and the faint floral scent from the distance. Mozi is wearing a cotton shirt that has been washed somewhat white, and dark cargo pants are still stained with the grass juice that he accidentally rubbed on when he took the children to observe the insects yesterday. He carries a simple cloth lunch bag in his hand, and walks to the elementary school in the east of the town without hesitation. There is no buzzing of suspended traffic, no real-time shock of global financial data flow, and no heavy pressure to weigh the pros and cons before making a decision. Only the early birds are chirping on the branches, and a few children riding bicycles and ringing bells pass by him, laughing and shouting "Good morning old ink".
The "New World" community, which once hosted the grandest dreams of him, Yue 'er and Xiuxiu, has evolved into a stable and vibrant semi-autonomous society. Technology is deeply embedded in the texture of daily life, but wonderfully retreats behind the scenes, and people are more enjoying the convenience of it than being enslaved by it. The core authority of the former "String Light Cloud Brain" has been smoothly transferred to the distributed autonomous committee composed of global citizens through the "neural consensus" mechanism in accordance with the "Twilight Plan" he formulated. He is no longer the "god" or "devil" who has enough capital power to disturb the stars and needs to cope with the crisis of civilization level. He is just "Old Mo", the nature teacher of Zhen Elementary School.
The school is a low building constructed of local wood and recycled materials, surrounded by small vegetable gardens and observation gardens opened by the children themselves. Pushing open the squeaky wooden door, the classroom was filled with sunshine, old books, and the distinctive, vibrant smell of the children. There is no holographic projector, no complex interface, just a sleek blackboard, rows of wooden tables and chairs, and paintings of the sun, stars, flowers, and strange animals painted by children in crayon.
He placed his lunch bag in the corner of the podium, where he had piled up irregularly shaped "love stones" given to him by several children and a small bird made of grass stalks. He picked up the chalk, drew a crooked but vital sun on the blackboard, and dotted a few small dots around it.
Children poured into the classroom like twittering sparrows, the oldest just ten years old and the youngest just six years old. Their eyes were clear, without fatigue overwhelmed by excessive information, and without blind awe of authority. They saw the picture on the blackboard and were immediately excited.
"Old Mo, old Mo! Talking about the sun today?"
"Is the sun a super big fireball?"
"Will it burn out?"
He smiled as he gestured for the children to quiet down and take their seats. He did not answer directly, but picked up a ball of leather that the children usually played with, with a rough surface, and lit a small alcohol lamp.
"Look," he held up the ball, "if we imagine that this ball is our earth," and then he pointed to the alcohol lamp, "this little flame is like a little bit of our sun, a very, very little bit of power."
He asked a child to step forward, carefully holding the ball, and slowly turn it in a safe distance from the flame. "How are you feeling?"
"It's a little warm!" The child shouted.
"Yes," Mozi nodded, glancing across a small raised face, "our sun, far away from us, but its light and heat, across such a long, empty darkness, can also make us feel warm, let the seeds on the ground sprout, and let the water in the river become clouds and fall again." Did you say that it is very powerful? "
The children nodded hard.
"Then will it burn out? He repeated the question just now, looking at the little girl who asked," Just like this lamp, if it keeps burning, the alcohol in it will always run out. "The sun is the same, it has been burning for a long time, until your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather... has not yet been born. It will continue to burn for a long time, until the grandchildren of your grandchildren's grandchildren... may be old. However, one day, it will gradually darken and become cold."
The classroom was quiet, and the children's faces showed a mixture of curiosity and a little worry.
"Then what? Are we going to die of cold?" A boy asked timidly.
Mozi put down the ball and extinguished the alcohol lamp. He walked to the window and pointed to the vibrant world outside: "Look, does our earth look like a lucky ball of skin that is warmly roasted by the fire of the sun and will grow a lot of things on its own? The sun gives us everything we started with. However, what really makes this place so lively? There are flowers, grass, and butterflies. What are you running around here?"
He paused, looked at the confused eyes of the children, then gently tapped his head and pointed at their hearts: "It is life itself. It's a force like a seed trying to break out of the ground, a force like a bird must learn to fly. The sun gives us light and heat, like a... like a good friend lends us a particularly good field. However, what seeds are planted in the field and how to take care of them, so that what grows in the field is our own business."
He walked back to the blackboard, and next to the crooked sun, he drew a small seedling that had broken out of the earth.
"So, even if after a long, long time, Grandpa Sun is really tired and needs to rest, by that time, you, or your children's children, may have learned to take care of bigger things like taking care of Xiaomiao. Maybe find a new good friend, a new 'sun', or... become someone who can emit light and heat."
Instead of using words like "Dyson sphere," "interstellar voyage," or "law of conservation of energy," he tries to plant a seed of circulation, dependence, responsibility, and resilience in the minds of children in the simplest of metaphors.
A little girl in sheep's horns raised her hand, "Old Mo, what about the stars? Are the stars that shine at night also the sun?"
"Some are, some are their siblings, some are something more special." He smiled. "After school this afternoon, if it's sunny, we'll look at the stars on the playground. I'll tell you the story of the stars, okay?"
"Okay!" The children spoke in unison, their eyes glowing with anticipation.
This is his daily life now. There was no magnificent financial battle, no indiscriminate confrontation with various forces, and no exhaustion in the direction of civilization. Some are just how to explain to the children why the leaves turn yellow in autumn, how to lead them to observe the path of the ants moving, and how to patiently guide them to understand each other's feelings when they cry because of the quarrel. These topics, in his view, were not worth mentioning. But now, he felt an unprecedented, calm and profound happiness.
He once ruled the behemoth of capital and fought in the turbulent waves of the global market. A decision can affect the increase and decrease of the wealth of hundreds of millions of people, and even the economic lifeblood of small countries. Together with Yue 'er and Xiuxiu, he was at the forefront of technology and thought, dealing with the frenzied snipers from the old forces, and personally pushing civilization through the danger of the "zero return" crisis. He had mastered the power of nearly "God's algorithm", peered into the deep mysteries of the universe, and had indirect contact with extraterrestrial civilizations. He used to be "God," or at least close to God.
But those moments, in addition to the glare of a momentary sense of accomplishment, are more like the caution of walking on thin ice, the loneliness of the cold on high, and the profound anxiety about the boundaries of power and knowledge. Each victory seems to have been achieved on an expanding steel wire. At the foot is the fate of civilization. Looking back are the expectations and sacrifices of his companions (his mind flashes with Yue 'er's finally quiet and decisive face, and his heart still hurts). In front of him is a thicker fog and a greater responsibility.
And here, in this classroom full of chalk ash and children's tongues, he found another greatness. This greatness lies not in the vastness of the sphere of influence, but in the depth of touching the soul; not in the severity of changing the world, but in nurturing the patience and tenderness of the future. He explained the world to the children, not through complex models and obscure terminology, but by guiding them to touch, observe, feel, and ask questions. Instead of trying to "control" or "guide" something, he "inspired" and "accompanied" it.
He believes that this is a greater and happier cause than managing capital and coping with the crisis of civilization. The power of capital can reshape the physical world, and the power of technology can push the limits of physics, but only education - the simplest, slowest, most patient kind of work - can shape the minds and ways of seeing the world for generations to come. These children, they may become farmers, craftsmen, teachers, artists, and perhaps scientists, explorers, but no matter which path they choose, their childhood curiosity about the world, their fear for life, and their attempts to understand others will become the most valuable part of their lives. The basis of a civilization's true maturity and longevity is not how powerful its technology or economy is, but whether most of its members retain a pure heart, a spirit of exploration, and the ability to empathize.
During the lunch break, he sat under the old locust tree at the entrance of the classroom and ate his own simple lunch. Several children ran over and sat around him, sharing the fruit and snacks they brought.
"Old Mo, you know so much!"
"What did you do before? Is it like the story, a very powerful explorer?"
He took a bite of the apple and the juice was sweet. He looked at the children's innocent eyes and smiled, which smiled with indifference and satisfaction after the vicissitudes: "I have done many different things before. But now, I think that being your teacher, listening to you talk about the little secrets you found, watching you grow up every day, is the most powerful and happiest thing."
The children seemed to understand, but they were infected by the peace and happiness in his tone, and they laughed and laughed. The sun shone through the cracks in the leaves, casting mottled spots of light on them. In the distance, the town's rooftops are smoky, and further afield, the green fields and forests of the "New World" extend all the way to the skyline.
He no longer needs to plan, no longer needs to be constantly alert to potential threats, and no longer needs to be anxious about every turning point of civilization. He liberated himself from that position of omnipotence and omnipotence, and willingly immersed himself in this "ordinary". Here, he is not "Mozi," the name that once stirred the winds and clouds has long been sealed in the archives of history; he is just "Lao Mo," an ordinary old man who tells the stories of the stars, who rolls with his children in the mud, and who listens patiently to all their strange ideas.
In the afternoon nature class, he took the children to the woods behind the school to teach them to recognize the sounds of different birds and observe the growth patterns of moss on the roots of the trees. He listened to the excitement of the children's discoveries and arguments, and watched as they exclaimed at the sudden jump of a grasshopper, filled with calm joy. This joy is different from the stimulus when the financial market wins, the intellectual pleasure when solving technical problems, and the sense of mission when driving social change. It is a satisfaction more essential and closer to life itself, as if he had finally returned to his original and most abundant state as a "man."
After school in the evening, the children were picked up by their parents like nesting birds. Before leaving, they still waved goodbye to him and reminded him of his agreement to look at the stars at night. He slowly packed up the classroom, straightened the crooked tables and chairs, and wiped the blackboard clean. The afterglow of the sunset dyed the entire classroom a warm orange.
He stood in the empty classroom, looking around. There is no cutting-edge equipment that symbolizes power and knowledge, only childish works by children and simple furnishings full of traces of life. However, he felt that it was closer to the true "core" than any command center, trading hall, or secret institute he had ever owned. The continuation of civilization does not depend on a few giants standing at the top, but on the growth and illumination of the minds of ordinary people from generation to generation. He used to be one of the giants who tried to light up the way ahead, but now he prefers to be the one who lights the first lamp in his heart for the children who are about to start their journey at the starting point.
As night fell, the stars first appeared. He sat on the grass in the playground with a group of excited children, looking up at the night sky that began to shine. He pointed to the Big Dipper and told the story of how the ancients relied on it to identify the direction; pointed to the Milky Way and described it as a river of light composed of countless distant suns; he even improvised a few small stories about the friendship and adventure between the stars, which led the children to marvel.
The night breeze was cool, with the scent of grass. Mozi felt a deep marrow of peace as he listened to the uniform breathing and occasional questions of the children around him, and watched their bright eyes reflecting the starlight. He gave up being the dazzling star that guided civilization and chose to become the ordinary soil that nourished seedlings. And in this supreme ordinariness he touched a certain eternal bliss, and a power warmer and firmer than any divinity. He is no longer a "god", he is just an old Mo, an old man who tells the story of the universe for children under the stars, and this is the most complete destination he can think of.