In the vast, boundless depths of the universe—without beginning or end—there exists a singur, cerulean blue p.

  From the day of its birth, it has silently traced a fixed orbit around a colossal, bzing fireball, while spinning noiselessly on its own axis like a top. For billions of years, it has tihis way, seemingly destio spin on ungingly forever.

  Until an ued moment arrived. On its surface emerged a tiny, insignifit ay called "life." Over billions of years of evolution, "life" diversified into hundreds of millions of forms. Among them, one fained an ability known as "intelligence" and began to probe, specute, and uhe essence of their existehe meaning of survival, and the truth of the world they inhabited. Due to differing approaches, tless legends aes arose, giving birth to a myriad ions, myths, philosophies, literature, arts, and sces.

  The massive image of the blue p rotated silently in the air. From all around it, not a single specific lifeform could be seen, nor any trace of their activity. They were so insignifit that their existence could easily be overlooked entirely.

  Yet, the few individuals seated around this enormous proje—dressed in a way that marked them as human—could not ighem. They had argued over this issue for a long time, until no one wished to tihe debate. So, they fell silent, staring bnkly at the giant image of the blue p h in the air.

  "Let’s vote," a voice finally broke the stillness from the chairman’s ptform, carrying the tone of a divine decree. "Let’s decide by vote whether ter a great destru a everything in this world start anew."

  "Is there even a o vote again?" someone objected, tapping a few buttons on the armrest of their chair. "Want to see the truest public opinion? Isn’t their vote enough to make up our minds?"

  Before the words fully settled, a small window popped up in the void, dispying two ders—oall, one short. The red der representing "agree" towered far above "oppose," apanied by a long string of ten-digit numbers beh it. The speaker tinued, "Creating a fair and just ‘real’ world is the iable trend, the will of the people. It’s only a matter of time."

  "Even though over y-five pert support starting over, the risks and costs are simply too great. We ’t bear it," someone voiced their helplessly, their words immediately met with quiet murmurs of agreement from others.

  "There’s actually a promise," another spoke up.

  "What promise?"

  "We could tweak some parameters, minimally affeg the system’s operation. That way, our workload would be much lighter, and the losses far smaller." As he spoke, he tapped on a small keyboard embedded in the armrest. His fingers were long and pale, and on the ring finger of his left hand sparkled a rge pink diam. Uhe light, its color, shape, and luster marked it as a priceless, one-of-a-kind treasure.

  With his fingers dang like butterflies, the image of the blue p in the air began to shrink, gradually revealing a broader starry backdrop. Eventually, peared before everyone was the p orbiting its massive fireball. Pointing at the proje, he said, "Experts have long discovered that this seemingly stable system has a subtle fw. Likely due to limitations in precision, its rotation speed is gradually slowing. It’s this spin that keeps it stable, like a top, allowing it to maintain a fixed posture and orbit. But if its rotation slows too mue day, it won’t hold its inal stance—just like a top spinning too slowly on the ground will eventually topple. When that happens, its i bance will colpse, and it will seek a new equilibrium."

  "What would happen then? An uable catastrophe?" someone pressed.

  "It would’ve been impossible to predict or estimate, but with pruidance, we make it entirely predictable—even simute it in advance," he expined. "If we reduce the star’s heat output parameter, the p’s surface temperature will drop. The por ice caps will thi, log vast amounts of water into ice at the poles, altering its shape. Ohe ice caps grow thiough and the rotation slows, the star’s gravity will tip the top over. Its inal bance will break, and it will adjust to a new one. During this process, the magic field’s orientation will shift: the poles will bee the equator, and new poles will form along the old equator. The p’s major teic ptes, influenced by this new trifugal force, will grind and collide, triggering tsunamis, volic eruptions, ahquakes. Take a look at the simution prepared by the experts."

  He tiyping rapidly. The blue p’s rotation slowed visibly, its por white regions expanding and thiing. Finally, it tilted roughly y degrees, its inal spin halting before restarting around a new axis defined by the new poles. Pointing at the white patches now along the or, he said, "Here, the inal por ice caps are now at the hottest equatorial zone, so they’ll melt rapidly. With so much ice turning to water in a short time, there’s your catastrophe."

  "What would happen?" several voices asked in unison.

  "First, the geomagic field will fall into chaos, rendering most supernatural settings tied to it obsolete. Sed, the melting ice, bined with tidal shifts from the star’s gravity, will cause a global flood. Sea levels will surge, submerging most ndmasses. Amid tsunamis, earthquakes, and volic eruptions, the ti on the weakest teic pte will vanish forever beh the sea."

  "Atntis!" someone excimed involuntarily.

  "Exactly!" He gently caressed the pink diam on his left hand. "The ti of Atntis is the pinnacle of civilization—the most prosperous and advanced. Nearly all magical secrets, supernatural gear, treasures, and miracles were inally set there. O sinks beh the sea, we’ll have achieved oal."

  The hall fell silent again. Everyone quietly watched the blue p’s transformation in the air, exging ghat still betrayed doubt. But the evolving se in the void spoke for itself: the azure waters swallowed vast swathes of nd, and the entire ti of Atntis sank pletely.

  "Doctor, is this dedu accurate?" the figure at the chairman’s ptform asked gravely. Beside him, the earlier speaker replied with unwavering fidehis is a simution refined over years by dozens of experts, rigorously validated. I’ve submitted the report to the ittee. The parameters I just entered were exactly what the experts provided—didn’t you all see the result?"

  "But a disaster this massive—won’t it wipe out all civilization on the p? If so, how’s that different from starting over?" someone voiced their worry.

  "We use oracles to warn a few in advance, giving them time to prepare. The simution shows this catastrophe won’t destroy all civilization—some will survive and carry on."

  After another round of hushed discussion, all eyes turo the figure at the chairman’s ptform. He sed the room, then nodded. "Alright, let’s first test these parameters with a puter simution. If it pys out as demonstrated, we’ll adjust the star’s heat output accly. Any objes?"

  Seeing everyone nod in agreement, he stood. "Good! We’ll adjourn for three days. Ohe puter results are in, we’ll hold a final vote. If it passes, we’ll implement these ges and announce our decision to the outside world, putting ao this loe ond for all."

  Three days ter, they revehe data had passed the tests, and the parameter adjustments were approved. The numbers were fed into the puter, instantly rippling across every node iwork. The system began a slow, synized shift. In the hall’s tral proje, the blue p’s por ice caps grew rger and thicker, its rotation steadily slowing.

  Finally, tugged by the distant fireball’s gravity, the spinning orb’s poles tilted toward the horizontal. The old poles became the equator, and with new poles, it began a fresh rotation…

  Meanwhile, in another dimension, every lifeform on that blue p marveled at the world’s drastic ges. Days and nights stretched longer, as if locked in endless daylight or darkness. The sun bzed high, and ueaming vapor, multiple sor illusions danced in the sky—a terrifying sight etched forever into the memories of those intelligent beings as an indelible legend.

  Worse still, the sun, once rising in the east aing in the west, now fell southward and rose from the north. The earth trembled, molten va spewed from mountaintops, flowing as "fire rivers" that ied everything in their path.

  Penguins in icy realms felt the air grow scorg, the eternal ice beh their feet melting away until it vanished entirely. Meanwhile, a mammoth grazing peacefully on a pihe temperature plummet, snow casg from the sky. As it fled in panic, the surrounding water froze into ice, trapping it in a white, chaotic void. Buried under miles of frost, it wouldn’t resurface for tens of thousands of years.

  Even more terrifying, water surged from everywhere—the seas, the skies, the rivers—flooding most of the nd in no time. tless creatures floundered in the deluge, fleeing aimlessly in blind panic.

  During this chaos, only a few intelligent beings—calling themselves humans—survived, guided by divine fht. In the West, Noah built his ark, preserving the seeds of life. In the East, Gonggong, Gun, and Yu battled the floods for decades, until Yu tamed the waters, seg a paradise-like nd for their people.

  After tless cycles of day and night, the world settled back to normal, the length of days restored. Yet, unaced to a sun rising in the south aing in the north, people redefihe old south as the , the old east as the new north. With time, they fot this great shift, leaving only the memory of the horrific flood in their myriad legends.

  The earth finally stilled. The flowing "fire rivers" cooled, the floods receded—and with them disappeared Atntis, ter called the Great Western ti. Its pyramids, grand temples, t city-states, and tless intelligent beings all rested silently beh the sea, in aer named "Bermuda," save for the peak of Cyprus. This mysterious nd and its miracles became the most enigmatid distant myth among the blue p’s intelligent inhabitants—a tale spread even wider by a sage o.

  Everything unfolded as pnned, perfectly. No one khat a tiny glitch had slipped through—a fw that wouldn’t reveal its devastating power until millennia ter, a power capable of destroying the entire world. By the time people se and tried to stop it, it was far too te.

  Perhaps it wasn’t a glitch, but a spirae that had begun months earlier…