Drawing an analogy from the scene, Ronan suddenly recalled something he had once read. The gist was: for programmers, once a program was running, never touch it again, no matter how absurdly ugly the backend code was.
Not touching it was impossible.
In fact, ever since Ronan had edited together this work that was barely presentable on the surface and a complete mess underneath, he had never stopped tinkering with it. He tried to use the editor's error prompts to adjust the awful thing into something barely fit to look at.
There was no need to mention the thick mosaic at the ordinary observation level. Even when magnified to a planetary scale, nearly a macroscopic scale, it was still an eyesore on close inspection.
Was Ronan's observation of the "Earth-Moon System" not detailed enough?
Obviously not.
Under Ronan's Grand Coordinate System visualization mode, especially after sharing perception with Magneto-Optical Mica, what he saw and analyzed was far more than the simple "Earth-Moon System." It also included multiple planes in close contact with Local Time-Space, as well as the complex interactions between them.
But what he saw and knew had already broken past the boundaries of his usual language. No matter how he described it, the meaning always fell short—his native language lacked precise corresponding definitions in this field, while Ceremonial Ancient Script was stiff in application and riddled with mistakes.
Only the structural diagrams of Configuration and Super Configuration could replace linguistic thought as a tool for relatively precise description.
Under such circumstances, Ronan still tried to start with the flawed details, patching and papering them over. So, unsurprisingly...
It crashed.
Ironically, his later modifications seemed to hold some genuine physical significance. The Earth-Moon System in the Simulator was annihilated amid sudden ripples of time-space that streaked across the void.