Little Pink Starfish

Right after, he felt lighter, floating gently in the air. The sunlight streaming in from the window turned into vast, surging seawater. The papers and notebooks on the desk seemed to soak and blur into a white mass.

An Zhe blinked. He didn’t feel uncomfortable—only that all movements had become very, very slow and drifting. He couldn’t control his body. It was as if he were flying—or about to fall.

Then—the world in front of his eyes gradually went black. He completely lost consciousness.

He was awakened by the cold—when he opened his eyes, he saw the endless stretch of gray buildings outside the window soaked in the golden-red afterglow of sunset. From the time he had fallen asleep—or passed out—at least seven or eight hours had passed. It turned out that the toxin from his own mycelium simply caused unconsciousness.

Evening was different from daytime; the temperature in the room had dropped significantly. An Zhe lay back on the bed, wrapped himself in the quilt, and only then did he warm up again. But once the numbness from the cold faded, he was hungry.

An Zhe would have preferred to absorb nutrients the mushroom way. But throughout his journey, he hadn’t found even a patch of moist soil anywhere in the base. He could only eat. Humans were troublesome creatures. He furrowed his brows.

Fortunately, An Ze’s remaining memories told him where to eat. The base was divided into eight zones—Zones 6, 7, and 8 were the main residential areas. Here, every building was a community. The first floor was a hall, where water and food were distributed at fixed times. Children under sixteen had free quotas. Adults over sixteen had to swipe their cards to pay with base currency—the currency unit was a single letter, R.

There weren’t many people in the hall—about fifty at a glance. There were only two food windows. One served a mush made from a type of plant’s tuber. The other—also soup made from that same plant tuber. Searching his memory, An Zhe vaguely recalled the plant was called a potato.

He swiped his card and paid:

Mashed potato – Price: 0.5R | Balance: 9.5R
Potato soup – Price: 0.3R | Balance: 9.2R

An Zhe stared at the remaining balance on his card, realizing he would be on the brink of starvation in a few days. The feeling was like a mushroom rooted in dry soil—facing death at any moment.

—That feeling intensified when he returned to the fifth floor and spent 0.1R in the communal water room.

So he had to add another task to his list: find a source of income.

After tightly screwing on the standard stainless-steel bottle cap, An Zhe held it in his hands, just about to turn around when a voice suddenly rang out behind him.

“An Ze?”

The voice was loud, trembling, echoing in the narrow space.

An Zhe turned around.

In the hallway stood a young man—tall, handsome—his eyes wide as he stared directly at An Zhe. His lips trembled, his expression wavering between joy and shock.

“An Ze?” he called again. “You… came back? You didn’t—”

Here, he abruptly fell silent. His face flushed as if unsure how to continue.

But An Zhe knew what he wanted to say. He knew this person—his name was Josie.

Josie was An Ze’s neighbor and friend. They had grown up together. Sometimes, Josie took care of An Ze, though more often, An Ze took care of him—scattered memories appeared in An Zhe’s mind.

But An Zhe didn’t only know Josie from An Ze’s memories. He had seen him as a mushroom. What he had witnessed, combined with An Ze’s memories, completed the truth of An Ze’s death.

An Ze had made a living through writing—novels, essays, or poetry for leisure reading. He submitted work to Base Monthly, which published small booklets regularly. But three months ago, due to resource and staffing shortages, the base shut down that department.

At that time—

“An Ze, what are you reading?” Josie asked.
“I’m preparing for the base supply station selection exam,” An Ze replied, marking his book. “I think I’ll enjoy that job—and the pay is decent.”
Josie frowned.

“You want to leave civilian status?” he asked. “The test is hard.”
An Ze said, “It’s okay.”

“An Ze,” Josie’s tone grew stern. “You’ve always known—I want to go to the wild with you.”

An Ze smiled lightly—reassuring a stubborn friend, or sighing in resignation: “I’m not suited for the outside.”

“I’ll protect you.” Josie wrapped an arm around his shoulder, his tone softening. “I can’t live without you. Come with me into the wild. We won’t go to dangerous places.”

Most of their memories were like that. In the end, under Josie’s persistent persuasion, An Ze agreed to go. Josie was a member of a large mercenary team. With a few achievements under his belt, he smoothly arranged for An Ze to join as a logistics staff—handling supplies and inventory.

But anything could happen in the wild. That day, the convoy got lost—drifting to the edge of the Abyss. By the time they realized the place was unusually full of mushrooms—it was too late. The Abyss’s monsters didn’t let any food slip away.

Even the outskirts of the Abyss were terrifying for humans. Three of their five armored vehicles were destroyed. People panicked and fled to the remaining two. During the escape, An Ze pushed Josie aside—barely helping him avoid an aerial monster’s attack—only to get tripped by vines himself.

Josie froze for one second. Then, the instinct to survive overwhelmed everything. Faced with pulling An Ze or saving himself, he chose the latter—gritting his teeth and running forward. The team leader pulled him into the vehicle—as An Ze, watching them go, was pierced through the chest by a bone spike.

Then, the mercenary team launched a brutal counterattack while retreating. Their commotion woke An Zhe. He had been out searching for his spore—unsuccessfully. But this time, he quietly carried An Ze back into a mountain cave while they fought.

So now, facing Josie, An Zhe had nothing to say. In the face of death, any creature’s first instinct was survival. Josie wasn’t wrong—but An Zhe didn’t like him.

“You… you’re a little different.” Josie’s Adam’s apple moved. “Your injuries healed? You escaped the Abyss?”

An Zhe simply looked at him calmly.

“No. You’re not An Ze. You’re not human.” Josie suddenly stepped back. His face turned pale. “You’re an aberrant.”

“…Sorry.” An Zhe walked past him. “I accidentally ate a poisonous mushroom—can’t remember who you are.”

—In a way, he hadn’t lied.