Little Pink Starfish

After speaking, An Zhe ignored him and walked straight ahead.

No footsteps followed behind for a long time. Not until An Zhe swiped his ID card to open the door did Josie hurriedly rush over, grabbing his shoulder: “You really are An Ze? But you—”

An Zhe casually picked up the stack of genetic test reports from the table and handed it to Josie.

Josie said, “This is…”

An Zhe looked down and saw the outermost paper was the one that read “Oppose the atrocities of the Judges.”
He slowly pulled out that sheet. Josie looked at the report.

“You…” Josie quickly skimmed it and looked up at An Zhe: “You really escaped from the Abyss?”

“I was saved by someone,” An Zhe said. “The rest, I forgot.”

Josie’s hand holding the report trembled slightly, then he forced a smile and looked at him, a look of excitement on his face: “I… I’m just too excited, I didn’t think you’d make it back.”
He placed the report back on the desk and leaned toward An Zhe, even the muscles around his eyebrows twitching with emotion: “You… forgot everything?”

An Zhe took a step back.

“All of it,” he said. “Please don’t disturb my life.”

“You don’t even remember who I am?” Josie’s voice lowered a little. “We grew up together.”

“Thank you,” said An Zhe. “Could you leave now?”

“I—” Josie clearly hadn’t expected him to treat him like this. He froze, then said, “You weren’t like this before.”
But after a moment, his tone softened again: “I won’t bother you. You rest. I’ll come see you tomorrow. I’m just really happy. An Ze, we were the closest people in the world.”

An Zhe stayed silent until Josie turned and left, gently closing the door for him.

That Josie could leave the room so easily, An Zhe found unrealistic. But maybe Josie was just too guilty and fled.

The room returned to silence. An Zhe slowly leaned onto the bed and hugged the pillow. He felt a kind of soft, smoky sadness. This sadness wasn’t for himself, but for An Ze.
The bonds between humans seem so fragile. Josie was no longer the one closest to An Ze. Once he found his spore, he would return to the Abyss, find that quiet cave, and root beside An Ze’s white skeleton for the rest of his mushroom life.

…Spore.

Outside the window, the night had deepened. The aurora swept across the black sky as always. An Zhe sat at the desk and turned on the lamp.
First, he had to find a job so he wouldn’t starve. At the same time, he needed to look for clues about his spore. The only lead was the brass-colored bullet casing.

Thinking of this, An Zhe anxiously reached into his pocket. He was always afraid of losing it—thankfully, it was still there. As a mushroom, he could store it in his body. As a human, he couldn’t. It was so small, it could slip from his pocket at any moment.

Finally, An Zhe found a small black leather cord in the drawer and hung the casing around his neck.
In the same drawer, there was also a small black machine. He studied its exterior carefully and finally recalled from his memory that it was a communicator. Everyone’s ID number was also their communication number. Humans could use it to talk over long distances, but only within the base—there was no signal outside.
He charged the communicator—though he wouldn’t need it, “having power” seemed to bring humans great joy.

After finishing all this, he finally relaxed and began examining the desk.

The notebooks on the desk contained things An Ze had written—beautiful handwriting. Along the wall were over twenty books, apparently ones An Ze liked to read. An Zhe scanned their spines and picked up a plainly bound gray book titled Base Handbook.

He opened it. The title page had only one sentence:

The interests of humanity come before all.

An Zhe instinctively pressed his lips together and turned the page.
The second page was the table of contents: Base Laws, Living Rules, Area Overview, and Maps.

An Zhe skipped the laws—he knew he was a law-abiding mushroom. A law-abiding mushroom wouldn’t violate the laws of any species.
The Living Rules section detailed the daily schedule for the residential areas: power, water, and food were provided from 6–7 a.m., noon to 1 p.m., and again from 6–9 p.m. every day.
Every residential area had a tall alarm tower with three types of signals: “Assemble,” “Evacuate,” and “Emergency Shelter.”
Residents had to obey the rules and the tower’s alerts; other aspects of life were up to them.

Reading this, An Zhe was puzzled. It seemed one only had to lie in their room and go eat and drink on schedule.
But he quickly realized the base’s real intent.

Although people could live freely, life came at a cost—it had to be paid for.
To earn the base’s currency, people had to find jobs or become mercenaries, scavenging the wilds for valuable materials in exchange for payment.

But… couldn’t people just go to the least dangerous areas and grab some random items to afford food and drink?

An Zhe turned to the next section: the Functional Zones.
The first listed was the “Supply Station,” divided into Stations 1, 2, and 3.
Stations 1 and 2 belonged to the military, located at the entry and exit gates. They assessed and exchanged combat goods. Mercenaries exchanged their haul for currency, but offensive weapons and armored vehicles were confiscated and only re-issued when they left the base again.
Mercenaries used currency to get guns, ammo, armor, fuel—even vehicles—for future expeditions.

Station 3, unlike the others, was located within the city and dealt in civilian goods—food, household items, alcohol, electronics, even housing.

Opposite Station 3 was the “Free Market.” If a mercenary’s haul wasn’t military-relevant, they could bring safe items into the city and trade freely.

Then he saw a footnote:

Note: The Free Market is not an official base facility. All actions are at your own risk.
Note: Employment and contracts established via the Free Market are not protected by base law.

Still, what caught his eye was one word: employment.
So, the Free Market could offer jobs.

He read on: The most densely populated residential areas were Zones 6 and 7. Other areas were sparsely inhabited. Zone 8 was a designated emergency shelter, with complete safety infrastructure.

Then came the profile on the Judiciary.

An Zhe thought of the cold green-eyed officer and read more slowly, word by word.

The Judiciary wasn’t just stationed at the gate to identify mutants. They also patrolled crowded areas to perform second-level screenings and eliminate threats.
Their main patrol zone was near the Supply Stations, but they also made random visits to residential buildings—especially targeting suspicious or reported individuals.

For some reason, An Zhe recalled the words “You better be.”
If possible, he hoped Lu Feng would stay at the gate forever. No need to “stoop” to inspect residential blocks.

He kept flipping—other areas like the City Office, City Defense, and Main City didn’t concern him.
The Main City was the center of science, defense, and politics. Only those with special passes or permits could enter.

After finishing the map at the end, An Zhe closed the book. He felt once again that humans were very different from mushrooms.

The next book was Supply Station Assessment Handbook. Just seeing the cover brought up memories—much clearer than usual.
An Zhe thought, maybe this meant joining the Supply Station was very important to An Ze.

So why had he gone with Josie into the wild instead?

He thought a long time and concluded: that was just the kind of person An Ze was.

An Ze had missed the exam. The recruitment happened fifteen days ago—he’d already been a skeleton by then.

But that’s alright, An Zhe thought. If he’s still alive next year, he’ll try the exam himself. That way, when he returns to the cave, he can tell An Ze what it was like.

Long hours of reading left him exhausted. After just two pages of the Handbook, he fell asleep.

The next morning, to avoid Josie, he left the room at 4 a.m., took the train to the Supply Station, and headed for the Free Market across the street—to find a job.

At 7 a.m., the air was still misty.
The Free Market was a large circular building with four entrances. He entered the closest one.

The smell of alcohol hit him.

By the entrance, four long tables were set up. Mercenaries played drinking games and shouted loudly.
When someone asked for a refill, the server would pour more liquor and scan the ID card with a handheld device to charge them.

A strong dark-skinned mercenary was drinking alone. Seeing An Zhe, he raised an eyebrow and grinned: “Kid, what’re you staring at? Here to learn how to drink?”

A short-haired woman elbowed him and rasped: “Rule thirty-two: minors can’t drink.”

He said, “So he drinks. You think the Judiciary will come for him?”

She laughed loudly: “Little kids don’t know how scary Judges are.”

“He’s gonna find out soon.”

An Zhe wanted to explain, “I’m not a minor,” but in the moment he hesitated, the two had already wrapped around each other, kissing.
He realized—no one really cared about him.

He looked elsewhere.

To the right, he smelled mashed potato soup—much richer than in his residential hall—and tinged with a meat scent that seemed to please humans.
Some mercenaries were slurping their breakfasts.

The smell made An Zhe a bit hungry—he hadn’t eaten yet.

Deeper inside, stalls sold clothes, backpacks, gloves. The further he walked, the fewer fixed-goods stalls, more jumbled wares he couldn’t recognize.

“New smartphone from Wastetown 511!”
A youth in black backpack darted in front of him, eyes narrow and shifty:
“Wanna see? Ten percent off, free charger. Can play games!”

An Zhe: “Thanks, but no.”

The youth whipped out a white one: “Different model, fits your vibe. Last model before the Apocalypse. Used to sell for ten grand. Now just a hundred.”

An Zhe: “Thanks, I don’t need it.”

The youth pulled out a power bank: “You got a phone? Need backup power? Good for blackouts. This one charges twice. Only thirty!”

An Zhe looked at him and honestly said: “I have no money.”

The youth froze, stuffed his items back, and muttered: “No money, what’re you doing in the black market?”

“Wait,” An Zhe called.

He turned, attitude now totally indifferent: “What?”

“I… want to find a job,” An Zhe said. “Do you know where to go?”

The youth raised a brow and scanned him up and down: “…Looking for work, huh.”
“You’ve got a nice face. Remember to buy from me when you’re rich, I’ll be in the market all month.”

An Zhe: “…”

He asked, “Where should I go?”

“Over there,” the youth pointed to a corner. “Down to level B3. Find the Madam.”

An Zhe thanked him with a smile: “Thank you.”

The youth: “You’re good-looking. Find a good boss. Get rich and buy a phone!”

An Zhe: “…Alright.”

Level B3.

Dampness—that was An Zhe’s first impression. A mushroom should like the moist air, but the cloying perfume made him frown.

In the dim light, it was a honeycomb of corridors. Walls made of cheap plastic sheets created countless cubicles. Moisture beaded on the plastic.

A soft buzzing filled the air—many people talking quietly, mixed with sharp giggles.

An Zhe hesitated, walked forward.

He looked into each cubicle—left side was empty.
Right side, a long-haired woman looked up, then back down.

He walked on and heard voices.

“How’s the weather at Basin 2?”

“Not bad,” came a soft, nasal male voice. “Pretty nice. But too many earthquakes. Three last month. Worst one, I was alone in the truck, thought they were all dead.”

The woman laughed: “If they didn’t come back, you should’ve driven off.”

“The last team said they’d teach me to drive—lied. Said they’d bring me back—also lied. I stayed a month for 300. Is that pricey?”

“Mercs lie all the time,” she said. “You not used to being conned yet?”

An Zhe froze.

He thought of Hossen’s face and greedy, hungry eyes.

He suddenly understood what the jobs on Level B3 were.

And that line in the Handbook—employment via Free Market not protected by law. All consequences your own.

He didn’t want to bear those consequences.

An Zhe quietly turned to leave—but as he did, he ran straight into a soft body.

“Well, well,” a woman’s sultry voice rang out, “first time here, sweetheart?”

The word “sweetheart” gave him instant trauma. He reflexively took two steps back.

Before him stood a tall woman with honey-colored skin, green eyes, and curled brown hair. Her eyes were sharp and lifted. She grinned at him.

“Here to buy someone? Or sell yourself?” she whispered in his ear.