Little Pink Starfish

An Zhe was kicked out by Lu Feng, who flung open the door and covered his head with his uniform jacket before taking him out.

Of course, the poet and Boss Xiao were also taken out—but they wrapped their heads themselves.

Lu Feng had arranged for a small ultrasonic disruptor at the building’s door, temporarily clearing a ten‐meter radius. An Zhe was safely stuffed into the car, followed by the poet and Boss Xiao squeezing into the back seat.

Lu Feng returned to the driver’s seat and said, “Overloaded.”

An Zhe inexplicably felt that the Arbiter was targeting him again.
Boss Xiao proactively said, “Reporting, Colonel—I’m not human, so it’s not overloaded.”
“Oh,” Lu Feng replied.

He dialed a communication: “The ultrasonic disruptor rescue plan is feasible; I recommend organizing a large-scale resident evacuation.”
A voice came through—Howard’s voice: “Evacuation to the underground shelter?”
Lu Feng said, “I’ll go to the District 8 shelter first to confirm safety.”
“Much obliged.”

Lu Feng then started the engine, and their vehicle turned a corner toward District 8.

Along the way, Lu Feng’s communicator rang incessantly. The City Administration had just sent a distress signal, District 5 had requested reinforcements, and just as District 5 had been reinforced, the Tribunal called again, complaining of insufficient manpower.
Later, Lu Feng’s responses became very mechanical:

“Please transfer to the City Defense Station.”
“Please transfer to the City Defense Station.”
“Please transfer to the City Defense Station.”
“Thank you, please transfer to the City Defense Station.”

“Lu Feng, you fucking—”
—This time, it was Howard on the line.

Lu Feng immediately hung up.

After hanging up, he frowned slightly and asked the researcher beside him, “Did I get any communication from District 6?”
The researcher replied, “I don’t think so.”

Lu Feng dialed again: “District 6?”
“Hello, this is the District 6 City Administration Office, may I ask…”
The operator’s tone was calm—even An Zhe was surprised.

Lu Feng’s frown deepened: “Tribunal, Lu Feng. What’s the situation in District 6?”
There was a pause on the other end: “District 6 is normal. May I ask what—”
Lu Feng interrupted: “Everything normal?”
“Yes.”

Lu Feng promptly hung up and looked toward the researcher.

The researcher was stunned for a moment, then said, his voice barely disguising excitement, “There’s only one explanation—the emergency program for District 6’s ultrasonic repeller was successfully activated.”

The poet said, “Wow.”

Lu Feng continued dialing: “Tribunal, Lu Feng. Please reconfirm that District 6 is completely normal and that the repeller is functioning properly.”
“Confirmed normal,” came the operator’s voice, even with a trace of doubt: “Colonel, is something wrong?”
“Yes.” Lu Feng answered briefly and directly: “Immediately raise the isolation walls, confirm the material supplies, and prepare emergency shelters.”
“Understood!”

“Howard. Situation has changed. The entire city will evacuate to District 6.”
“Okay,” responded the other end. “City Defense will be responsible for personnel rescue and transfer.”

“Received,” Lu Feng said. “Tribunal will handle personnel screening.”
“Much obliged.”

After this call ended, Lu Feng dialed another number; An Zhe noticed that this number was particularly short.

“Main City, United Front Center. Hello, Colonel Lu.”
“Tribunal, Lu Feng. Requesting full city tribunal authority.”
“Please provide the expected mortality rate and the execution duration.”

Lu Feng paused for a second before saying, “Sixty percent—five days.”
“Please wait.”

“Full city tribunal…” An Zhe heard the poet mutter beside him, “isn’t that just…”
Boss Xiao stared straight ahead and said, “Judgment Day.”

Five minutes later, a voice came through the communicator:
“Permission granted.”
“Understood.”

The car then turned and headed toward District 6.

Throughout the journey, An Zhe felt that Lu Feng was especially silent.

When they entered the roads of District 5, a huge City Defense armored vehicle was parked ahead—with an ugly makeshift ultrasonic device mounted on its roof—rescuing residents from a building. Lu Feng stopped beneath the armored vehicle and opened the car door.

“I’m going to a meeting, preparing for Judgment Day,” he said. “You three, follow the City Defense.”

An Zhe could only blindly follow the Arbiter’s order. It was not until he was shoved into the armored vehicle by City Defense soldiers that he suddenly remembered he had not returned Lu Feng’s coat—and Lu Feng hadn’t even asked for it back.

There was no time to go out and look for Lu Feng; with a dull thud, the armored vehicle’s compartment closed, the light vanished, and it drove toward District 6. In the dim interior, human limbs were scattered everywhere; the poet clutched An Zhe’s hand tightly, while his other hand gripped Boss Xiao’s sleeve. The compartment swayed slightly, and amid the stifling, humid air, crying could be heard from somewhere.

“Did you hear?” whispered the poet. “This Judgment Day’s projected mortality rate is sixty percent.”
An Zhe replied, “Mm.”

“I’m a bit scared,” the poet said. “But we’ll survive.”

An Zhe said nothing. He was indeed nervous—not because of Judgment Day, but because he had been bitten by a bug this time.

The poet gently patted his back and said, “Don’t be afraid; just sleep first.”
An Zhe softly answered, “Mm,” and closed his eyes. In the compartment, the world gradually darkened and sank:

The earth, the wind, a blurry yet vast view, strange fluctuations—
He was flying, surrounded by wind, his body light as if weightless.

Flying toward what?
He saw a vague gray city, with warmth seeping from within—

A shiver ran through him, and An Zhe suddenly woke up.

He stared blankly into the darkness ahead; the scene from just moments before was too indistinct, and he didn’t know what it meant. But he had seen similar visions before—in a cave in the abyss, when his mycelium absorbed An Ze’s blood and took root in An Ze’s organs and bones—human consciousness had appeared before his eyes just like that.

An Zhe exhaled softly and looked down. His bitten finger anxiously rubbed the pad of his thumb. In the abyss, no monster ever targeted mushrooms, yet he sometimes encountered stray limbs with living flesh or had his mycelium caught on sharp vine thorns; he had never been infected before—he wasn’t sure if it was luck or something else.
This time?

*

The catastrophe had come suddenly, just as suddenly as this Judgment Day.

It was late at night. The gate of District 6, lit by a dim yellow lamp, had a mass of people lining up along the isolation wall like a giant snake, stretching to the horizon. The buzzing of insect wings came from every direction; one could imagine them watching the city hungrily, as if it were a warm greenhouse perfect for breeding. Meanwhile, the rumbling of wheels, the sound of treads on the road, and the trembling of heavy armor crushing the ground could be heard—the military was constantly rescuing residents from every district, and trains on the rails were also carrying out the role of transporting residents. Sometimes bugs would mix into the trains, but no one cared about that now. Once these residents reached the outskirts of District 6, they were queued at the end, waiting for judgment.

The queue was like a black river, with countless people slowly moving forward. After being judged, they could enter safe District 6.

Mechanical broadcasts continually emphasized, “Please strictly follow the queue discipline” and “Please patiently wait.” Occasionally, there would be a scream in the line—if someone showed clearly discernible mutation traits to the naked eye, the patrolling soldiers would immediately shoot them dead. After a few gunshots, the crowd went from noisy to deathly silent. They advanced very slowly; no one was willing to step forward, yet soldiers kept driving them along.
But the primary source of gunfire was not from the center of the queue, but from the city gate.

“Seventy years,” an old man said, “Judgment Day is here again.”
An old man, holding the hand of a nine-year-old boy, looked up fearfully at his elders but received no comforting word—the old man’s eyes were empty, and he only gripped the boy’s hand even tighter.

Outside, bugs were killing people. Those rescued from the insect swarm who arrived in District 6 found that now people were killing people.

God judges the world with the basis of good and evil. Yet before the Tribunal, some who had done nothing still had to face death.

As night deepened, a desolate sound of wind came in the distance, like a far-off tide.

A gunshot rang out; a person in front of An Zhe fell, and two soldiers dragged his corpse away. Every residential district had a massive garbage incinerator, and now it served to cremate bodies.
Another gunshot—another person fell.
The queue kept shortening, and the number of people killed exceeded those who passed judgment and entered the city.

The line continued to move forward, and An Zhe observed the structure of this judgment.
First, there was a buffer zone, guarded tightly by sentries; if a person displayed visually apparent mutation traits, the soldiers would shoot them dead immediately. After passing the first checkpoint, there were four judges stationed on either side of the isolation gate, each with a veto power to shoot at any time—as long as they deemed the person not human, regardless of whether their colleagues agreed.

The people they shot probably accounted for about one-quarter of all the deaths; being egged or bitten was different—the process was very slow, and many infections did not show obvious symptoms. More often, the judges exchanged a glance and let the person pass.
Then that person would walk to the bloodiest area, facing the final checkpoint.

Lu Feng.
Not in a strictly formal or solemn posture, he still leaned casually against the door, as if nonchalantly fiddling with the gun in his hand—using that very gun to exercise the highest and final judgment power.

Another gunshot; he executed a ten-year-old child. After the child fell, its eyes still fixed on him intently.

A young judge’s face went pale, his throat convulsed, and he bent over, struggling to suppress the retch.

Lu Feng’s gaze swept across and said, “Replace him.”
The judge was carried away by soldiers. In the brief interval during the replacement, no one received judgment; a City Administration officer in a white shirt stepped forward, handing each judge a bottle of iced water with mint leaves floating inside. But Lu Feng did not take one.

Within less than a minute, a new judge took over, and the judgment process resumed.

Boss Xiao and the poet jostled with each other, each unwilling to be the first to be judged; in the end, An Zhe was pushed to the front.
A soldier glanced at him and signaled for him to pass. An Zhe continued forward; the four judges exchanged a look and let him go.

An Zhe reached in front of Lu Feng, who, with his two green eyes, looked at him. Under the light, his gaze was dim, devoid of any emotion—just like the day they first met.

An Zhe slightly lowered his eyes.
Coincidentally, he had only been in the human base for a month, yet it was already his fourth face-to-face judgment by the Tribunal.

Earlier that morning, he had been bitten on the hand by a bug; however, aside from a fleeting strange image in his mind, nothing else had happened.
If Lu Feng also couldn’t see any problems—

Just as he was thinking this, he saw Lu Feng raise his left hand and lower it slightly—an approval gesture.
He exhaled in relief and stepped forward—Lu Feng’s coat and work manual were still on him, but in these circumstances, returning such things to Lu Feng was clearly inappropriate.

He paused in the passage.

Ahead, there were large military trucks. In the most space-saving arrangement, one truck bed could contain about sixty or seventy people. Those who passed through the city gate could choose to board; once the vehicle was full, the military would take them to a shelter—a vacant residential building. If even the vacant building was full, they would be allocated into normal buildings to live with the natives—in short, there was somewhere to go.
And if the newcomers were residents of District 6, or had close relationships with friends or family in District 6, they could manage on their own.

Within a minute, Boss Xiao and the poet also entered.

“Phew,” said Boss Xiao, “I’m alive.”
“When the Tribunal rescued us from the City Defense Station, we knew we weren’t infected, as we stayed in the car the whole time,” said the poet with a smile, “Passing was only natural.”
Boss Xiao glanced at him sideways, “Who was it that didn’t dare be the first to be judged just now?”
The poet replied, “I forgot.”

Boss Xiao patted An Zhe’s shoulder: “Where are you going? I need to find somewhere to sleep—I haven’t slept for two days.”
An Zhe said, “I’m not going back.”
Boss Xiao frowned, “Then what are you doing?”

An Zhe pointed at the coat on him: “I’m waiting for him to have time, to return the coat.”
Boss Xiao patted his head: “Oh, I forgot—I can’t come to you.”
“Forget it,” he said, “I’m also going to see my mistress.”

An Zhe watched his master’s figure leave; for a moment, he couldn’t understand why his master used the word “also.”

Then he heard the poet say, “Boss Xiao has been running the underground business for so many years; at least ninety percent of the base’s pornographic books and films come from his shop. It is said that when he was young, he had countless lovers.”
An Zhe realized that his master seemed to be quite famous. He said, “You all know him?”
The poet laughed, “The base is so small—who doesn’t know what Boss Xiao does?”
“However, after he grew old, he wasn’t as debonair anymore,” the poet said. “Speaking of the underground, it reminds me of Du Sai. You’ve seen her, right? Du Sai is the most beautiful woman in the outer city.”
An Zhe nodded.

The poet sighed, “I don’t know where she is now; if she dies, I will truly feel regret…”
An Zhe said nothing.
The poet was imprisoned by the City Defense Station; he, of course, wouldn’t know that the bossess of the underground black market had already died amidst the strains of the breeding season.

But looking at the poet’s slightly wistful expression, An Zhe suddenly understood something.
A person feels sorrow over another’s death—this is a unique human emotion. Perhaps it is one of the reasons that humans fear death more than other creatures.

“You’re showing that expression again,” the poet said.
An Zhe whispered, “What?”
“Everything happening here has nothing to do with you. You seem to be merely an observer,” the poet placed his elbow on An Zhe’s shoulder, teasingly and gently saying, “It seems as if you are watching us, or perhaps pitying us—just a moment ago, I felt a kind of divinity in you.”
An Zhe blinked, not understanding.
Perhaps he truly was not like a human—after all, he was of a different species.
“Now it’s over,” the poet whispered in his ear, “Now you look like a little fool.”
An Zhe: “…”
The poet patted his shoulder, “I’m leaving too.”
An Zhe: “Where are you going?”
“Anywhere,” the poet said, “City Defense can’t be bothered with me—I’m going to break out.”
He smiled at An Zhe, “Goodbye.”
An Zhe watched his figure disappear into the vast night.

The poet was a prisoner held by the City Defense Station. He had no communicator and no ID card—An Zhe didn’t know where he would go.
Perhaps he would go look for his boyfriend, An Zhe thought.
Or maybe he would go tell someone the story of the base’s establishment, and then, before the day was out, the City Defense Station would capture him again.

After the poet left, only An Zhe remained standing at the foot of the wall. This was an open area; he wasn’t the only one lingering here—others nearby were pacing and discussing, and in the distance, a number of people had gathered, though An Zhe didn’t know what they were doing.
The temporary isolation wall was not high; it was semi-transparent, allowing him to see Lu Feng’s figure.
The aurora rotated and changed in the sky; every night the sky’s colors differed. Continually, bodies were dragged away from the city gate, while very few people entered—the sounds of gunfire and death seemed to be the only eternal things. The night wind blew, carrying the scent of blood; An Zhe couldn’t see Lu Feng’s expression. He only felt that such a figure was… so striking, yet… so lonely.
A person might be saddened by another’s death, but would an Arbiter be saddened by the people he killed? Perhaps he had already become accustomed to it.

Then, footsteps approached from behind.

“What are you doing here?” a voice, seeming familiar, asked.
An Zhe turned to see a young judge, one who always accompanied Lu Feng, holding a bottle of mint water. His face looked unwell, but his expression remained gentle, “Aren’t you going back?”
An Zhe nodded.

“I’d like to return something to the Colonel,” he said as he removed his coat, “Could you please pass it along for me?”
The judge smiled slightly, “Aren’t you waiting for him?”
An Zhe thought: He had only worn the Colonel’s coat once, but everyone seemed to assume they had some sort of relationship.
“We’re not that familiar,” An Zhe replied awkwardly.
“I see,” the judge responded, unexpectedly, “I just haven’t seen the Colonel with anyone else.”
He extended his hand, “Give it to me.”
An Zhe checked that his work manual and pen were still with him, then simply folded the coat and handed it over. The judge cradled it in both hands and lowered his beautiful eyelashes slightly.
“The Colonel has been working continuously for so long,” he murmured, “Really, aren’t you waiting for him?”
At that moment, in the sky, the aurora suddenly changed, flashing like lightning that abruptly illuminated both the sky and the ground.
An Zhe’s heart skipped a beat; an irresistible intuition swept over him. He couldn’t help but look toward the city gate, at Lu Feng’s figure—tall and solitary in the night.
He suddenly realized that if he left now, he might never again have any connection with that man.
He grabbed the coat once more.

The judge looked at him.

“I…” An Zhe said, “I’ll wait for him.”

The judge smiled gently, unfolded the coat, and draped it back over him, “Thank you.”
An Zhe glanced back at Lu Feng’s figure—even as Lu Feng had killed two more people.
He asked, “When will he rest?”
“I don’t know,” the judge replied, “Maybe in another couple of hours.”
An Zhe said, “Thank you.”

Then the judge asked, “How did you come to know the Colonel?”
An Zhe recalled, “At the city gate, he suspected I wasn’t human, took me for a gene test, and I passed.”
The judge raised an eyebrow.
An Zhe continued, “Afterwards, he arrested me.”
The judge’s eyes curved into a smile, “I see, making such things— you all are so bold.”
An Zhe: “…”
“And then I ended up at the City Defense Station. I was a bit cold, so he lent me a room for a night.” An Zhe counted on his fingers, “After that, when my friends and I were trapped in a room with nowhere to go, I called him, and then I came here.”
After speaking, he asked, “Does the Colonel often help others?”
“If that were so, then Lu Feng really is a good man.”
“I don’t know—he doesn’t have anyone else by his side,” said the judge.
After a while, he added, “Sometimes, I too wish to protect someone. But there’s no opportunity; no one will ask the Tribunal for help.”
An Zhe pursed his lips and said, “You’re so kind.”
At last, he added, “You don’t seem like a judge.”
Among all the people An Zhe had met, this judge was one of the gentlest.
The judge smiled, “Many people say that—perhaps only people like the Colonel are truly qualified.”
An Zhe said, “It seems so.”

He thought that maybe Lu Feng’s cold demeanor was the reason he could make the most correct decisions.

“This is the seventh year that the Colonel has worked at the Tribunal,” the judge said, “Outwardly, there is no difference from a human; yet he must determine their true species. Sometimes he makes a mistake, sometimes he kills wrongly—this is the hardest thing in the world. The judge’s decisions can be verified by the Arbiter, but for the Arbiter himself, no one can tell him whether he is right or wrong. He must contend with unimaginable giants, lurking foreign species, the doubts of others… and himself.”
“So I think that what has sustained the Colonel through seven years at the Tribunal, besides his cold indifference, is something else.” The judge said, “I hope you can understand him.”

This judge always steered the conversation toward Lu Feng, and An Zhe saw right through him.

Then the judge frowned slightly and looked toward the isolation wall where more people had gathered—more than before. An Zhe had originally thought they were just city residents watching the commotion, but their faces were very serious, as if they had come to attend a grand gathering.

They were talking in low voices; An Zhe vaguely caught a few words:

“Proportion… terrifying…”
“Four thousand people.”
“…start.”

He saw the judge beside him frown and signal to the guards in the distance.

A squad of guards walked over, and at that moment, the hundreds of people gathered at the wall dispersed. Their numbers, once spread out, appeared even larger, and continuously, new people emerged from the city and joined in.

Among the crowd, someone waved at him. An Zhe confirmed it was a wave directed at him. He looked over and saw a familiar young face—the person who had led him to Building 117 on his very first day at the human base.
Back then, they had been strolling.
—An Zhe suddenly realized what these people had come to do; he widened his eyes and looked at them.

The first person took out a folded white sheet of paper from his clothing and unfolded it.
On the paper, seven large red characters read “Oppose the Tribunal’s Tyranny.”
Immediately, people around him unfolded their own sheets: “Immediately open the judgment rules,”
“Please publicize the judgment standards.”
“Reject the repetition of Judgment Day.”
“Give the dead an accounting.”
“Do not accept unprovoked killing.”
“Oppose using mass killing to maintain base safety.”
“Request regular evaluation of the Tribunal’s mental state.”
“To the Tribunal: Please take responsibility for the base’s population loss.”
“The current Arbiter’s killing rate far exceeds historical records; please provide an explanation for the base.”

Under the aurora, these white sheets spread out like flowers, converging into a silent, flowing sea. The pale color of the sea formed the backdrop, while the blood-red characters were like crashing waves.

Outside the wall, the people stood up; they stretched their necks, peering through the semi-transparent isolation barrier to see the scene on the other side. The solemn atmosphere was suddenly shattered by this unexpected dissent, and they began to whisper among themselves.

But An Zhe looked toward the city gate.
There, Lu Feng’s figure was faint, turned slightly as he looked into the city.
It was just an indifferent glance—as if he had seen nothing—then he turned, cocked his gun, and pulled the trigger. Another person fell into a pool of blood; it was a short-haired girl.

If An Zhe remembered correctly, this was the eleventh person Lu Feng had consecutively killed.
Next, the twelfth person—a man with bronze-colored skin—had terrified eyes that wandered hesitantly between Lu Feng, the judge, and the deep red bloodstains on the ground, but he did not step forward.
A soldier came forward to drive him away. His facial muscles twitched; he glared at the defiant demonstrators, then, clenching his teeth, closed his eyes and sat down: “I’m not going!”
This act greatly encouraged the demonstrators inside the wall, and they raised their slogans even higher.

Outside, the thirteenth person sat down.
The fourth person.
As if a flood had surged, within five short minutes they fell like a chain of dominoes—no one spoke, and not one person stepped into the judgment area. The aurora danced wildly in the sky as they silently watched Lu Feng at the center, their refusal to cooperate expressing defiance against everything beyond judgment.
It was as if judgment stood at the front and behind it lay the insect tide, and by sitting here they could defy everything behind them, perhaps even achieve immortality—

Yet Lu Feng’s expression did not change at all. He lowered his eyelashes slightly and bent his head to change the magazine in his gun. His slightly slanted eyebrows and thin, upturned eyes normally gave a sharp, imposing look, but when lowered, they appeared as cold indifference and disdain.
With a soft clicking sound, the magazine was replaced.

He said, “Bring them up.”

The City Defense soldiers hesitated for a moment; after a full ten-second pause, two soldiers stepped forward and roughly grabbed the first man who had sat down.

Lu Feng slowly raised his gun.
Everyone’s eyes turned toward him. A woman’s sobbing was heard in the crowd, and immediately that sobbing spread like a virus, echoing into a sea of wails. The cries were everywhere, as if what was about to happen was not judgment, but a massacre.

Perhaps the essence of Judgment Day was indeed a massacre—a hundred years like this, and a hundred years later as well.

At that moment, the sound of an armored vehicle broke the tense atmosphere. Howard, accompanied by a team of guards, got out of the vehicle and said to Lu Feng, “What’s going on?”

Lu Feng replied in a calm tone, “Residents refuse to cooperate.”
Howard scanned the surroundings with a frown, his voice carrying a note of reproach: “Colonel Lu, have you been overkilling people?”
Lu Feng’s tone remained unchanged, though his voice was slightly hoarse, “No.”
“Today the situation is critical,” Howard’s deputy said as he handed Lu Feng a megaphone. The deputy then addressed the residents, “For the sake of base safety, mass infections could occur at any moment. Please fully cooperate with the Tribunal and City Defense’s operations.”

No one responded. Perhaps, compared to the possible outbreak of infection, the gunfire of the Arbiter was even more terrifying.

Howard clearly noticed the ensuing silence; he glanced at the protest slogans and, after a moment of thought, said, “Let’s make mutual concessions—the Tribunal will open the judgment details, and residents will re-enter the judgment process.”
“Howard.” Lu Feng’s voice came out coolly.

Suddenly, the crowd erupted with shouts!
—Because Lu Feng’s gun was slowly turning toward Howard’s direction.

Howard paused, then furrowed his brows and said, “Colonel Lu, what are you doing?”

Howard’s soldiers stepped forward in unison, cocking their guns as they aimed at Lu Feng!
A standoff ensued.

All that could be heard was Howard’s cold laugh: “Colonel Lu, I’ve been out all day, but I swear I haven’t come into contact with a single bug.”
Lu Feng stated, “You have been infected.”
“I understand that the Tribunal wants to take over City Defense and not open the judgment details,” Howard said in a low voice, “but now is the moment of the base’s survival. Colonel Lu, you have overstepped your authority.”
At these words, the crowd immediately became agitated.

Lu Feng’s finger rested on the trigger. He said nothing, but his actions indicated clearly what he intended to do.

The City Defense soldiers acted even more decisively; apparently, if Lu Feng fired at Howard, they would immediately open fire and kill him.

A deadly silence, as cold as ice, slowly spread.

Then, in the midst of that suffocating silence, a single voice shouted from within the wall:

“Oppose the Tribunal’s tyranny!”
He shouted, and immediately everyone—those inside the wall, outside the wall, those already there, and those newly arriving—joined in, shouting:
“Oppose the Tribunal’s tyranny!”
“Oppose the Tribunal’s tyranny!”
“Oppose the Tribunal’s tyranny!”

The shouts rose wave after wave, yet Lu Feng at the center remained unmoving.

An Zhe stared at Lu Feng’s back, nearly forgetting to breathe.
He didn’t know Lu Feng very well, but based on what little he did know, he believed that Lu Feng would indeed fire his gun.

He would die.

The young judge beside him murmured, “Don’t…”

The aurora suddenly leaped, and the atmosphere turned as cold as ice.
—At that very moment,

A piercing siren tore through the low night, overpowering the crowd’s shouts. On a distant road a white light suddenly appeared, flashing continuously as it approached; the crowd scattered. A white mechanical vehicle adorned with red angular accents roared swiftly; as it neared, its door opened, and a young man in a white lab coat leaned partially out of the window. An Zhe recognized him—he was the young doctor who performed his genetic test during his first month at the city gate.

“I am the head of the Lighthouse Testing Office,” the young man said, taking the megaphone and panting a few quick breaths, “The first batch of gene coupling agent will be configured successfully within one hour, and it can achieve rapid target imaging—it only needs…”
He gasped for breath, then continued, “…only five minutes.”

No one responded; he jumped from the vehicle and hurried over.
Once at the gate, he unscrewed a disposable syringe, stepped onto the threshold, and said, “Howard—if you are willing to cooperate.”
Howard calmly removed the sleeves of his fully enclosed protective military uniform, accepted the blood draw, then raised his eyebrows and looked toward Lu Feng.

Everyone else looked toward Lu Feng as well. An Zhe, among the demonstrators behind him, saw that they were waiting for a result—a result from Howard’s gene test to prove that the Arbiter had indeed been killing without reason.
Someone in the demonstrator crowd said, “We are going to change history.”

An Zhe saw Lu Feng lower his gun, his face expressionless as he wiped his gun against the wall. He seemed utterly indifferent.
What would he be thinking? An Zhe wondered.

A few minutes later, after Lu Feng had cleaned his gun, he holstered it, and his gaze slowly swept over the surrounding crowd.
An Zhe watched him, and for a brief moment, he and Lu Feng locked eyes for a fraction of a second.

Immediately, An Zhe stepped over to the young judge, signaling his support.
Lu Feng seemed to offer a slight smile with his lips; he didn’t notice clearly, as the judge turned away in the next second.

There was one more minute.
The protestors became even more restless, chattering among themselves.

Half a minute.

Ten seconds.

They began to count down:

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one——”

The red light on the roof of the testing vehicle shone brightly.
An ominous siren with piercing volume suddenly sounded: “Alarm——”

Within seconds, the crowd fell into deathly silence.

“Bang!”
A gunshot rang out.
Without Lu Feng even pulling the trigger, the City Defense soldiers at the city gate fired.

Silence spread; no one spoke. Finally, the young doctor said, “Colonel——”

Lu Feng said nothing, turned, and walked into the city—he went straight past everyone, even past An Zhe.
The silent crowd, like frozen puppets, slowly parted to let him through only when he got very close.
In An Zhe’s eyes, Lu Feng’s figure merged with that of the receding city gate. An Zhe had only seen him leave before, never seen him approach anyone.

The judge suddenly elbowed An Zhe.

At once, An Zhe realized something. Clutching Lu Feng’s work manual, he chased after Lu Feng—the Arbiter, tall with long legs, requiring him to jog a bit to keep up.

“Colonel.”
Lu Feng did not respond.

“Colonel, wait a moment.”
Lu Feng still did not respond.

“Colonel…” An Zhe, gasping for breath, said, “Slow down, I can’t keep up with you…”

The Colonel stopped and turned his head to look at him.

An Zhe, still catching his breath, looked up: “Colonel…”

“Speak properly,” Lu Feng said coolly, “Stop being childish.”

An Zhe: “…”