Little Pink Starfish

“Do not go gentle into that good night—”

An Zhe and Colin walked down a narrow white corridor, where a chorus of youthful voices echoed softly around them, reciting lines in unison.

They were on the sixth floor of Eden. Leading them was a man around thirty named Lin Zuo, wearing a white shirt and thin gold-rimmed glasses. He looked refined and gentle.

They were brought to an office. Lin Zuo asked, “Is everything alright here?”
Colin replied, “It’s fine.”
Lin Zuo said, “The conditions in the main city are a bit better than in the outer city.”

An Zhe agreed. At the very least, when he was in the outer city, he never imagined there could be such a massive building like Eden.

Along this corridor, excluding the office, there were ten rooms—five classrooms and five dormitories. Each dormitory was packed with rows of low beds, housing up to 100 children per room. According to Lin Zuo, this floor had ten such corridors, each for a different age group. This meant there were about 4,000 human children here around the age of six.

“Originally, after turning six, most children would be sent to the outer city to await adoption,” Lin Zuo explained. “But now that the outer city has fallen, the main city must continue their education. We’re short on staff, so thankfully you two have come.”

An Zhe replied, “Understood.”

“The detailed education plan hasn’t been finalized yet, so for now, just follow me and familiarize yourselves with the procedures, okay?”
Colin answered, “Alright.”

Lin Zuo smiled slightly and took a few manuals from the shelf. “These are the textbooks and duty rosters. Read through them—ask me if you have questions.”

An Zhe accepted his copy.

There were two subjects taught here—language and literature, and math and logic.
He received the language textbook. By six, children had learned basic phonics and grammar. The textbook contained simple fables and poems.
These were things An Zhe had studied before, so he had no problem reading the text.

After flipping through the book, it was time for class.
An Zhe took a desk and chair and sat in the back corner of the classroom with a seating chart in hand.
His task was to observe and record students’ behavior—add points for asking or answering questions, deduct points for talking or unrelated behavior.

When he entered, the children turned to look at him.
Their skin was soft, eyes pure. They wore matching white tops and black shorts, and their short hair made it hard to distinguish boys from girls.
They whispered curiously and stared. An Zhe smiled.

—Several children smiled back. One blinked a few times and asked, “Are you the new teacher?”
An Zhe replied, “Yes.”
“Wow,” another whispered, “You’re pretty.”
An Zhe said, “Thank you.”
The child replied, “You’re welcome.”

Then another asked, “What’s your name?”
An Zhe told them.

They all chirped:
“I’m Bai Nan.”
“I’m Ji Sha.”
“I’m Du Cheng.”

Some were aloof—like the child in the corner who looked once and turned away.

But the chatter didn’t last long.
As soon as Lin Zuo entered, the children scattered back to their seats.
He scanned the room and began teaching.

The lesson was the same poem An Zhe had heard in the hallway, the last and most complex in the book:

“Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

“Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night…”

After reciting it once, Lin Zuo stood at the podium.
“Any questions?” he asked.

A child raised a hand. An Zhe checked the chart—it was Bai Nan.

Bai Nan said, “I don’t understand any of it.”

The others laughed.

Lin Zuo said, “Narrow your question.”
“Then…” Bai Nan scratched his head, hesitating. “Why shouldn’t we go gently into the night?”

An Zhe marked a point for Bai Nan and looked at Lin Zuo, waiting for his answer.

In the abyss, in the base, An Zhe had seen twilight overtake daylight many times. Each night was unavoidable.

Lin Zuo’s gaze swept the room. He pressed his lips slightly together—serious.

“This is the last text of your course this year,” he said. “It’s different from all the others. It may be a bit difficult.”

He turned to the blackboard and wrote: Do not go gentle into that good night.

“This poem means,” he said, “Do not passively accept death.”

An Zhe’s eyes widened slightly and he wrote that line in his notebook.

Then Lin Zuo began the detailed explanation. An Zhe took careful notes.

Afterward, the children recited the poem again:

“On this sad hilltop,
I…
Do not go gentle into that good night.”

An Zhe paused his pen and looked out the bright window.
In the distance, the Twin Towers shimmered under sunlight, the city stretching toward a blue horizon.
He knew this city had not yet gone into the night. It was trying not to.

At day’s end, Lin Zuo handed the children over to An Zhe and Colin.
They were to eat with the children and then watch the news together in the dorms.
An Zhe’s job was to answer their questions. Only after that could he clock out.

After eating, the children were energetic—playing, chatting loudly in the corridor.
It felt like a thousand mosquitoes screaming by his ear.
Still, An Zhe was patient.
Even in the abyss, monsters treated their own young gently—though only their own.

At news time, the life instructor pulled out the scoring sheet.
At once, the kids quieted down and gathered around the projector screen.
An Zhe sat in the middle.

Suddenly, he felt something tug his hand.
It was Bai Nan, sitting beside him, hooking their fingers together.

An Zhe had little physical contact with humans.
The most memorable was bumping into Lu Feng and hitting his head on his chest badge.

But children’s bodies were soft—like spores.
The way Bai Nan leaned close felt like how a spore nestled inside him.

He gently patted Bai Nan’s head.
Bai Nan leaned even closer, hugging his arm.

Then Ji Sha joined them, her features somewhat girlish.
One by one, the children huddled around. Even Colin was soon surrounded.
It seemed natural for young creatures to seek warmth from adult figures.

Except one—
A lone child still sat cross-legged, unmoved.
An Zhe remembered his name—Si Nan.
He never asked questions.
They made eye contact. An Zhe smiled.
Si Nan looked away.

The news began.

“After the bombing of District 6, monster numbers have visibly decreased.
The Second Air Squadron took off at 6 a.m. to land in District 1 for support.
Colonel Lu Feng will lead the operation to reclaim the Dispersal Center…”

An Zhe heard a familiar name.
He hadn’t seen Lu Feng since arriving in the main city.
Now he knew—Lu Feng had returned to the outer city.

Bai Nan whispered, “It’s an adjudicator.”
Ji Sha added, “So scary.”

An Zhe asked, “Why?”

Bai Nan said, “They always say adjudicators executed people.”
Ji Sha said, “They go into the abyss. It’s scary.”

An Zhe patted her head. “Don’t be afraid.”
Ji Sha scrunched her nose.

“You’re human. The adjudicators protect you.”
She scrunched her nose again.

“Have you seen one before?” Bai Nan asked.

At that moment, the news anchor said, “Now, live from the battlefield.”

The screen showed a young officer in black—An Zhe thought it was Lu Feng for a moment, but it wasn’t.
It was the young adjudicator beside Lu Feng.
The name “Seran” appeared on screen.

“I have,” An Zhe softly replied to Bai Nan.

“What does he look like? He never shows his face on the news.”
“Is he scary?” Ji Sha added.

All the children looked over—curious.

“He…” An Zhe thought hard, judging by human standards.
“He looks a little scary… but also very handsome.”

“What does he look like?”

That stumped An Zhe.
But he suddenly recalled Lu Feng’s eyes—that cold, deep green.

“Like… the aurora,” he said.

The kids looked confused.
Just then, the life instructor gave him a thumbs-up.

“You really do teach language and literature,” she said.

An Zhe didn’t know if that was a compliment or not.
He just smiled.

Life in the main city went on.
Before long, he had lived here nearly a month.

Life in Eden was peaceful.
At most, there were squabbles among the children.
A few times, An Zhe visited the Twin Towers, but entry required clearance—he didn’t have it.
To find the spores, he had to first learn where they were in the Lighthouse, and then gain access—both distant goals.

Meanwhile, the news grew more optimistic.
Ten days ago, Colonel Lu led his team into the core of the Dispersal Center with a detailed plan.
The news emphasized that adjudicators trained in the abyss and had unmatched monster-fighting experience.

Five days ago, the army officially reclaimed the Dispersal Center, cleared remaining monsters, and began full-scale cleaning and disinfection.
The Lighthouse sent teams to start equipment repairs.

Today, An Zhe planned to watch the news again.
But Lin Zuo had the night shift, so he got off early.

It was 6 p.m. in summer—still bright.
Only a faint gray-blue tint crept into the western sky.

An Zhe swiped his card, and the glass doors of Eden slid open.
He stepped outside.
Colin, also off early, exited too.

It wasn’t a usual time to get off work, so the streets were nearly empty.
They walked toward the shuttle, taking alleys to cut through.
Though they shared a route, An Zhe and Colin kept a distance—they didn’t like each other much.

The world was unusually quiet.

Just as An Zhe was about to step into a main street, he heard hurried footsteps behind.
A flash of white darted past—
A small girl.

He frowned.
Though boys and girls in his class looked similar, he could tell—this was definitely a girl.

She had fine limbs, shoulder-length black hair, and wore a white dress.

Ahead was a busy road.
An Zhe said, “Careful!”

A car zoomed past.
Startled, the girl stopped abruptly.
She panted, turned toward him—her eyes full of fear, lost and alarmed.

An Zhe asked, “Do you need help? Are you from Eden?”

But his words seemed to trigger her panic.
She spun and bolted across the road.

An Zhe rushed to follow.

Just then, a black figure appeared at the street corner—
Swiftly intercepting her.
He knelt, scooped her up, and stepped back.

She struggled violently—but couldn’t break free.

An Zhe arrived just in time. “…”

Their eyes met.

An Zhe: “…Hello.”
Lu Feng: “Hello.”

An Zhe wanted to ask if the Dispersal Center had been secured—but he had something more important to say.
He’d been holding it back for a month.

That day on the train, Lu Feng had been in a foul mood.
And An Zhe now understood why—very few people could see the colonel fairly.

Considering how Lu Feng just risked himself to save a little girl—

That made his words even more valid.

“Colonel,” he said.

Lu Feng raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

The girl kept struggling. Her eyes were dull, hair a mess—something was wrong.
Lu Feng patted her back clumsily—it wasn’t smooth, but the intent was good.

An Zhe looked at the girl, then back at Lu Feng.

Sincerely, he said: “You’re a good person.”

The colonel really did raise an eyebrow.
His lips twitched into the faintest smile—not sincere, more like he’d just heard something obviously false.

Next second, he restrained the girl with one arm and picked up his communicator with the other:
“Target secured at Junction Seven.”

—Then glanced at An Zhe once more.

An Zhe: “……?”