Little Pink Starfish

“Beep—”
“Beep—”
“Beep—”

Unclear where it came from, a machine was making monotonous beeping sounds. But there was another sound in the room.

“Thump thump.”
“Thump thump.”
“Thump thump.”

This sound was very much like a human heartbeat, though not real—because it spread throughout the entire room, as if there were sound-playing devices installed in the corners of the walls.

At this moment, footsteps came from the far end of the room—two humans, walking and talking, seemingly recording something.

After a while, short conversations were heard.
“Zone 4, normal.”
“Zone 6, normal.”

“Subject 113 has stopped developing.”
“Continue observation.”
“Subject 334 is proliferating abnormally, must be destroyed.”
“Subject 334 was transplanted too early.”
“Nothing we can do—the last report wasn’t approved. The higher-ups have decided to use high birth rates to offset the high abnormality rates.”
“In recent years, the abnormality rate in embryos has kept rising. This is not a wise decision. Embryos need to stay in the mother at least a month longer to ensure normal development.”
“The maternal blooming period is too short. If we prolong the time, the birth rate will be insufficient.”
“Why is this so hard?”
“Be optimistic, the overall number of children is increasing.”

The footsteps gradually faded, only the heartbeat-like sound continued to echo. The room was dim and soft in lighting, like a secure nest, or a giant hollow organ. The powerful heartbeat was like proof of some form of life.

An Zhe slowly exited the duct, feeling a bit unwell—this place seemed to have some strange energy affecting his body. But seeing the layout of the human space helped him regain his sense of direction. He needed to move toward the outside of the building.

After many turns in the duct, he found numerous vents. Each led to a small square room. It seemed to be a time when people were still asleep—each room had one sleeping person. He couldn’t crawl under the beds to look, but he could hear the breathing—very light, the breathing of infants. The windows were sealed, and surveillance cameras with red lights were positioned above each room. There was no way to escape through these.

Eventually, An Zhe found a vent located on the corridor ceiling.
He carefully came out from it, laying flat against the ceiling, crawling along the corridor ceiling—the cameras pointed downward, unable to capture him.

The layout of each level of Eden was similar. He recognized this as likely a corridor for miscellaneous use—storage for cleaning supplies, daily goods, food, and miscellaneous items.
He grew a little excited. Based on the layout, at three-quarters down the corridor, there should be a door to a medium-sized terrace—for drying items, or where staff sometimes smoked.

Soon, An Zhe found that door. He stretched out his mycelium and slid through the crack.

The sky outside was bright—it was already daytime.
But An Zhe didn’t have time to think—his attention was immediately drawn away.

On the empty terrace, on the concrete fence, stood a small white figure—a girl in a white dress. She had her back to An Zhe, facing outward, slowly spreading her arms, body leaning forward—she was about to fall.

An Zhe revealed his human form, stepped forward, grabbed the girl’s shoulders, and pulled her down from the fence, placing her on the ground: “You…”

The girl turned around.

An Zhe froze.

He had seen her before—just two days ago. She had run from Eden onto the road outside, was stopped by Lu Feng, and then taken back by Eden’s staff. He wouldn’t mistake her.

Now, she glanced at An Zhe—almost lifelessly, not like the bright-eyed children in his class. For a moment, An Zhe thought this girl was a lifeless doll.
He knew he didn’t look normal now—cloaked in a robe woven from mycelium, like a human wearing a bed sheet outside—but real humans wouldn’t do that.

Yet this girl seemed to see nothing strange at all. She didn’t find his outfit odd or his presence abrupt. She didn’t seem to recognize him—or maybe, she didn’t remember him at all. After three seconds, she turned her head back.

It was early morning outside, the aurora had just faded, thick white mist rolled over the gray city like waves against a gray-blue sky. From this angle, half the view was blocked by the massive cylindrical magnetic field generator, larger and taller than all buildings, like a mountain, a lone island in the sea fog, or a spiral stairway connecting sky and earth. Streetlights and the morning star flickered, but were dimmed by this towering structure.

And that girl.

“I wasn’t going to jump,” she said clearly. “I wanted to fly.”

An Zhe said, “I know.”

Her tone was flat, not like a child of this age. Morning wind blew, lifting her white dress and black hair—it was extraordinarily delicate and soft. Women and girls outside didn’t have this. Duse had this quality too, but the girl had it even more obviously.

An Zhe stood behind her. He had just saved her—at a cost. At least, his presence had been revealed to this girl. In such danger, he couldn’t make any mistakes.

He said, “Why are you here?”
“There are times when the surveillance glitches—they haven’t noticed yet,” she said. “I came to look at the sky.”
“You can look at the sky during activity time,” An Zhe said. “What level and class are you in?”
He was fulfilling a teacher’s duty—can’t let a child stay in such a dangerous place.

She said, “I’m in Eden.”
An Zhe: “Which level and class in Eden?”

“I’m not in any level or class,” she said. “Only boys are.”

An Zhe patiently explained, “There are girls in the classes too.”
There were many in his own class, like Jisha—though they dressed similarly to boys, not in dresses with shoulder-length hair like this girl.

“Those girls aren’t real girls,” she said, turning to An Zhe. “Only those above level 20 are real girls.”
An Zhe: “Why?”

“You don’t even know that?” she said.
An Zhe: “I don’t know.”
Indeed, he knew very little about this human base.

For the first time, her face showed an expression beyond indifference—a slight smile, almost proud: “Then you also don’t know about the ‘Rose Declaration.’”
An Zhe: “What is that?”

The girl turned back, leaning on the railing. The sun was faintly rising on the horizon.

“Then you don’t know about bacterial infection either?” she said.
An Zhe: “I know.”

He did know about that disaster which killed 90% of humanity.

“Only genetically strong people survived,” she said.
An Zhe: “Mm.”

The violently mutating bacteria rendered human treatments useless—only those born with immunity could survive. One’s genes determined survival.

“Then those survivors found that very few living children were being born.” She ran her fingers through her hair, paused as if organizing her words, and said: “After the infection, the surviving women had reproductive defects. Only a few had milder defects.”
An Zhe remained silent. She wrinkled her nose and continued: “Scientists gave them genetic tests—scores below 60 meant complete infertility. Above 60, they might give birth to normal children. Then came the ‘Rose Declaration.’ You’re a boy—it doesn’t concern you.”

An Zhe asked, “What’s the declaration?”

“We just recited it,” she said. “Want to hear it?”
An Zhe: “Okay.”

She recited calmly:
“Humanity’s Four Bases, 23,371 women with fertility scores of 60 and above, unanimously passed the following declaration:
‘I voluntarily dedicate myself to humanity’s destiny, accept genetic experiments, accept all forms of assisted reproductive technologies, and will strive lifelong for the continuation of the human race.’”

“That’s it,” she said. “So I’m on level 20, and you all are below. Now you know.”
“Thank you,” An Zhe said. “But you still need to avoid coming to such dangerous places.”

“I wasn’t going to jump,” she said. “I come every week—you came too, didn’t you?”
She looked at An Zhe again. “I wanted to see the sky, so I came. Why did you come?”
An Zhe: “I couldn’t find my way back.”

“I know the way,” she said. “I have a secret passage.”
An Zhe thought: “I don’t have any clothes either.”

“I know where the laundry room is,” she said.
An Zhe asked: “Then can you tell me?”

She didn’t answer directly, instead said: “Are you a lower-level student?”
An Zhe: “I’m a teacher.”

“Then promise me one thing,” her eyes seemed to light up, “Promise me one thing, and I’ll get you clothes and take you out through the secret passage.”
An Zhe asked: “What thing?”

“Find a boy named Si Nan on level 6, tell him I was injected with a tracker, I can’t come out to play with him anymore.” She said: “Come here again next week, at this time, and tell me what he said.”

An Zhe was silent.

She looked at him and asked: “You can’t do it?”
“I…” An Zhe looked into her eyes. She blinked—finally looking like a normal child.
In the end, An Zhe said: “I might not be able to.”

She said: “You can. He’s on level 6.”
An Zhe didn’t answer.

She seemed a bit anxious, pushed open the terrace door and said: “I’ll get you clothes.”
An Zhe didn’t have time to stop her—her white skirt disappeared behind the door.

If the Si Nan she spoke of was the one An Zhe knew, he was no longer in Eden, but at the lighthouse. But An Zhe didn’t know—if he told her that, how would she react? He knew human emotions caused pain.

So, even as she came back, leading him through empty dark corridors, finally stopping at a half-open small door among a pile of miscellaneous items—he hadn’t figured out what to say.

“If you can get in, you can reach the first floor,” she said, pointing to the door.
It was half open—due to long-term disrepair, not closing tightly, just enough for a child to squeeze through sideways.

An Zhe said: “Let me try.”

He went to the door and leaned slightly.
An adult couldn’t get through—but he was a mushroom. Under the clothing, his body briefly turned into mycelium form, shedding the limits of human bones. He slipped through easily.

“Your body’s really soft,” the girl said.

“I also have one request,” An Zhe said. “Can you not tell anyone I was here?”
The girl said: “If you come back here next week—”

Her voice abruptly stopped.

“Lily?” a woman’s voice called.
“You came here again.” The voice carried a slight reproach.

An Zhe dodged to the side. He heard Lily say: “Sorry, ma’am.”
“I found you this time,” the woman in the snow-white dress said gently. “If it were someone else, you’d be locked up again.”
Lily said: “I won’t do it again.”

Then came footsteps, as they walked away. Through the crack, An Zhe saw Lily being led away by the woman in white, disappearing down the dim corridor.

Lily didn’t finish her words, but he knew what she meant. It seemed he and Lily had made a pact. Next week, he had to return and tell her Si Nan’s response.

He felt heavy-hearted and looked around—it was dark, damp, moldy, the floor covered with white powdery fragments. It was a narrow, steep stairwell, clearly unused for a long time.

An Zhe found the handrail and descended, counting steps. Each level had 20 steps. When he reached level 6, a door similar to the one on level 20 appeared. He emerged and entered the level 6 storeroom.

Bright lights shone. The clothes Lily gave him were standard Eden uniforms—a white shirt. No different from before.
He walked out, glanced at the wall clock in the hallway—7:00. If heading to the training base from Eden now—he was already late.

So An Zhe went downstairs, quickened his pace. In the lobby, the slogan “Human Interest Above All” in bright red on white walls stood out. White-uniformed staff moved across the bright floor. Children’s voices echoed from afar. It all felt completely different from the dark ducts—he felt like he had come back to life.

As he pushed open the glass doors of the lobby—he bumped into someone.
An Zhe: “…”

Lu Feng.
Behind him was Ceylan.

Lu Feng’s eyes narrowed—this movement carried a hint of danger.

Sure enough, Lu Feng said in a low voice: “Why are you here?”

Facing him, An Zhe’s mycelium nearly exploded.
He shouldn’t be in Eden—he should be at the training base with Colin.

“I…” He looked up at Lu Feng.
Those cold, icy green eyes stared at him—as if to say: go ahead, start lying.

An Zhe said: “…I went the wrong way.”

He really had gone the wrong way—completely lost underground. If he hadn’t stumbled into Eden, or found that terrace in time, he might have remained trapped and lost his human identity forever.

And…
And Lu Feng, that terrible guy—after today, maybe they’d have nothing to do with each other anymore.

He lowered his eyes slightly. For some reason, the colonel didn’t seem as hateful as before.

Ceylan gently said: “Today you were supposed to go to the training base—didn’t realize we’ve changed locations?”

An Zhe said nothing. The sun rose behind the artificial magnetic pole, golden light reflecting off the silver buttons on Lu Feng’s uniform.

His voice was a bit hoarse: “And you’re late.”

Lu Feng said nothing, but didn’t scold either.
Given Lu Feng’s opinion of his intelligence, Ceylan’s explanation likely sufficed. An Zhe moved to the side, trying to slip past.

Suddenly Lu Feng’s voice came: “I’ll give you a ride.”

Lu Feng drove steadily and fast—at least twice the speed of the shuttle. When they reached the training base entrance, it was 7:25—five minutes before work started. He wasn’t late.

But as he got out, he felt others glancing at him.

Anyway, it wasn’t the first time. An Zhe reached the ID gate. People were scanning their ID cards and entering.

He paused—he realized something.

Footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Lu Feng very close behind, raising an eyebrow, watching him.

An Zhe: “…I forgot my card too.”
Lu Feng let out a soft “tsk.”

Two slender fingers held up a blue ID card, swiped it on the reader—“Beep”—gate opened.
Lu Feng had used his card to let him in.

At the same time, the colonel’s faintly disdainful voice sounded in his ear:

“So dumb.”