Little Pink Starfish

Silence often means facing a crucial decision.

To save, or not to save.

“Can we still contact the Underground City?” A voice broke the silence.
“No reply anymore.”

“The meeting in Conference Room One is over. With current resources, if we ensure survival of the entire city, it can last up to ten days.”
“What if we don’t ensure survival of the whole city?”
“Only supplying Twin Towers and Eden with resources can last fifteen to twenty days, not considering climatic factors.”
“In extreme cases, core personnel transferred to Eden’s underground shelter can be considered for long-term survival.”

“There’s still one hope.”

Silence again.

Finally, someone asked, “Are we going to help or not?”

The lieutenant general’s gaze swept around the room. An Zhe had heard the broadcast convening the meeting, so he knew this room was full of the highest-ranking officers from the Command, General Staff, and Combat Center—different from the logistics and city defense personnel meeting in Room One. These were people headed for the front line.

Only, even An Zhe knew how dangerous the front line this time would be. What kind of thing could cause the best-equipped human base to be on the verge of collapse, to the point even artificial magnetic poles couldn’t be defended?

Perhaps by the time reinforcements arrived, the place would already be a dead city. Perhaps before they even reached the destination, the team would crash in a storm—falling to the ground, or into the Pacific. Or perhaps, North Base used up its own military stores to aid Underground City Base, and when the next joint mutant attack came, they would be unable to resist.

In the long silence, An Zhe heard Lu Feng beside him say: “I’ll go.”

The lieutenant general looked at him for a long time.
“You’re the best candidate,” he said.

An Zhe looked at Lu Feng. He knew why the lieutenant general said Lu Feng was the best choice.

In different areas of the same continent, even the monsters vary greatly. And North Base and Underground City Base were separated by a whole Pacific Ocean—the monsters and their fighting methods there might be completely unknown.

Who could best adapt to the unknown?
—Someone who often went to the Abyss. The monsters of the Abyss were chaotic and mad, and nearly every mutation pattern had traces among them.

At this time, another officer said, “I specialize in commanding large-scale joint operations. I apply to go.”

“Captain of AR137,” Lu Feng said, “Communicator, ask if he volunteers to go.”

“Mr. Hubbard agrees to go.”

The meeting adjourned. As they left, the lieutenant general called to Lu Feng.

“Who will take over the Tribunal’s work?”
“My adjutant.”
“Is he capable?”
“Yes.”

Outside, Ceylan came over. The Tribunal’s work area was in this building. He softly said, “Colonel.”
Lu Feng responded faintly.
In the dim light, Ceylan’s eye rims were a little red. Lu Feng was leaving; he still had many things to prepare.

Ceylan let him rest in the Tribunal’s office. In the middle, An Zhe used an excuse to leave. He climbed up to the 13th floor. The light outside Room D1344 was still on. Inside, researchers’ voices could be heard. They were saying that time was tight—precisely because time was tight, every study must be completed in a race against the clock. An Zhe lowered his head. He thought the mushroom’s body was too fragile and soft; he ultimately could not break in rashly. He returned to the first-floor lobby.

In the lobby, people came and went. Ceylan came to his side. An Zhe didn’t speak, silently witnessing everything unfold. The bustling, moving crowds, the constant broadcasts, the flickering lights, and the intermittent electricity supply. It all happened so fast. Human destiny changed like the aurora in the sky.

11 p.m., Equipment Center reported: mission completed.
12 a.m., Logistics Supply Office reported: mission completed.
1 a.m., PL1109 maintenance complete. Fighter squadron ready for takeoff.

A muffled roar came from afar. Ground command needed a wide view. The isolation wall rose up. Blazing radiation and strong winds surged in. Everyone retreated to the safety zone deep in the lobby. In the distance, a line of lights lit up. An Zhe strained to look. The lights on the wings and noses of the aircraft outlined the massive silhouette of the fighters. Several PL1109s, along with a full formation, smoothly advanced.

PL1109—An Zhe knew it. A masterpiece of human technology, with a fully radiation-shielded shell, an independent navigation system that didn’t rely on magnetic field guidance. Humanity had long predicted and prepared for the coming disaster. Only no one knew how effective the predictions and preparations would be.

Now he finally understood why the base’s roads were so smooth, solid, and wide. The military base connected closely to the city center, huge buffer zones, helipads and runways everywhere… A hundred years ago, people had poured everything into building this. Not for beauty or order, but because everything about this human base’s main city was built to respond to possible future war.

Another gate opened, and several people came out.

Among them, An Zhe saw Lu Feng right away—this person’s figure was upright and straight, lines clean and sharp. Unlike the Tribunal’s uniform, which was elegant and cold, though the design was similar, the combat uniform looked more casual, amplifying that “bad thing” quality about him.

But An Zhe… thought Lu Feng was a very good human.

Lu Feng walked toward him. Something was draped over his arm. Ceylan received it.

“Follow Ceylan. Don’t run off,” he said.
Then to Ceylan: “Watch him closely.”

They were simple words, but An Zhe always felt a sense of threat in them—as if if he dared to run, he’d be punished.

He frowned slightly, looked up at this person.

Lu Feng reached out and roughly rubbed An Zhe’s hair.

His gaze wasn’t as cold or harsh as usual. An Zhe even felt there was some gentleness in that look.

This person had decided to go to the Underground City Base on the other side of the world. An Zhe felt he should say something—like telling him to stay safe or take care of himself… things like that.

He opened his mouth, then felt that the colonel was probably used to this kind of life. He seemed capable of handling everything, no need for reminders.

In the end, An Zhe only said: “…I made mushroom soup tonight.”

No matter how good the thermos was, by now it wasn’t as good as when it was piping hot.

Lu Feng’s eyes held a faint smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “Make it for me again when I get back.”

Those eyes—the color like the faint firelight deep in the summer night jungle—looked at An Zhe.

He seemed to lean in slightly. For a moment, An Zhe felt Lu Feng wanted to come closer. But that feeling vanished quickly.

“Might not come back,” Lu Feng’s voice was slightly hoarse. “Take care of yourself.”

An Zhe softly said “Mm.” He watched Lu Feng turn around, never looking back, walking into the temporary boarding bridge.

This was who knows how many times An Zhe had watched Lu Feng’s back disappear. He had lost count. He didn’t know why this person could always keep walking forward, able to shoot his own kind without hesitation, and at any time sacrifice his own life.

Outside, the sandstorm came with the wind. The night concealed it, making the swirling dust and gravel look like boundless night fog—within that vast night and moonlight, the engine’s hum roared. The jet-black PL1109 fighters took off steadily.

Their spread wings were like giant birds. In An Zhe’s sight, they grew smaller and smaller, eventually becoming a tiny speck, vanishing into the dazzling Milky Way spanning the sky.

A distant roar—sonic boom—the fighters accelerated again.
An Zhe completely lost sight of them.

Everyone looked up at the vast night sky. In the lobby, a solemn silence. After a long time, people dispersed.

An Zhe still stood there. Light footsteps sounded behind him—it was Ceylan.

“I sometimes wonder why the colonel chose me as his successor,” Ceylan said. “What traits and principles does he think a judge should have?”
“Now I think, contrary to what most people believe, it’s not cruelty—it’s kindness.”

“Human interests above all isn’t about kindness to one person. It’s about kindness to the fate of all humanity. That’s where unwavering faith comes from,” Ceylan’s voice was soft and slightly hoarse. “I sincerely hope that the people a hundred years from now won’t have to face everything we’re facing now… if humanity still exists by then.”

An Zhe didn’t speak. He looked up at the starry night sky—an endless, brilliant ocean of light.

Ceylan draped a military coat over his shoulders.

“When the aurora lights up again,” he said, “the colonel will come back.”