Little Pink Starfish

On the vast ground stood the upper half of a polar generator. On a land of yellow sand, it looked like a grand tombstone.

This place was in an excellent geographical location, surrounded on all four sides by tall mountain ranges that blocked storms and cold currents. In the middle was a flat plain with stable and solid geological structure, enough to support the construction of unbelievable underground facilities. The area and capacity of this underground city could rival a major metropolis at the peak of human civilization.

In the beginning, when the four major human bases were just taking shape, there was a prophecy: if humanity ever faced utter defeat, then the underground base would be the last one to fall.

But now, the open plains were covered in bloodstains—monster, mutant, human. Among the blood were severed limbs, dismembered hands, and remains of heavy weaponry.

A black warplane swiftly skimmed close to the ground, dropping several high-capacity bombs. Muffled explosions rang out. The monsters’ howls were deafening but were soon drowned out by thick smoke and dust.

The warplane pulled up and circled steadily in the sky. Lu Feng held a walkie-talkie and said, “Surface monsters cleared.”

Beside him was Hubbard, the legendary mercenary captain from the outer city. Looking at the entrance to the underground city tunnel not far away, he said, “Inside will be tough.”

Lu Feng also looked in that direction, staying silent, tacitly agreeing with Hubbard’s assessment. In recent days, he had co-commanded the aerial operations with this captain, and they had developed a solid understanding—moreover, they were the type of people who had ventured deepest into the Abyss and knew those creatures’ habits and lethality better than anyone else.

The underground city was easy to defend but hard to attack—a safe and powerful fortress that naturally protected against radiation. However, its structure also meant one thing: once breached by mutants, the inside would be a complete mess.

And now, it had already been breached.

“They lack firepower the most. Birth rates can’t keep up. Troops are insufficient. They could only increase military consumption. Too much was overdrawn in advance, and now they have no way to effectively defend,” Hubbard’s hawk-like eyes narrowed slightly. “We brought enough supplies and arrived just in time. There’s still a fighting chance.”

Just then, a voice came through the walkie-talkie.

“The underground city thanks you for your generous support,” the operator’s voice trembled, “but out of humanitarian duty, we must inform our comrades at the Northern Base: cases of contactless infection have been observed inside the base. Unpredictable infections may occur at any moment…”

“Northern Base received,” Lu Feng directly interrupted, “please prepare for ground reception.”

Hubbard furrowed his brows.

Lu Feng said, “The flight formation will hover temporarily. I’ll go down.”

“I’ll go,” Hubbard said. “From the sound of it, it’s more dangerous than we thought. Once you’re down, there’s no coming back.”

“You don’t have that obligation.”

“But I don’t have anything holding me back.”

Lu Feng said coolly, “Neither do I.”

Hubbard smiled and asked, “Really?”

Lu Feng met his gaze. In his cold green eyes, no emotion could be seen, but this time he stayed silent.

“Sometimes, you stare out the porthole for a long time,” Hubbard said.

“I left someone at the base,” Lu Feng leaned against the porthole with arms crossed. “Around his neck hangs a bullet casing from someone I killed.”

“You killed his what?”

Lu Feng didn’t answer.

“So he’s got a grudge with you.” Hubbard paused, as if remembering something. “I met a boy who carried one of your bullet casings and asked me if I knew where it came from.”

Lu Feng curled his lips.

Hubbard said, “Sounds like a complicated relationship.”

“Maybe.” Lu Feng walked out. “All my relationships are complicated.”

His voice was cool. He ordered the pilot, “Prepare to taxi.”

This time Hubbard didn’t stop him. Watching Lu Feng’s back, he fell into thought.

—Under the vast, blood-red western sunset, the flight formation landed. The hatch opened, and Lu Feng descended from PL1109, heading toward that city drenched in blood beneath the ground.

*

Northern Base.

Just as he was about to press his ID card to the sensor, An Zhe heard footsteps behind him. He turned—it was a routine patrol, led by a familiar-looking adjudicator.

The adjudicator saw him and asked, “What are you doing here?”

An Zhe lowered his eyes slightly. “Getting something for Dr. Ji.”

“The doctor’s still doing research?” the adjudicator asked.

An Zhe lightly hummed in response but didn’t speak further. The adjudicator didn’t probe and only said, “Go back early. The military has business today.”

An Zhe said, “Thank you.”

They walked past. An Zhe took a deep breath and pressed his ID card to the sensor. Luckily, the access system hadn’t been shut down. With a click, the lock opened.

An Zhe pushed the door. The door hinge squeaked from friction. Under the dim light, huge machines loomed in the shadows. But in the center of the room, a cylindrical beam of faint light illuminated it—a small cluster floated upward.

An Zhe held his breath, prepared to be caught. The spore had been moved. At this moment, even his heart had stopped beating.

—Until his gaze passed through the glass tank, through the pale green culture fluid, and saw a small, solitary white lump floating inside.

His lips curved up. His heart gave a few heavy beats. He wanted to rush over immediately but was overwhelmed with emotion.

That small white thing, in the dim fluid under the faint light, seemed to be quietly looking at him.

Just then, he saw the spore’s previously still posture pause, and then the mycelium suddenly expanded—or “exploded” was more fitting.

Then—it drifted toward him at a speed not exactly slow, then suddenly stopped at the glass wall as if it had bumped into it.

An Zhe hurried to the glass tank, pressing his hand—and whole body—against it.

His spore also pressed tightly against the glass wall. The mycelium, agitated, tried to touch him through the glass. Its movements clearly showed it wanted to be closer.

An Zhe couldn’t help but smile. When Lu Feng was nearby, this spore acted like it didn’t see him. But now, it recognized him. He couldn’t blink, watching the spore stretch its fragile mycelium toward him, blocked by the glass, trying harder to stick to him, nearly forming a white pancake against the inner wall of the tank. Every strand of mycelium screamed how much it wanted to be near An Zhe.

An Zhe leaned against it, a long-lost sense of peace surrounding him, though still separated by a membrane he couldn’t break.

He wanted to rescue it from the tank. He forced himself to pull away, went to the side where the control panel was. Following general human machinery logic, he pressed the largest round button. The screen lit up, and the card slot indicator glowed. He swiped Lu Feng’s card again—the light turned green. This card had nearly unrestricted access in the base.

But then he was stuck. The panel was full of identical buttons labeled only with complex symbols.

How to open the tank?

His finger hovered uncertainly, then he steeled himself and pressed the central button.

Three seconds later, the tank water began to ripple. The spore was helplessly swept back and forth, finally spinning in the center. Watching that helpless little thing spin, An Zhe felt dizzy too and quickly hit the first button.

The next moment, red lasers lit up at the top of the tank. Even An Zhe standing nearby could feel the heat. The spore’s mycelium flared, then drooped as if about to be scorched dry, then flared again.

An Zhe suspected it was silently screaming. His brows furrowed in distress—was this the kind of torture the spore endured daily in human labs? But there was no time to think—he pressed another button.

The red light turned into pulsing flashes. The spore burst again and again.

An Zhe quickly hit a distant button. This time, the red light vanished. He breathed a sigh of relief. But the next moment—a buzzing sound rang out. Blue ion sparks lit up inside the tank, and then the water surface began to tremble. The spore also thrashed in the water like it had gone mad.

An Zhe: “!”

He had electrified the water.

Panicking, he hit button after button. Finally, with a loud sound, the pale green fluid slowly drained from the tank. An Zhe pressed a nearby button, and click—the top cover of the tank opened.

The tank was too tall. He dragged over a chair, stood on it, and reached in.

But most of the fluid had already been drained—the spore couldn’t float up to that height.

Then An Zhe saw it cling to the glass wall and slowly climb upward, sliding down with each effort, then trying again.

This little thing wasn’t fully mature yet, but it had inherited his ability to move freely. An Zhe extended his arm, and his arm and fingers turned into curling white mycelium, reaching down inside the container to touch the spore.

That moment felt like electricity surged through his body, a rebirth. He had retrieved a part of himself. A strange wave enveloped him.

Cradling it gently, he scooped it out. The spore’s loose mycelium retracted obediently and rolled between his strands.

An Zhe smiled with curved eyes. His mycelium connected with it and gently drew it into himself. The spore relaxed completely and merged into his body. A joyful emotion surged into An Zhe’s mind. It had finally returned to where it belonged. Human culture fluid was useless—only a mature body’s nourishment could help it grow.

This time, no one would take it away again. Though he still didn’t know why it had approached that person. In fact, it was a good thing it hadn’t shown attachment to him that day—otherwise, it would have drawn the researchers’ attention and exposed his identity. So, An Zhe decided his spore was exceptionally clever.

With its return, the emptiness in his body was finally filled. All his anxieties settled in that instant. It was an indescribable feeling—like rebirth. An Zhe walked to the window, pressed a button, and the metal plate rose.

Blinding light shone in. He squinted.

Outside, at the end of the sandstorm, in the golden dawn, a brilliant red sun burst forth.

An Zhe slowly turned his head, looking back at this silver-white lab. Machines aligned, wires distinct, test tube racks neatly arranged on the shelves. From this lab, he could imagine the entire base.

This was a human base—past, present, future—none of which had anything to do with him.

His hand gripped the window sill, knuckles white. He pushed open the triple-layered glass window.

A finger-wide gap opened. Scorching hot wind mixed with sand rushed in. Along with it came a stinging pain in his fingers—the wind and air outside were filled with strong cosmic radiation. Within that massive fluctuation were countless ripples. He seemed to hear the Abyss calling him back.

He could leave now. Go outside. Return to the Abyss. It was just as cruel outside. He didn’t know if he’d survive. But he had retrieved the spore—he feared nothing now.

…He feared nothing now.

An Zhe lightly pressed his left hand against his abdomen, forehead resting on the window sill. Eyes closed, his whole body trembled slightly.

His right hand, gripping the sill, pulled back, and with a gentle “thump,” the window closed. Then the radiation-proof metal layer sealed it off. He took a few breaths. His forehead leaned against the metal. Fingers at his side slowly clenched, like he had made an unbearable decision.

With the radiation blocked, the stinging faded. Just like that night when Lu Feng held him, shielding him with his own body, rolling them away from the irradiated area. If it had been anyone else, Lu Feng would’ve done the same—but precisely because of that, the moment remained vivid in his memory. Just like every time Lu Feng walked away.

An Zhe left the lab. Just then, two soldiers passed through the corridor. The patrol from earlier had moved on. These were different people.

He met their gaze, gave a slight smile as greeting, and turned toward the stairs.

In the dim stairwell, only the sound of his heartbeat echoed—pounding faster than usual. Human hearts beat faster when afraid. But what exactly he feared, he didn’t know.

He wouldn’t be able to hide it for long—he knew. Once order resumed, and research restarted, the loss of something so vital in a human lab would definitely be investigated. He had to go—the sooner, the better.

But he couldn’t stop himself from pulling out a small, cool, angular object from his shirt pocket. It was the badge from Lu Feng’s coat, which he had taken.

He held it tightly, thinking: when the aurora appears and PL1109’s return is announced, he’d leave—if that day ever came.

There was nothing good about this city, except maybe the potato soup was decent.

If not for… If not for his spore always wanting to get close to Lu Feng, he would’ve left long ago.