Little Pink Starfish

The stairwell was nearly empty, or just a few people hurriedly passing by—fewer than usual. Climbing stairs was a physically exhausting task. An Zhe took a deep breath, still feeling a bit strained. When solar winds directly strike Earth, the atmosphere would be blown away at a terrifying speed, dissipating into the universe. Though only a few days had passed, the oxygen content in the air supplied through the vents was already visibly insufficient. The military’s broadcast reminded people daily to reduce going out and unnecessary physical exertion.

Arriving at the first-floor corridor, the atmosphere was even more oppressive—no sign of anyone. An Zhe remembered what the patrolling adjudicator had told him earlier, “Go back early,” so he quickened his steps and returned to the tribunal area. The doctor was tapping on a computer in the hall. Seeing him return, he said, “Finally back, where did you go?”

An Zhe: “Went for a walk.”

He sat down beside the doctor. Dr. Ji was a very gentle person. Over the past few days, they had gotten along quite well.

“Don’t wander off.” The doctor said, “At least not today.”

An Zhe: “Did something happen?”

The doctor looked away from the computer screen and looked at him. His face showed slight fatigue, lips pale, and in his deep blue eyes was an endless, heavy emotion—not a hopeful one. He pushed a bottle of water in front of An Zhe: “Thirsty?”

An Zhe shook his head. He was alright—although mushrooms needed water badly, now that the spore had returned to his body, he felt very settled, and the need for water didn’t seem so urgent.

“Supplies are running low across the board—not just food and water, even oxygen isn’t enough,” the doctor said quietly. “At the latest, today, the military will begin relocating personnel. If you return late, you’ll miss the transfer and be stuck here.”

An Zhe was slightly confused.

“Relocate to where?” he asked. He had thought the Lighthouse was already the final refuge.

The doctor stared at the blank wall ahead and said, “Eden.”

“That’s the crop cultivation center—it has a stable food supply and a large reserve of pure water. The base’s resources are all concentrated there,” the doctor said.

Then he smiled, “The name ‘Eden’ was well chosen. Now it really has become the last Eden.”

“When Eden was first built, there were voices of opposition. Concentrating the core necessities for human survival—crop cultivation, drinking water, child rearing—in one place might benefit Eden, but it also brought enormous risk,” the doctor’s voice lowered. “But facts have always proven that the base’s capabilities are limited. In the face of catastrophe, all human resources can only be allocated to one place—Eden. We must sacrifice everything to protect it. If Eden ceases to exist, then humanity ceases to exist.”

An Zhe understood what the doctor meant. Eden was where the mothers and children were.

He looked at the doctor, asking, “Will everyone go?”

The doctor glanced at him. An Zhe found that gaze hard to define—like how a school caretaker in Eden might look at a stubborn, naïve child. But besides that, there was a faint melancholy and sadness.

So An Zhe understood the answer. He said nothing more.

The morning passed in silence. Selan returned once but looked very rushed—his work was busy.

“I’ll be staying here until the evening,” he said to An Zhe. “The Emergency Response Department doesn’t recognize you. Stay with me.”

The doctor said, “Leave him to me. I won’t leave him behind.”

Selan thought for a moment and said, “Alright.”

Outside, the huge wind never stopped. This force from the universe, impossible to resist, shook the entire human city. The solar storm’s hurricanes on Earth surpassed all recorded disasters in history. Placing a hand on the wall, An Zhe could feel its slight tremble—like the final struggles and breath of a dying animal. In fact, the fact that human constructions had withstood the storm this long already seemed like a miracle to An Zhe.

At 1 PM, someone knocked on the door—it was a fully armed team of military officers. At the front were three civilian officers, with “Emergency Response Department” badges on their chests. Seeing Dr. Ji, the leading officer nodded slightly: “Doctor, please come with us.”

The doctor asked, “Has the transfer begun?”

“It has. We’re planning to transfer five hundred people,” the officer said. “The military will do its best to ensure your safety. A place has been arranged for you in Eden.”

“Thank you,” the doctor replied.

But then he looked at An Zhe: “But he is coming with me.”

“According to the transfer plan, you may bring one assistant,” the officer said to An Zhe. “Please present your ID card for identity verification.”

The officer placed a hand on An Zhe’s shoulder and smiled, saying to him, “Looks like you don’t have your ID card on you.”

An Zhe said, “I only have the Colonel’s.”

An Zhe obediently took out Lu Feng’s ID card. The officer took it and paused at the portable scanner.

“Lu Feng went to the underground city for the base,” he said slowly. “His household’s child isn’t technically qualified for evacuation…”

The officer furrowed his brow, stepped aside to make a call, then came back and said, “He can be transferred as an exception—his identity is confirmed as your assistant.”

The doctor said, “Thank you.”

“You see,” walking through the corridor, the doctor said to An Zhe, “If you had wandered off this morning and returned late—”

An Zhe pressed his lips together. He saw the situation in the hall.

Dozens of researchers in white lab coats stood in a simple line, with military soldiers watching nearby. A woman was arguing emotionally: “My assistant must come with me. I can’t accept this transfer plan.”

The officer said, “According to the plan, you’re not allocated an assistant, Dr. Chen.”

“My research can’t proceed without an assistant. One person alone can’t complete that kind of work. Besides, his skill isn’t inferior to mine—he can independently lead major projects,” the woman called Dr. Chen said loudly. “Please request authorization.”

“If you believe that without your assistant you can’t continue your work,” the officer replied coldly, “then you may have to stay behind.”

After a short daze, she fell silent.

An Zhe followed Dr. Ji to another side. It seemed there was conflict upstairs too—he heard the sound of things falling.

On the first floor of the United Front building, an exit had been opened. An Zhe boarded a military-type armored vehicle. As he got on, he caught a glimpse of the outside—sunlight so harsh it nearly burned the retina, dry scorching air rushing into the lungs, sand covering his body—the once-smooth ground now full of deep gouges, as if clawed by some giant monster.

All around were people’s breathing. This vehicle carried thirty people away. From what others were saying, the Lighthouse’s total transfer quota was only five hundred—less than one-tenth of the total staff.

Someone asked, what about our equipment and materials?

“After we leave, the Lighthouse will be cut off from power. Labs will be rated by priority, and critical samples will be transferred to Eden for continued preservation,” someone answered.

“Bang”—the door shut. The armored vehicle started. Darkness and silence filled the cabin. The doctor grabbed his hand.

An Zhe suddenly found the scene extremely familiar. A month ago, during the overwhelming insect tide, he had also boarded a military truck like this, arriving at District 6 to face Judgment Day. Back then, in the dark cabin, the hand that held his was the poet’s—now it was the doctor’s. Then, the standard for entering District 6 was being uninfected. Now, the standard for entering Eden was whether one had made sufficient contributions to the base—past, present, and future.

Whether in the outer city or the main city, judgment never ceased.

The journey was short. Coincidentally, he and the doctor were assigned to the end of the sixth floor—the place where he had once recited poetry to the children. In Eden, he had his first proper meal in days: a bowl of potato soup. Even if not as tasty as his own cooking, after days of eating compressed biscuits and nutritional paste, it was rare and delicious.

The doctor seemed preoccupied. That evening, An Zhe went out to fetch water for him.

There were people in the tea room—the woman who had argued with the officer earlier was facing the wall, sobbing. Next to her was another researcher. He patted her shoulder: “Maybe the Lighthouse can pull through.”

“Impossible,” her voice was hoarse. “The oxygen content on Earth is already less than half of what it used to be. Once the filtration system is activated, fresh oxygen will only be supplied to Eden first. Residential areas, military bases—even the Twin Towers—are second priority. They won’t make it.”

She looked up and saw An Zhe, asking softly: “Who’s this? Is he one of ours?”

The researcher next to her said, “Supposedly Dr. Ji from the testing center’s assistant.”

“Dr. Ji can bring an assistant…” she muttered. “Because his achievements are greater than ours.”

“That’s how it is,” the researcher said. “Don’t grieve for him. If we get through this disaster, we can train new assistants.”

Her nose reddened, eyes full of tears. But after hearing that, she let out a laugh and covered her face, trembling.

“You think…” she said, “I’m only… only sad because of my assistant?”

“The residents of the main city rejoiced when the outer city was bombed, thinking they weren’t the abandoned ones,” her voice broke, “but they were still abandoned. We’re standing here today because everyone else at the Lighthouse sacrificed themselves. But maybe in a few days, we’ll lose our eligibility too. As sea water drowns an island, the exposed part only shrinks more and more. The time is coming. What are we even holding on for? For the greater good of humanity?”

“For the greater good of humanity.”

She bent over, gasping hard: “This era is killing people, but humanity itself is also killing people.”

“But you must accept it, Dr. Chen Qing,” the researcher said softly. “As beneficiaries, we don’t have the right to mourn for them.”

“I understand… I just, as a fellow human, emotionally can’t accept it.” She wiped her tears and forced a smile: “Or do you mean we don’t even deserve to have emotions?”

“…I don’t know.”

They said no more. An Zhe’s water was ready. He held the cup and left the tea room. Looking up, he saw Selan’s figure flash at the corridor’s side—he entered the room he shared with the doctor. An Zhe quickened his pace to greet him.

The door wasn’t closed. A sliver of light spilled out. An Zhe placed his right hand on the doorknob, just about to push when he heard Selan inside say, “Where’s An Zhe?”

“He transferred with me,” the doctor replied. “Are you looking for him?”

“He’s been with you all along?” Selan said. “I just got a message from the Emergency Response Department—priority sample from Lab D1344 set for transfer has disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” the doctor said. “The one related to Lu Feng? That thing’s strange—if it died and then vanished, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

An Zhe’s heartbeat accelerated. His fingers trembled. He quickly turned and walked to the other side of the hallway.

“No,” Selan said, “The department contacted me because the instruments recorded several operations around 6 a.m. The operator was the Colonel. Where is An Zhe? I need to find him.”

“He went to get water,” said the doctor.

“Thanks.” The door clicked—Selan left.

An Zhe stood behind the corner wall, gripping the water cup tightly.

He knew he’d be discovered eventually—just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Those two researchers in the tea room had seen him. Soon, Selan would search here—he couldn’t be found.

Realizing this clearly, An Zhe looked around the corridor, searching for usable vents. But then he realized—once he turned into mycelium, his clothes and ID card would have to be left behind—clear evidence.

His chest heaved. In a split second, he made a decision and ran toward the supply room at the end of this auxiliary corridor. There was a half-open door there, leading to the emergency building—not likely to be searched quickly. There was another exit on the 22nd floor. He and Lily had used it once. If he could find that original rooftop, he could leave the building—or hide in a concealed place. But he had to leave the 6th floor—the farther, the better.

An Zhe found the small door and entered the dark stairwell, beginning to climb. This place seemed close to the building’s outer wall—the wind was loud, echoing endlessly. The air was hot—suffocatingly humid.

In the darkness, he heard nothing but wind—then bumped into something short.

An Zhe’s first instinct was that some non-human creature was hiding here. But the next moment, his fingers touched smooth human hair—and he heard a child’s terrified gasps.

He hesitated: “Lily?”

“An Zhe?” Lily also cried out.

“It’s me,” An Zhe said.

“You’re here!” Lily said, “I… I heard the Twin Towers are starting to transfer. I was just about to find you. What about Sinan? Did Sinan transfer?”

“I don’t know,” An Zhe said. “They said important samples would be transferred.”

But the moment he said that, he suddenly remembered—the mutants and monsters could now infect without contact. The Lighthouse might not allow Sinan into Eden.

But Lily seemed relieved: “Sinan must be important.”

She calmed down and leaned against the stairs for a while, then asked, “Were you also looking for me?”

“No,” An Zhe carefully chose his words, “I came here to hide for a bit.”

“Is someone after you?” Lily asked. Then said, “It’s safe here.”

An Zhe knew Lily was a different kind of child.

“I’ll stay a few days,” he patted her head. “Can you not tell the others?”

The next moment, the stairwell lit up like daylight. Harsh white light shone on both of them. Lily screamed instinctively and leaned into him. He reached out to protect her, then looked up.

In the glaring light stood Madame Lu in a long white dress—they had met once before at the Lighthouse.

Beside her were two Eden staff with strong flashlights.

“Lily.” Madame Lu’s gentle voice held slight reproach. Though her words were for Lily, her gaze landed on An Zhe, and she softly said: “At a time like this, why are you still running around?”