Little Pink Starfish

“We are the people most closely tied to the fate of humanity.”
When Madam Lu was still a little girl, her mother had told her this. At that time, her mother’s lower belly was slightly swollen, nurturing a new life inside.

“We are the people most closely tied to the fate of humanity.”
When she grew up, she told this sentence to other girls. At that time, she was bearing the responsibility of reproduction for the base while also investing herself in the research of three-dimensional embryo cultivation technology. This research was extremely valuable, so she was one of the few women with reproductive ability allowed to freely enter and exit both Eden and the Lighthouse. One day, on the corridor connecting the Twin Towers, she met a handsome green-eyed military officer.

Later, she had a child. The child’s birth was unrelated to her official duties.

Because of their work, she and the child’s father couldn’t meet often, only occasionally speaking through the communicator.
“Sometimes I feel… I’ve betrayed the ‘Rose Declaration,’” she said.
“Why would you think that?” The voice on the other end was calm and steady. “Aren’t you nurturing a life?”
“To have a child with one’s beloved—that was a right women had before the Declaration,” she gently placed her fingers on her abdomen. “Without violating regulations, without wasting base resources, I had the freedom to use my uterus. I feel… very happy, although I know this thought is dangerous.”

Her memories were fragmented, only key moments remained.

“He’s been assigned to the military,” Madam Lu said. “I had suggested he go to the United Front Center, but the assignments have been finalized. When you return to the base, you’ll meet him.”

“Does he look like me?”
“A bit—not very. His personality is also different. The base doesn’t allow people to know their biological relations, but I believe the moment you two meet, you’ll recognize each other.”
“I look forward to seeing him.”
“You will.”
“Be careful in the field.”
“I will. This time we’ve recovered extremely important scientific data. Some of it even relates to your field.”

She smiled. “Thank you for your hard work. My research has been going well too.”

“I miss you.” The man’s voice suddenly softened. “Last night I dreamed of the day humanity overcomes the disaster. We’re both alive, and so is our child. Just like any ordinary people—forever happy.”

Her voice was equally gentle: “Come back soon.”

Everything was full of hope—
And her only memories of joy ended there.
Ten days later, she could no longer reach her beloved. No news of him came. She had prepared for the worst.

On the day she decided to go to the United Front Center to inquire about her partner’s whereabouts, she met her child in the corridor.
She rarely saw him. In a blink, the child who used to sneak from the 6th floor to see her on the 22nd had grown into a self-reliant young adult—a handsome young officer.

Though filled with worry, seeing him gave her some comfort. “You’re here too.”
Lu Feng said quietly, “Mother.”

That’s when she noticed the insignia on his black uniform, and the silver badge pinned to his chest.

“Didn’t the base assign you to the United Front Center?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

“I’m in the Tribunal,” he replied.
“Why did you go there?” she asked anxiously. If it wasn’t absolutely necessary, few would willingly join the Tribunal.

“I volunteered,” the young officer’s cold green eyes held a complex emotion, but ultimately settled into rational calm. “I can make more of a difference in the Tribunal than in the United Front Center.”

She wanted to say something, but in the end, could only shake her head helplessly. Everyone knew the Tribunal was madness—no one came out of it well.

When they parted, Lu Feng called out from behind: “Mother.”

She turned. Lu Feng looked at her, his voice slightly hoarse, asking, “Where are you going?”

“It’s nothing,” she didn’t want her child to know and just smiled. “Take care of yourself.”

——And so she went and knocked on the door of the Information Office in the United Front Center.

“Information Office. What would you like to inquire about?”

“Commander of the First Combat Sequence under the United Front Center, Lieutenant General Gao Tang. Is he still in the field?” she asked.

Typing sounds echoed from the other side.

“Sorry,” the staff said. “The Lieutenant General has been confirmed deceased.”

Her fingers turned cold, though she still managed to remain calm. Dying for the base was every soldier’s destiny.
“In… the field?”

“At the city entrance,” the staff said. “Tribunal records show he was determined to be infected.”

She swayed, almost unable to stand.

“Infected…”
“Judged by the Tribunal,” the staff explained. “Their decisions are usually correct—about 80% accuracy. This year’s new Tribunal recruits have shown average correctness… Do you need assistance, Madam?”

She stood frozen. In her ears echoed the word “Mother” spoken hoarsely by Lu Feng.
Suddenly, her entire body trembled.

Maybe her loss of composure startled the staff. He said, “Your access level is high. If needed, I can apply to retrieve the detailed report—ID of the judging officer, accuracy metrics… Madam?”
“No,” she said, eyes wide as if she’d seen something terrifying. “No need… no need.”

Her memory became a blank tide, blurred beyond recognition. She had lost her beloved—and from that day on, gradually became distant from Lu Feng. She had, in a way, lost him too.

——In truth, every day she was losing her child.

On the day the outer city was bombed, amidst the distant rumbling, Lily had crawled into her arms.

“Why did they bomb their own city?”
“To make humanity safer.”

“But the people there were also Eden’s children,” Lily said. “If children aren’t important, why lock us here?”

“They have their reasons. For a higher goal, they must make hard choices,” she held Lily gently. “The main city and the outer city are our children too. Sometimes children are stubborn, sometimes they hurt their mother and each other. Only by understanding them can we not feel pain.”

As she spoke, the childhood blood seeping from the door crack, Lu Feng’s Tribunal badge, and the rising mushroom cloud in the distance overlapped in her mind.

Lily asked again, “Then, Madam, do you understand?”

She didn’t answer. She pressed her forehead to Lily’s, closed her eyes. “I just hope you never have to feel this kind of pain.”

Like a mournful song reaching its end, An Zhe slowly opened his eyes.

He found himself lying next to the rose flower bed. Looking up, deep red and green leaves swayed, shards of glass glittered between them. A shadow passed overhead, and as he looked up, the hole in the dome—originally just large enough for the queen bee—had widened, occupying three-quarters of the dome. Its jagged edges sparkled. A bee as large as a human arm flew through it into the sky.

The wave had vanished. No sign of the queen. No further glass shattering. In the night sky outside, artillery fire burst like fireworks—it was the human army engaging. Whether they had killed the queen was unknown. Hitting a bee in the vast night sky was very difficult. An Zhe watched the small bee fly higher and higher, disappearing into the silver moonlight.

Then, more shadows appeared—accompanied by the buzzing of wings. Five, ten, countless bees swarmed in from all directions. Some still had fragments of white cloth on them. An Zhe looked toward their source—the 22nd floor was now completely empty. No human figures remained. Everyone had turned into bees. They flooded outward into the sky.

Bees—

Another hazy image flashed in An Zhe’s mind.

It was a bee—an ordinary one that didn’t eat people, only gathered pollen.

It was summer, the season of bee reproduction. By chance, this bee flew into a human city. The city was impenetrable, windows and doors sealed. It only wanted to find edible pollen but couldn’t.

Eventually, it saw it—behind glass, a blooming red rose.

A woman cared for the flower, standing by the windowsill. Her eyes smiling at the rose, then gazing out longingly into the sky. She seemed eager to open that window and touch the sky outside.

So the bee waited. Waited for the woman to leave, then return. Waited until she gazed outside and shed a tear.

Finally, she seemed to make a decision. She opened the window—letting in the wind, the free wind. She closed her eyes as if she could fly with it.

The bee, long starving, landed on the rose’s stamens. Pollen clung to its fuzzy hind legs. It extended its proboscis into the flower’s center.

—Then it was discovered.

The woman reached out, fingers trembling, her gaze trembling, even a little crazed. As if it was her first time seeing such a lifeform. She moved slowly—not to swat it. But the bee’s instinct dictated what happened next.

Just millimeters from touching her, the bee stung her.

The bee died. As its body left her finger, its innards hung from the stinger’s tip. A bee can only sting once.

But it didn’t quite die. Its body fell into the rosebed. Its consciousness seemed to become part of the woman’s—remaining dormant for a long time. No one knew it existed. Even the woman believed she had only been stung—not infected.

—Until that part of its consciousness was reawakened by a strange wave from afar.

A bee’s memory was simple. Beyond this, there was little else. As An Zhe opened his eyes again, those images faded. The roses before him still bloomed brilliantly. And who had gifted that rose to Madam Lu?

Only two people could have—her former lover, or Lu Feng. Both had only wanted her to be a bit happier.

So during the blooming season, this beautiful scene moved her heart. She wanted to bathe in the sunlight and air outside—and met the bee that chased after the flower.

The wind outside blew in. An Zhe gradually came to. He sat up from the ground—the surroundings were empty. Torn clothing, communicators, personal items scattered everywhere. He could imagine that when the strong wave struck, pulling him into the shared memories of Madam Lu and the bee, everyone else had also been infected.

Thousands of people had turned into thousands of bees, flying out through the hole in the dome into the sky.

Yet he was the exception—still in a human body. Just like that time he was bitten by an insect—he hadn’t mutated.

Just then, a dangerous instinct surged in An Zhe. He looked up—above the dome hovered three small military helicopters. The same ones that had fired at the bees.

An Zhe squinted up—and saw a dark cannon barrel emerging from a window. Aimed straight at him.

At the same time, the sound of heavy footsteps came from the doorway. The alarm blared. Emergency lights and red strobes flashed wildly. The ground trembled. Fully armed Emergency Response soldiers flooded into the room.

An Zhe was tightly surrounded—each of them holding heavy weapons. Every gun was aimed at him.