Little Pink Starfish

On the road, they encountered another hybrid monster.

It was different from the one Lu Feng had shot down—it was slender, gray-black, like a giant magnified stick insect. On its back were large, delicate wings resembling a butterfly’s, and two thin antennae extended from its forehead. Its eyes weren’t visible. The creature was over five meters long with six thin legs. When they crossed a high slope, it was devouring a two-meter-long lizard. The creature’s previously smooth, chitinous body reflected the aurora’s glow, but as it fed, its skin gradually turned into coarse scales.

Its light and nimble body allowed it to dart swiftly. After consuming the lizard’s head, the stick insect hunched, then leapt forward, wings fluttering as it flew away with the rest of the lizard—it hadn’t noticed Lu Feng and An Zhe.

This must be the intelligent kind of hybrid Lu Feng had mentioned, the kind that knew to hide somewhere after acquiring new genes, enduring the chaotic phase in seclusion.

An Zhe watched its snow-white wings and sincerely said, “So beautiful.”

He himself was white. He liked the color of his own mycelium, but he didn’t have such graceful, beautiful wings. Even when he fully turned into his true form, he was only a soft lump. Since that rainy season when he was just a sporeling and was broken by storms, he’d lost the typical shape of a mushroom and had been labeled a “mutation deviating from the basic morphology of the species”—a source of shame for him.

Lu Feng’s cold voice sounded: “You want to eat it?”

An Zhe: “.”

He denied it. “No.”

Lu Feng said, “Don’t eat random things.”

An Zhe quietly muttered, “I can’t beat them anyway.”

Lu Feng’s lips curled slightly.

As a mutant, being told by a human not to eat randomly made An Zhe angry. He should have the right to eat freely.

Then his stomach growled.

Lu Feng asked, “Where’s your food?”

An Zhe thought about what was left. Not even enough for one meal. He said, “Let’s wait a bit.”

Then he asked Lu Feng, “Are you hungry?”

Lu Feng replied, “I’m alright.”

An Zhe thought this human was stubborn. He reached into his backpack and took out the last half of a compressed biscuit, broke off a piece, and handed it to Lu Feng.

The colonel didn’t refuse.

An Zhe continued feeding him. By the third piece, he remembered how dry compressed biscuits were—they should be eaten with water.

He still had half a bottle left, so he took it out but wasn’t sure how to feed water to the colonel.

He could only say, “Pause for a moment.”

So, in the early dawn, behind a large rock, they shared half of the remaining water. Water was something that made mushrooms happy. An Zhe licked his lips, only to have Lu Feng shove another biscuit into his mouth.

The cool fingers accidentally brushed against his lips. An Zhe bit down on the biscuit and slowly swallowed. At that moment, he surprisingly felt content—even though their food and water were nearly gone, and they didn’t know how they would survive tomorrow.

He told Lu Feng, “You eat. I won’t move.”

If he didn’t move, he didn’t need to eat much.

Lu Feng didn’t speak. He rubbed An Zhe’s head. An Zhe looked up and met his eyes. In the dim dawn light, the colonel’s usually cold gaze seemed a little softened.

For a moment, An Zhe had an illusion: though he and Lu Feng were entirely different, though they shared no common language, if the signal never returned, if someday Lu Feng became a mutant like him—or he became human like Lu Feng—if they both lived until then, maybe they could be great friends.

Among humans, he wasn’t a very exceptional individual—maybe even a bit useless. Yet the colonel still treated him well. So, if Lu Feng ever became a mutant, as long as he wasn’t too ugly, An Zhe wouldn’t mind.

But that was impossible. Lu Feng was human, and An Zhe, unfortunately, was a mushroom. Yet, had he always been human, he might’ve just been an average person in the outer city—never would’ve met Lu Feng. So perhaps, it was lucky that he was a mushroom.

They kept moving. After a night’s rest, An Zhe’s leg wasn’t as painful. He walked on his own. When Lu Feng put him down, An Zhe noticed Lu Feng frown slightly and glance aside.

Near a large rock not far away were scattered human skeletal fragments. The skull and broken spine were far apart, hands were missing, and a gray-white leg bone stuck out of the sand like a flagpole or a tombstone.

They approached. Lu Feng bent down and wiped the thin layer of dust from the bones.

“Recently. Within two days,” he said.

At his words, An Zhe looked at the bones with confusion. Given the situation, there shouldn’t be any humans left in the wild. So why were there fresh remains?

“Pilots?” Lu—

They checked again. The bones had been gnawed by monsters. Nearby, a gray-black uniform lay in the sand—not standard military issue. It looked uncommon.

But they could only move on.

Half an hour later, through the morning mist, a faint shape appeared on the horizon—a gray line stretching across the flat landscape, like the edge of a massive city.

An Zhe said, “I think we’ve arrived.”

—It must be the city ruins Lu Feng spoke of.

Lu Feng said, “Me too.”

An Zhe asked, “Can we find food and water there?”

Lu Feng replied, “Yes.”

“Really?”

Lu Feng, in his usual indifferent tone, said, “I spend a lot of time in ruins.”

An Zhe: “…oh.”

Colonel Lu was someone who moved freely even in the Abyss.

But not starving was still worth celebrating. An Zhe’s steps became lighter, and he walked one step ahead of Lu Feng.

At that exact moment, the ground beneath his foot suddenly softened!

Then it gave way.

He fell.

An Zhe: “!!!”

His heart pounded violently. He almost transformed from the fright. But in that instant, a heavy force gripped his left arm—Lu Feng had grabbed him. An Zhe dangled in midair, breathed a sigh of relief, and was pulled back up. His leg was fine, but his arm throbbed with pain. He gasped. Lu Feng ran his hand from An Zhe’s shoulder down to his wrist. “Not broken.”

An Zhe looked toward where he had fallen.

—It was a three-meter-deep trap, covered with brittle wooden boards camouflaged by sand—indistinguishable from the surroundings. Step on it, and you’d fall in.

An Zhe found it suspicious.

Lu Feng frowned too.

“A trap. Made recently,” Lu Feng said.

This place had human remains and now a trap—human-made.

Could there still be living people in the wild?

At that moment, Lu Feng abruptly raised his head and looked toward a spot. “Who’s there?”

It was a small hill, unremarkable amid the terrain. No response.

Lu Feng drew his gun. “Come out,” he said sternly.

No movement.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.

A rustling suddenly came from the mound, then a dull creak. An Zhe looked over as earth crumbled from the surface and something like a lid opened—someone crawled out. At first, he thought it was a marmot. But no—it was a human, an actual, alive human, showing no signs of mutation. He wore a worn-out denim outfit similar to the clothes by the skeleton.

He stood—thin, pale from lack of sunlight, with scattered freckles on his cheeks.

He stared at them, stunned, eyes wide.

An Zhe stared back.

Two full minutes passed before the boy stammered, “You… you… people?”

He spoke clumsily, with a strange accent—not the standard tone used in the base.

Lu Feng said, “Get us out first.”

The boy stared at them, hands trembling at his sides, then suddenly ran toward them. “Wait a sec!”

He took a winding route, then turned to lead them, stammering as he spoke, “S-sorry… we were afraid… afraid of monsters… so we dug a lot… a lot of traps. They can’t get through… and we can watch… d-didn’t expect anyone to return. Are you… okay?”

Seeing his lowered head and remorseful tone, An Zhe said, “I’m fine.”

At the mound, the boy activated something. A creaky metal gate opened, revealing a pitch-black hole.

“You’re… from outside?” the boy asked, suddenly realizing something. He glanced at Lu Feng, but seemed intimidated, so turned to An Zhe instead.

An Zhe said, “Yes.”

“I…” the boy panted, cheeks flushing with excitement. If they were closer, An Zhe might’ve heard his pounding heart.

He asked, “Are you real?”

“I…” the boy seemed overwhelmed by it all, gasping for breath.

“You are,” Lu Feng said. “Northern Base. Tribunal. Need help?”

“We… we need help.” The boy’s eyes lit up like the rising sun. He dashed inside, shouting, “Grandpa!”

Lu Feng and An Zhe followed him into a winding tunnel. After closing the gate, the place was cool and dark, with only faint glimmers ahead. An Zhe held the wall carefully but was soon grabbed by the wrist and guided by Lu Feng.

It was a steep, downward staircase—easy to trip. After about a hundred meters, they reached a bend where it widened slightly. Dim lanterns lit the tight tunnel, casting long echoes from their steps.

Lu Feng asked, “You dug this?”

“No,” the boy replied. “It’s an old mine. Lots of us hid here.”

“How many? How long?”

“I don’t know,” the boy said, lowering his head. “I’ve lived here since birth. A lot of people died later. My uncle left. Now it’s just me and Grandpa.”

Before they reached where the grandfather was, An Zhe already heard harsh, labored breathing—like a dying animal.

Inside a ten-meter-wide hollow, on a narrow wire-frame bed, lay an elderly man. An Zhe approached—he was covered by a dusty blanket, cheeks sunken, eyes cloudy, trembling in pain. Even when they came near, he didn’t respond.

“He’s sick,” the boy said, sitting beside him and grasping his hand. “Grandpa, people from outside came! They said they’re from the base—there really is a base!”

But the old man, confused and unresponsive, frowned and turned away.

“We’ll be somewhere with lots of people!” the boy said, excited despite his grandfather’s apathy.

Then the old man murmured, lips barely moving: “Time… the time is near…”

The boy asked, “What?”

An Zhe listened closely.

“Time… almost here,” the man wheezed.

The boy turned to Lu Feng and An Zhe, apologetic: “He always says that. Thinks he’s dying.”

He added, “Where humans live, there must be medicine.”

But the old man only repeated the phrase, over and over.

Later, the boy brought them to a slightly wider square room. Three dark tunnels branched off like arteries. Yellowing maps and safety notices hung on the walls. A small table and two old sofas sat in the center, the dampness peeling away their upholstery.

Lu Feng spoke with the boy.

His name was Sibei. He said that when the disaster came, the mine collapsed. But since the radiation didn’t reach underground, some survived. They scavenged nearby ruins, but many were killed. His mother had only him. Over time, the original dozen became just him, his grandfather, and a few uncles.

“I knew people wouldn’t all die. I knew someone had to build a base. But when we found another exit, the world had changed. No one was left.”

“The radio had no signal. Monsters roamed. We couldn’t leave. But we knew—there had to be others.”

His voice trembled with hope. He took out a worn magazine.

“Days ago, we found a car outside. Besides a corpse, there were these books. I knew there were still people. I waited for you. Our people must still be rescuing.”

Lu Feng said softly, “The base welcomes you.”

An Zhe reached out. The magazine’s cover read “Base Monthly.”

The yellowed first page read: “May we have a bright future.”

And on the contents page, two names appeared:

“Winter”
By An Ze

An Zhe’s breath caught.

Below it, another name:
The Poet

The names lay side by side.

His finger brushed over them—these people he once held, once reached for in darkness, now vividly returned. The poem described soft snow on a plaza—“like white dove wings.”

He remembered every detail of An Ze’s voice. For a moment, An Ze and the Poet seemed alive again—standing before him, smiling.

His vision blurred.

Hours earlier, he had mocked humanity’s stubbornness. He imagined not minding if Lu Feng became a mutant.

Now, that thought wavered.

Humans are still human, he thought.

He knew the base was beyond saving. That humanity was nearing its end.

But—they truly are eternal.