Little Pink Starfish

On the road, they saw the wreckage of a plane. Its shape was identical to Lu Feng’s aircraft. An Zhe estimated the direction—this plane must have crashed before Lu Feng’s. He had witnessed its fall.

After three or four planes had crashed in succession, no more aircraft from the base appeared in the sky. The base must have sensed something strange and stopped sending out fighter jets.

But this plane was in slightly better condition than Lu Feng’s. It hadn’t exploded. Other than external damage, most things inside were intact.

Lu Feng walked over and dismantled the black box. After a moment’s hesitation, he climbed into the cracked cabin door—the edge of the door had bite marks.

The pilot’s body had already been devoured by a monster. The bloodstained uniform had dried up. Bones, stripped of all flesh, lay scattered inside the cockpit. The skull had rolled down onto the console—only half remained, with sharp tooth marks along the edge.

An Zhe followed him in. For a moment, Lu Feng wanted to tell him to leave, to spare him the gruesome sight—but then he saw the calm look in An Zhe’s eyes and realized he wouldn’t be frightened by human remains.

On top of the control panel lay an upside-down flight manual. A flight manual is a pilot’s reference guide, recording basic operating procedures, instrument functions, and solutions to various emergencies.

Lu Feng reached out and brought the manual in front of him. A strange change had occurred—the black ink had deeply seeped into the pages, spreading outward. Tiny black tendrils extended, distorting and warping all the printed words into bizarre, sinister symbols.

An Zhe looked at the page too, struggling to read the letters. It described possible engine malfunctions.

That’s how he knew—this plane had crashed due to engine failure, and until the final moment, the pilot had still been reading the manual, trying to find a solution.

Then—at that very instant—the plane crashed, the manual fell, and people died.

After Lu Feng carried An Zhe down the aircraft’s ladder and placed him on the ground, An Zhe heard him say, “The plane I was on also crashed due to engine failure.”

An Zhe frowned.

Lu Feng continued, “But it also had problems with its parts.”

“Was it because of an issue during manufacturing?”

“The PJ fighter squadron had flown several missions and undergone inspections before each takeoff,” Lu Feng said.

They walked ahead. Xibei and Grandpa were waiting.

An Zhe couldn’t understand why the planes had malfunctioned. He asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” the colonel said—rare for him to admit.

As if recalling something, he added, “PL1109 also had engine trouble during landing, but it made it down safely.”

PL1109 was the base’s most advanced fighter. From Lu Feng’s words, it seemed all planes now carried this risk. Not long ago, when he left the human base and looked back at the main city, he had seen PL1109 descending slowly—it turned out Lu Feng had already brushed past death at that time.

“Then…” An Zhe whispered, “You won’t fly again?”

Lu Feng didn’t say anything. He just ruffled An Zhe’s hair.

After reuniting with Xibei, they briefly shared what they had found, then continued walking.

As far as the eye could see—wasteland.

Xibei glanced around. “The monsters really are fewer. There used to be a lot.”

An Zhe understood what that meant. Big ones, small ones—many creatures had died, becoming parts of hybrid monsters. The total number of monsters had decreased, making this area seem safer. But individual monsters had become more dangerous.

Yet all this change had occurred in just a few short days. The weaker monsters were wiped out too quickly. An Zhe recalled that monster obsessed with consuming genes—it had moved too anxiously.

He remembered a similar scene—late autumn in the Abyss.

In winter, the Abyss grew cold and damp. After snowfall, ice coated the ground and trees. Many monsters stopped coming out—they hid in warm caves. To survive the entire winter, they frantically fought and devoured each other, trying to store enough flesh and nutrients. Some even dragged their enemies’ corpses into caves as rations. The month before winter was the most dangerous, bloodiest time in the Abyss.

Now, that same slaughter was happening outside.

The route wasn’t long. They had been careful, taking concealed paths—and maybe due to luck, they didn’t encounter any terrifying hybrid monsters.

They set out at 8 a.m. and by 9:30, they reached a city buried by sand.

It was huge. As they got closer, remnants of roads appeared among the sprawling ruins. Unlike orderly, grid-like architecture, this place was scattered and uneven—round buildings mixed with rectangular ones, roads winding and tangled. Overpasses had collapsed, covered in dead vines stretching across buildings. Yet, because of the overwhelming grayness, all the varied structures looked the same in An Zhe’s eyes.

He looked toward the endless distance. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have imagined a city like this. Getting lost here must have been normal.

Dark clouds covered the sun. The sky dimmed.

“Follow me,” Xibei said. “We used to come here from the mine for supplies. There’s a stronghold in the city. Honestly, living in the city is fine too—if not for monsters. Grandpa insisted only the cave was safe. Three uncles once left the cave to live in the city, and we never heard from them again.”

After crossing through a cluster of buildings with Xibei, they arrived at a dense residential area. Large gray buildings stood packed together. In the distance was a square, and in the center of the square faintly loomed a white sphere. In the silent city, only wind passing through the buildings and their own footsteps echoed.

Lu Feng stayed alert, watching their surroundings. Because he was carrying Grandpa, Xibei kept his head lowered. “Once we cross this square, we’re there—almost.”

Just then, Grandpa’s throat suddenly let out a “guh” sound. His vocal cords vibrated as he repeatedly uttered a single syllable. His throat was congested, his voice unclear—but one could barely make out: “Pro…”
“Pro… pro…”

Xibei: “What?”

Lu Feng’s footsteps suddenly stopped.

An Zhe looked at him—Lu Feng was staring intently at the square ahead.

In the next moment, he exhaled a short syllable: “Run!”

No time to think. An Zhe’s arm was yanked, and he instinctively followed Lu Feng, running into the nearest building. Xibei didn’t know what was happening but quickly followed while carrying Grandpa.

The apartment building had a familiar layout. As soon as they entered the stairwell, they were met by a gray-white skeleton in clothing, leaning against the wall, as if fused with it. No time to look closely—An Zhe was already weak and lagged on the stairs. Lu Feng picked him up and ran upstairs. The staircase was spacious—each floor had three units. Around the eighth floor, one door was open. Lu Feng carried An Zhe in and Xibei followed. Lu Feng shut the door immediately.

Everything inside was coated with dust. A skeleton lay on the living room sofa.

It was a three-bedroom, two-living-room apartment, open from north to south. The living room extended outward with a large floor-to-ceiling window.

Lu Feng set An Zhe down. He was breathing heavily—from the rush. An Zhe had never seen him like this before.

But then—

He saw Xibei staring out the window, face pale, eyes vacant.

An Zhe looked.

White.

A white, spherical, half-story-tall monster was slowly writhing toward them with an eerie, almost floating ghost-like gait—that thing he had thought was a decorative object in the distant square—it was a massive monster.

It was coming straight at them. Two blocks away, An Zhe could already see its form clearly. An indescribable mass, with octopus- or snail-like writhing limbs. The front half moved, while the back half dragged behind.

Its body—nearly round—was covered in a translucent membrane tinged between pale white and gray. Beneath the membrane, its interior writhed with countless black or flesh-colored unidentifiable forms—organs, perhaps—dense tentacles, limbs, or other things in constant motion.

As it neared their neighborhood, more details became visible. It was a completely incomprehensible, hybrid form beyond human understanding. There were no visible eyes. Xibei stared at it directly, as if fear would kill him on the spot.

It came closer.
Everyone in the room held their breath.