Little Pink Starfish

Armored vehicle.

“Welcome back. We’ll return to the base after a 15-hour drive.”

Lu Feng asked, “How is the base?”

“The distortion caused widespread panic and chaos. Some precision instruments no longer work, but the artificial magnetic poles are operating normally.”

“The distortion occurred when the magnetic poles failed?”

“Yes.”

Lu Feng said, “These past few days, I lived with the survivors in a magnetic ore mine. There was no distortion there.”

“Because of the magnetic field. Magnetic fields can resist distortion to some extent,” the doctor said. “Back then, the Lighthouse fell into total chaos. Holding onto our last sliver of hope, we exchanged all our years of research with the underground base, but got nothing in return. All our research was based on biological genes.”

“Later, I once again violated the rules to access the institute’s communication channels.”

Lu Feng raised an eyebrow.

“After discussion, combining some clues—such as the time when the distortion occurred—we believe all this may be related to magnetic fields. So we temporarily increased the strength of the artificial magnetic poles,” the doctor said. “It’s working for now. That’s the only reason we’ve managed to scrape together a little extra time.”

The doctor leaned back in his seat. “But based on predictions, the distortion will gradually strengthen and will eventually overcome us within three months.”

He paused and looked toward the distant sky where gray mist rose and a brown eagle circled. He said, “Still, to realize that all human efforts for survival throughout history were ultimately futile, to witness the total extinction of humankind—it is, in a way, an unimaginable honor.”

He turned back to Lu Feng. “To be honest, you’re calmer than I expected.”

“What, did it get to you?” he continued. “An Zhe—whatever that thing is—slippery and elusive, even the base’s tight security couldn’t keep it in. It’s normal we couldn’t catch it. And even if we did, we couldn’t have held it. Don’t take it too hard.”

Lu Feng didn’t speak.

The doctor extended a hand.

A soft, snow-white little thing rolled out from his sleeve.

He looked at it.

Strangely, a soft sentiment rose in his heart. It felt like he was back in those moments when An Zhe stayed quietly by his side. At night, they slept together. At first, An Zhe always faced away from him. But as he slept, he’d eventually turn over and gently press against his chest. In the morning, even An Zhe himself didn’t know why it happened—then he would furrow his delicate brows and turn back over. In the end, Lu Feng would hug him from behind.

Those were, surprisingly, some of the most cherished days of his life.

The snow-white soft mycelium affectionately twined around his fingers.

The doctor froze. “You brought it back? You actually brought it back?”

Lu Feng: “Mm.”

“What about An Zhe?” the doctor asked rapidly. “Did you kill him?”

The spore seemed startled by the man’s sudden loud voice, shrank back, and burrowed into Lu Feng’s sleeve.

But after a moment, it reappeared at his collar, affectionately rubbing against his neck.

Lu Feng said indifferently, “He left.”

“How could you let him go? What exactly is he?” the doctor asked, eyes wide. “Can he protect himself?”

Lu Feng touched the spore’s soft mycelium but didn’t answer. Under the dim sky, his profile was a silhouette of quiet solitude.

The doctor looked him over, then suddenly frowned. “Where’s your gun?”

—

Rooftop.

Watching the convoy disappear into the distant horizon, An Zhe moved his stiff body and stood up from behind the flowerbed. Yesterday’s heavy rain had filled the bed with water, where fine threadlike creatures now wriggled—newly born yesterday.

But now that the sky had cleared, the water would soon dry under the sun. After a brief moment of life, they would meet eternal death.

All creatures are like this.

Would his spore live longer than these ephemeral beings? He hoped so.

An Zhe patiently waited for a chance. When the eagle landed to rest, he climbed onto its back—the eagle paid him no mind, perhaps because he was too light, too lacking in nutrition. An Zhe found a spot on its broad back. It was not covered in feathers, but in scales, between which semi-transparent tendrils grew and intertwined. The eagle foraged around the city. After it devoured a vine with a meat-like texture and fought a giant bat-winged monster for half an hour, it was defeated and left.

Using Polaris and a map to track its direction, An Zhe noticed a change in course and quietly slipped away. After rooting in the soil for a night’s nourishment, he hesitated, then pulled a jet-black gun and several bullets from his backpack.

It was Lu Feng’s gun. After Lu Feng left, An Zhe found it in the backpack—the colonel often carried all his belongings, including the bag.

He hoped the gunshot would attract transportation.

Three days later, he landed again. While searching for another ride, An Zhe encountered an extremely ugly monster with a centipede-like body and ant-like arthropod features. It fed on mushrooms. An Zhe tried to flee, but his body was already weakened. He was nearly devoured when Lu Feng’s gun protected him—he had accidentally shot the creature’s soft underbelly. While it paused, he rolled into a murky stream and escaped.

The weather turned cold. Cold-fearing animals began migrating south. In the process, they preyed on each other. Sometimes, not a single creature could be seen across the vast plains, only one or two massive survivors. Sometimes, swarming creatures flowed southward like a black tide. An Zhe blended in, drifting downstream.

Ten days later, he secured a ride with a bird. Over twenty days more, on the bird’s soft back, he saw a shadow—it looked like a scar across the world.

According to humans, the core of the Abyss is a narrow fault zone with extreme radiation, breeding countless monsters. North of the Abyss is a plain full of lurking beasts; south, another region.

The bird reached the Abyss’s edge, tired. It found a giant dead tree to perch and rest.

Suddenly, the branch trembled. The bird’s feathers bristled, it flapped its wings, screeched—

—Countless black vines had appeared on the tree, tightly wrapping around its feet. With flapping wings, it was dragged into the dense center of the tree. Its elegant neck arched toward the gray sky in one last struggle, but vines coiled around its throat, split open, and a fanged mouth bit through its neck.

A splash of blood burst out. The five-to-six-meter bird was torn in two. Feathers scattered.

An Zhe fell to the ground with his backpack, along with the feathers. He stood, staggering over the rotten ground soaked in black water, and looked up to see the bird devoured by countless vines.

The vines, sated, dispersed.

The dense forest, with vines and giant mushrooms, blocked out the sky and sounds of the struggle.

This is the Abyss, a place that devours and leaves no bones. There are no rodents or arthropods here—they are too weak. But even stronger creatures are not invincible—Abyss soil is rich from being soaked in blood and flesh, possibly why mushrooms thrive here.

An Zhe stumbled into this place. Moss, dead branches, and fallen leaves covered the ground. It was so soft, like a swamp, that movement made no sound.

He clearly felt the atmosphere change. Normally, fights and killings were constant. Strong beasts patrolled. But today, he encountered only one silently moving serpent.

They all seemed to be hiding.

But An Zhe paid no mind to the monsters.

He stared blankly at this vast place, where sunlight could not reach.

To his left stood a ten-meter-tall dark red mushroom, nestled among giant rocks. Bloody slime dripped from its cap. Its huge body seemed to breathe.

An Zhe pressed his fingers to its stalk, feeling the slime-covered texture.

He had never seen a mushroom like this before.

Terror suddenly filled his eyes as he looked around.

In that moment, his pupils dilated, his body chilled, and he trembled.

He no longer recognized this place.

—He no longer recognized it.

He panted violently, then began running blindly through the forest. This was the Abyss: blood-soaked soil, black-water swamps, lurking monsters—it was still the Abyss, but no longer the one he remembered.

The Abyss was too vast—how could he possibly find that cave?

He tried to recall, relying only on mushrooms with distinct features to remember paths.

So he walked on, never stopping, using his legs and mycelium. Day turned to night, and night to dawn. But every plain felt familiar, every cave was empty.

No clues, no familiar places. He didn’t know how many sunsets he’d watched or how many caves had disappointed him.

Eventually, he could no longer walk. His mycelium was no longer soft and nimble. It dissolved, broke apart. His human body weakened with every passing moment.

At a silent lakeside, a dead vine tripped him.

A sharp stone cut his palm and knee. He knelt, buried his face in his hands, and trembled.

He couldn’t find it. That cave—he couldn’t find it.

A mushroom’s life lasts only one season. The old die, the new sprout. The Abyss changes constantly with each mushroom generation. That road he memorized—was gone.

Wrapped in mushrooms and deadwood, he looked hopelessly to the sky. He hadn’t known it would be this—this cruel.

Lu Feng was right—he had no idea how big the world was.

He could never find it, unless he lived forever. But he was a mushroom, born and gone in a day.

He was destined to die on the road searching for that cave.

Nothing in the world is eternal.

Not even the first promises.

Salty tears ran down his thorn-scratched face. The pain was sharp but couldn’t surpass the despair inside. He took a breath and stared at the silent lake.

He was in a trance.

There seemed to be a voice in the water—a frequency calling him away, making the world blur and shift.

Jump in. Jump, and it would all be over.

Happiness, pain—it would all be gone.

Drawn by that voice’s call and seduction, he stepped toward the lake. The water was so clear it reflected his image. He and An Ze looked so alike. When ripples blurred the reflection, it felt like An Ze was calling him.

Born unknowingly, die unknowingly.

In the Abyss, in this… sorrowful place.

Suddenly, a memory stirred. A voice echoed in his ear—his own voice.

“On this sorrowful mountaintop,” it whispered, “please curse me, bless me with your tears.”

“…Do not go gentle into that good night.”

“Do not go gentle into that good night,” he repeated. “What does it mean?”

Lin Zuo, the teacher from Eden, had answered, “Do not accept extinction gently.”

After a brief pause, it changed again.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.” He had once softly read this to someone. That day, they had walked together a long way, not knowing what lay ahead.

That night, outdoors, under the ancient wind—what was that person thinking?

Facing inevitable, strange fate, did he also feel the same despair?

How had he kept going?

An Zhe looked down and found, without knowing when, he was holding the Inquisitor’s badge again. Its edges dug into his already bloody hand.

In an instant, the trance faded. He stumbled back several steps.

What was I doing just now?

Pain shot from his ankle—he had hit the same sharp stone again.

He bent down to move the sharp gray stone so it wouldn’t trip others. Then he suddenly noticed something.

The stone had a charred black mark—like someone had used a burnt twig to draw a crooked, ugly arrow pointing southeast.

He fell into thought. With his limited knowledge, there were no creatures in the Abyss capable of drawing arrows.

And he seemed to have seen this strange gray stone in other parts of the Abyss, but had been too focused on finding the cave to notice.

He looked around, then chose to follow the arrow. After walking for a while, another gray stone appeared, half-buried, with another arrow.

He kept walking. Not only stones—sometimes tree trunks or bones were marked.

Five days later, he realized he was heading south in the Abyss—toward the highlands. That area was dry and harsh, with few monsters.

But on the same day, he stopped finding marked stones.

He stood under a tree, dazed, scanning around—wondering if he had lost the way.

Suddenly—

A pebble hit his shoulder.

“Lost?” A male voice rang behind him.

An Zhe turned—and was stunned to hear a human voice again.

A tall, handsome man with black hair stood by the tree, holding a gray stone in his right hand. He winked and said, “The marker’s with me—I haven’t placed it yet.”

Looking at him, An Zhe slowly furrowed his brow.

“Tang Lan?” he called out a name.

“You know me?” the man replied with a mix of surprise and casual charm, looking him over. “I haven’t seen you at the base.”

“I haven’t seen you either.” After confirming his appearance again, An Zhe said, “I know Hubbard.”

The moment the word “Hubbard” fell, the man’s casual demeanor instantly vanished.