Little Pink Starfish

“Hubbard.” Tang Lan softly repeated the name. “He…”

He seemed at a loss for words. It wasn’t until more than ten seconds passed that he spoke again, his voice slightly hoarse: “…Is he doing well?”

An Zhe recalled the scenes related to Hubbard.

When the insect tide ravaged the outer city and District Six was destroyed in an explosion, Hubbard was on a mission outside the city. It was an extremely wise move—he not only avoided the catastrophe that wiped out the outer city but also escaped being arrested by Lu Feng for “illegally stealing Inquisitor intelligence.” Later, he safely led his team back and was welcomed by the main city. Then, this legendary mercenary captain met Lu Feng again. Together, they took the PL1109 to the underground base for a rescue mission. While in the mine, he and Lu Feng would occasionally talk. According to Lu Feng, Hubbard and he completed the mission and returned safely together.

An Zhe said, “He’s doing well.”

Tang Lan slightly lowered his eyes, seemingly smiled a little. He didn’t ask anything else—not a single word—he only said, “Then that’s good.”

An Zhe looked at Tang Lan.

He had first heard of this man in Boss Xiao’s shop, when he saw a finely crafted, nearly lifelike doll. Boss Xiao said Hubbard had spent nearly his entire fortune to custom-make it—Hubbard was the most legendary mercenary captain in the outer city, and this man had been his comrade who shared life-and-death ties. After one expedition, he never came back—not even a body part was recovered.

Next to the doll was a label listing various data. The first line was his name: Tang Lan.

Now the living, breathing Tang Lan stood before An Zhe, safe and sound, without a single scar—he had somehow survived in the danger-filled Abyss, and lived so well.

“He survived,” An Zhe said. “Is he not going back?”

Tang Lan’s eyes held a faint, helpless smile.

“I’m not going back,” he said.

As he spoke, he buried the marker stone into the soil.

“I have a map. I can get back,” An Zhe said. “…Do you need it?”

“I don’t need it,” Tang Lan replied. “You’re not human, right?”

An Zhe: “…”

Tang Lan just smiled again and pulled out a gleaming dagger. As he carved an arrow into a nearby tree trunk, he said, “Do you know what I’m doing?”

An Zhe: “I don’t.”

“After being infected, most people are unfortunate and completely turn into monsters. But a tiny fraction—one in ten thousand—are luckier. Sometimes, they still resemble humans,” Tang Lan said. “I’m leaving directions for those lucky ones—someone once did the same for me.”

An Zhe said nothing. He realized he had a strange talent for recognizing someone who wanted to tell a story.

However, Tang Lan’s story was short.

“That day, Hubbard and I had a bit of a dispute. He wanted to go deeper in, I thought we should turn back. In short, it wasn’t a pleasant exchange. That night, I didn’t meet him again. As per protocol, I kept watch in another vehicle.”

“The Abyss holds all kinds of things. At midnight, a monster that couldn’t be provoked found us. I had never encountered anything that dangerous,” Tang Lan said, finishing the marking and putting away his knife. His voice was as clear and sharp as he was. “I gave them a warning, then lured that thing away in another direction. Later, I died. It must’ve been a horrible death.”

“But for some reason, I seemed to wake up again—and had become something powerful. I merged with the monster, but kept my mind.” He toyed with the dagger, and asked An Zhe, “What about you?”

An Zhe considered his words.

Just then, Tang Lan suddenly turned his head, eyes like sharp arrows piercing into the dense forest—rustling sounds came from that direction.

He said lowly to An Zhe, “Run!”

The moment he spoke, a massive shadow burst from the forest!

An Zhe’s arm was grabbed—Tang Lan hoisted him onto his back without a word. In the next instant, a loud whoosh tore through the air—a pair of massive, black membrane wings unfurled from Tang Lan’s back!

An Zhe was suddenly airborne. Behind him, the mountain-sized monster’s claw came crashing down—but Tang Lan’s ghost-like speed was even faster. In an instant, they were already out of the forest.

An Zhe looked down. Everything on the ground became smaller as they rose. The tall mountains to the south grew closer.

With wind howling past, he asked Tang Lan, “Where are we going?”

The wind high in the sky grew stronger, scattering their voices. Tang Lan shouted back a question:

“Have you heard of the Integrationists?”

As he said this, carrying An Zhe, he flew higher and higher, nearing the mountaintop. The highlands, bathed in sunset light, glowed golden-red. A white structure gradually appeared at the boundary between sky and peak.

A smooth, cylindrical white tower stood at each end, connected by cables. Between the two towers was the main structure—a three-story oval low building. In front of the main building was a device; behind it, a flat plain with a dozen tall wind turbines, each with snow-white blades.

A canopy of vines encircled the complex. Their branches draped over fences and towers. Occasionally, a vine slithered over, sniffed around them, and then retreated.

Tang Lan’s giant black wings retracted, and his body trembled slightly. His fists clenched, face contorted in pain. An Zhe stared until he reopened his eyes.

For a brief moment, when their eyes met, Tang Lan’s eyes were pitch black—a non-human glint—but steady.

“The transformation process was a bit chaotic, not very pleasant,” Tang Lan said. “But I was very lucky.”

He looked at the vine. “That guy… can’t become human again.”

An Zhe looked at the vine. “Does it still have human consciousness?”

“A bit,” Tang Lan said. He stepped forward, and An Zhe followed. The strong wind at the summit whipped their clothes. They approached the slightly worn white building at the center.

Six in the evening—sunset at its most brilliant.

In the southwest sky, clouds surged, and a massive red sun sank, casting golden-red light on the open doors. A figure stood in the center.

An Zhe couldn’t clearly judge human age, but he knew that man was at least as old as Boss Xiao—likely in his sixties or seventies. Yet he showed no signs of frailty. As they drew closer, An Zhe saw that he wore a sharp black suit, a silver-gray shirt, and a neatly tied bowtie. His snow-white hair was slicked back. His aging face, calm and kind, held a pair of gentle gray-blue eyes.

Those eyes made An Zhe feel as though he had witnessed all the storms and changes of the world.

“Sir,” Tang Lan said respectfully, standing before him, “I’ve brought back a new member.”

The man smiled at An Zhe. His gray-blue eyes inspired a natural sense of closeness. An Zhe looked up at him, and he extended his right hand.

After a slight hesitation, An Zhe shook it with a somewhat clumsy gesture. The palm was warm and dry, the handshake firm yet gentle.

“Welcome to the Highland Research Institute. We humbly call ourselves Humanity’s Fifth Base,” the man said. “I’m Polly Jones.”