Little Pink Starfish

The Inquisitor was under soft confinement in the Lighthouse, but the surging riot had not ended in any mutual compromise. On the contrary, it escalated further.

People stopped working to protest the base, with mass demonstrations centered at the gates of the artificial magnetic pole installation.

According to questionable rumors, the base’s decision-makers were furious. But amidst this chaos, they no longer held absolute control. Eventually, they made a significant concession—temporarily revoking the Tribunal’s authority to kill. Inquisitors continued their patrols, but suspected infected individuals were no longer executed on sight. Instead, they were taken to the military training camp on the far side of the base for isolated observation. Additionally, Inquisitors were disarmed and remained in the Lighthouse lab for research purposes, forbidden from leaving—a move that was difficult to distinguish as protection or precaution.

The atmosphere in the base finally eased a little. After all, their grievances were mainly directed at Lu Feng himself. As this generation’s Inquisitor Colonel, his authoritarian behavior and bloodlust had reached jaw-dropping extremes. If the Tribunal executed 5,000 people in a year, 4,500 were shot by him. The remaining 500 only died because Lu Feng was unavailable due to unavoidable reasons.

After a brief calm, people began criticizing the Lighthouse for making no progress in days. The man in charge, Dr. Ji, was Lu Feng’s old friend. “Humanity’s last hope” was clearly a cover-up, a one-sided act of sheltering. Protesters demanded tangible results from the Lighthouse—otherwise, they wanted Lu Feng handed over.

“They’ll do anything now, knowing humanity can’t afford even one more death,” the doctor said as he poured himself a glass of water. “Their rhetoric is full of holes, but it’s the only way they know to vent their fear.”

As he raised the glass, his hand trembled. Water splashed out, landing on the desk. He forced a sip but immediately grimaced in pain, doubling over and dry heaving.

“I’m also living in immense… immense fear. I feel like vomiting,” he said in a shaking voice. “The cold wave has arrived. Winter is coming. The monsters are about to enter their most ravenous, frenzied state.”

“We all know humans are like juicy meat in the eyes of monsters. Even when the base was at its strongest, monsters still tried to attack constantly. Guess…” He chuckled bitterly, “Guess when they’ll realize the base is weak? When they’ll gather en masse and storm it like they did the Underground City?”

Lu Feng said, “Calm down.”

“You think everyone is as emotionless as you? Empathy is what defines humans. Panic spreads exponentially in a crowd. Your calmness at a time like this only proves how terrifyingly inhuman you are.” Dr. Ji took a deep breath. Sarcasm sometimes helped relieve tension, and he looked a little better. “Tell me, how do you keep functioning? What do you think about when you’re on the edge of collapse?”

Lu Feng looked at him nonchalantly. “The interests of humanity come before all else.”

The doctor gave a helpless laugh.

Afterward, he took a deep breath and seemed to calm down, walking over to the large culture dish holding the spore.

“They really think a white mushroom could save humanity. That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. In fact, its composition is no different from the mushrooms we use in soup.” He recited the protesters’ words as if lecturing a failing student. “Understand? If things continue like this, they’ll cook you into mushroom soup too. You need to actively show what makes you different.”

The snowy-white mycelium trembled in the nutrient liquid. The spore drifted slowly toward Lu Feng, pressing against the inner glass wall as if trying to get closer.

“Don’t scare it,” Lu Feng said softly.

“It understands. I’d bet anything it understands. We’ve fed it extracts from countless monsters, and it’s eaten them all. An Zhe is a polymorphic mutant; his spore must be too,” Dr. Ji said. “If it didn’t have awareness and intelligence, it wouldn’t sneak out every night to sleep next to you.”

“So what’s your progress?” Lu Feng asked, frowning slightly.

“It’s eaten so many monster genes, but it’s still just a spore. It’s absolutely stable. The gene extracts haven’t disappeared—I suspect it can consciously control its transformations, like how An Zhe can become human,” Dr. Ji said. “If humans had that ability, we wouldn’t fear distortion.”

“You want to infect people so they’re all taken over by mushroom consciousness?”

“We haven’t reached that point yet.” The doctor leaned his forehead on the device, muttering, “Damn thing. Just like An Zhe, it disappoints me.”

As he spoke, the nutrient liquid began to climb up, seeping through the gap between the dish lid and its body, trickling down to Lu Feng’s hand like a carefree… little creature.

Its behavior clearly showed it was a sentient being.

“It moves. It thinks. But it doesn’t even have a nervous system,” Dr. Ji said. “Do you know what that means? I’m a biologist. If distortion collapses physicists’ worldviews, then this spore has annihilated mine.”

The Inquisitor wasn’t particularly interested, nor did he need to be. He gently held the soft mycelium in his hand. “I disappointed you?”

“He shows no signs of infection,” the doctor said, forcing himself to focus. “You had a sexual relationship with him—yet you’re still human. You show no symptoms. Your will hasn’t even softened a bit. He and his spore can’t infect people.”

Lu Feng looked at him calmly, as if pondering something. Dr. Ji thought he was about to say something valuable.

Then the Colonel said, “We never had sex.”

The doctor stared at him. “You disappoint me more than An Zhe.”