Little Pink Starfish

An Zhe awoke from a peaceful dream.

In the dream, he had no eyes, no ears, none of the sensory organs humans used. It was as if he had returned to a time long, long ago, buried deep in soft, damp soil. But it wasn’t soil—he seemed to be near Lu Feng, so close to the Colonel’s breath, even closer than to death itself.

Opening his eyes, he stared blankly at the gray ceiling—he had been trying not to think about the people and events at the Northern Base. He could feel his memories slipping away: the poet, the doctor, Colin… he was beginning to forget their faces and personalities. Everything that happened in that city grew more distant, yet Lu Feng appeared more and more often in his dreams.

Sometimes, upon opening his eyes, he would vaguely feel like the man was right beside him. The deep green vine leaves by the window had yet to wither before being covered by a layer of white frost, turning crystalline—like Lu Feng’s eyes watching him.

But the external cold soon wrapped around him again.

Outside the window, lead-gray clouds pressed low over the mountain peak. Frost bloomed like pine pollen on the hard ground. Winter had arrived.

People at the Highland Research Institute continued to care for him. Ten days ago, he received a hand-knit wool scarf and a pair of rabbit fur gloves. Every day, wrapped in these warm things, he left the main building and spent time in Polly Jones’s lab in the White Building.

The Simpson Cage consumed a tremendous amount of electricity, and the wind turbines had limited output. Each day, it could only be activated for two hours. The rest of the time, Polly would do other tasks. Sometimes, he taught An Zhe physics and biology—for example, that everything is made of molecules and atoms, which themselves consist of electrons, protons, and neutrons. But that wasn’t the end—no one truly knew the fundamental material of the world.

“A blind person can only touch the surface of things to sense the world,” Polly said. “What they perceive isn’t the full picture. Our understanding of the world is just as superficial. We’re destined to see only the surface. We have many hypotheses, but we can’t verify whether they’re true.”

As he spoke, the lab window was blown open by the howling wind. The dark-skinned Indian man, Ram, stood to shut it. Polly reached out to pull up An Zhe’s scarf.

Wrapped tightly in the soft warmth, An Zhe asked, “Aren’t you cold?”

“When you get old, you become numb in many ways.” Polly’s gentle gray-blue eyes looked at him, and An Zhe could see his reflection—curled in a white bundle. But he didn’t look long before starting to cough. Despite the cold outside, his lungs felt like they were on fire.

Polly gently patted his back and handed him a cup of hot water.

“Do we still have antibiotics?” he asked Ram.

“Some,” Ram replied.

After coughing, An Zhe took the medicine, shivering. A charcoal heater was lit in the room, but he still felt cold.

“I can’t find the cause of your illness.” Polly wiped his cold sweat and said softly, “We don’t have advanced instruments here… I’m sorry.”

An Zhe shook his head. “It’s okay.”

Polly had said human understanding of the world was shallow. Sometimes, An Zhe felt the same about his understanding of humans. When he returned to the Abyss, he never expected such kindness from them.

Take Polly, for instance—not a medical expert, but he began reading medical literature for An Zhe. Ram helped with research too.

Sometimes, their kindness made An Zhe feel guilty. He wasn’t human; this kindness felt like something he’d stolen in disguise. He began to fear the day his true identity would be exposed.

He had once told Polly he didn’t need to go through all this trouble. At that time, Polly touched his forehead and said softly, “You’re like my child.”

When Polly wasn’t around, An Zhe asked Ram why Polly was so kind to him.

“Sir loves everyone here,” Ram said. “When I first arrived, half my body was rotten and moldy, and I wasn’t even conscious.” He rolled up his pants, revealing scars and swollen marks like worms. “Sir treated me for six months without rest. I used to think no one like him existed.”

He continued, “I wasn’t a good person before. As a mercenary, I hurt teammates. But now I’ve rescued three others—maybe that’s my redemption. Being good feels better. Being human is better than being a monster. Many people here are like me. No one doesn’t respect him.”

An Zhe suddenly thought of Lu Feng—an odd connection—and wondered how he was doing. He shook his head and forced the thought away.

Ram enjoyed music. He practiced harmonica in his free time and taught An Zhe too. He said many instruments were even more beautiful, and together they could perform symphonies.

When Polly joined them one time, he joked, “If Ram was born a hundred years ago, he’d have been a great musician.”

Usually quiet, Ram smiled, flipped the cassette in a player, and pressed play. Intense or gentle sounds emerged—the voices of many instruments, each with its own tone and melody, blending together into harmony. The music played loud in the white building.

Below, a man with a beast-clawed left arm waved at them. Ram turned up the volume.

Through the frost-glazed windows came the flowing notes of Beethoven’s Spring Sonata. An Zhe rested his chin on his hand and listened. Spring in the Abyss was beautiful too, but he probably wouldn’t see it again.

—Just then, a red light flashed on the long-silent comms channel. Only one unnamed contact appeared.

An Zhe opened the message:

“Winter has arrived.”
“Monsters’ behavior is unusual. Stay safe.”

He enlarged the text and turned to Polly. “Sir.”

“A message from Dr. Ji at the Northern Base,” Polly said. “He’s been secretly in touch with me all these years.”

The name “Dr. Ji” made An Zhe pause. “Should we reply?”

“Yes.” Polly smiled gently. “You write back for me.”

*

Northern Base.

The comms channel lit up with a reply from the Highland Institute:

“Message received.”
“Thank you for the warning. Please stay safe too.”

Dr. Ji passed by the comm screen.

“Colonel Lu,” he said with a lifted tone, “Hard to imagine an Inquisitor doing something like this. You’re actually a decent person.”

Lu Feng looked quietly at the words on the screen.

“Who’s on the other side?” he asked.

“You’d never guess,” Dr. Ji said. “Polly Jones.”