Little Pink Starfish

Polly Jones’ voice came through the communication channel.

“The stable frequency now covers the entire globe,” he said. “There’s no need to worry about material aberration anymore.”

“Message received,” the operator from the Underground Base replied, suppressing their excitement. “We don’t know what you did—but thank the heavens, thank you.”

More messages came in.

“The northern base is still holding.” It seemed someone else had picked up Dr. Ji’s communicator. A young voice spoke.

Then came a report from the Underground Base.

“The transport aircraft fleet has landed.”

“Northern base survivors, please mark your positions.”

“Commencing breakout.”

—They had, after all, caught that full moon beneath the water.

The sun gradually rose. In the howling cold wind, the winter sunlight was harsh and devoid of warmth. On the test tube rack, the glass gleamed. In the silent air, it was as if heartbeats echoed, one after another.

Original inhabitants, later arrivals, mutants, officers—they all waited quietly by the communication channel, listening for news from the Underground Base, listening for updates from the northern base. Even the vine that had long guarded the institute stretched a tendril through the window to listen.

Occasionally, they whispered:

“How many people did we lose?”

“Uncle Tree is gone. His body is downstairs.”

“What about Tang Lan?”

“—Didn’t see him.”

The breakout and counterattack began. No one reported the details; everyone held their breath in wait.

In the tense silence, Polly Jones rose from his computer.

His steps were unsteady, whether from age or emotion. With a creak, he opened the door and first gazed at the now extinguished Simpson Cage—outside was soaked in blood and bodies, but within the cage was perfectly clean. Then he looked ahead.

Outside the lab door, the black figure leaning against the wall slowly lifted his head.

—Those were a pair of eyes as if devoid of all things, like green oceans buried beneath thousands of years of ice.

One look, and they knew each other’s identity.

Polly Jones’ gray-blue eyes were filled with sorrow.

“Child,” he said softly.

Lu Feng didn’t reply. He looked down at the white paper in Polly’s hand.

Polly’s fingers trembled slightly as he extended the paper. On it were a few hastily written lines. Anzhe’s handwriting wasn’t beautiful—just simple strokes, bright and clear like a spring lake.

“Polly, thank you for taking care of me. I am the inert sample from the northern base. Maybe my frequency can help you. If it can’t, I’m sorry.

P.S.: Please don’t forget our promise.”

“He really was that inert sample?” Polly asked.

“The sample was part of him.” Lu Feng took the white paper, his voice slightly hoarse. “What did you promise each other?”

“If one day, the judge from the northern base came here,” Polly said, “…just say Anzhe left freely.”

Lu Feng’s eyes reddened.

Heavy footsteps came from behind—a dark-skinned Indian man.

—Rum held Anzhe’s backpack in his hands, silently handing it to Lu Feng.

Inside the bag, everything was neatly packed:

A copy of Base Monthly, a silver cross star badge, a black pistol.

Lu Feng’s fingers gripped the edge of the backpack. He looked down at its contents, expression unreadable.

“He was brought back from the Abyss by our people… He was a good kid. He lived well here,” Polly said softly. “I knew the base wouldn’t accept him. Did you know he was here all along?”

Lu Feng’s gaze finally moved from the bag to Polly.

“I didn’t know,” he said.

Polly’s expression trembled. He closed his eyes in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

An unexpected reunion became the final farewell. The world still held such cruel punishments.

The cold wind howled over the mountaintop.

After a long silence, Lu Feng asked, “Where is he?”

“The Simpson Cage is a high-energy field and collider. Any matter that enters is bombarded by high-energy particle streams and reduced to fragments,” Polly replied hoarsely. “I think we saw it happen.”

The bag dropped to the ground, the gun pressed to Polly’s temple.

Lu Feng stared at Polly with ice-cold eyes.

“Where is he?” he repeated each word. His emotions erupted—his eyes, cold as ever, now carried a hint of madness. Like a man sentenced to death, confirming again and again the date of execution.

A tragic smile surfaced on Polly’s lips. With a loving gaze, he looked at the infinite sky beyond the window. He knew all Lu Feng needed was a kind lie—even though they both knew the truth.

“His frequency was broadcast globally,” Polly said. “He’s right beside us. He’s everywhere.”

Lu Feng just looked at him. They stood locked in place, until—with a clatter—Lu Feng’s trembling fingers let go. The gun fell to the floor, hit the iron railing, and echoed with a long metallic hum.

“Sorry,” Lu Feng said hoarsely. “I…”

He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Polly said. “You can shoot me. You can let out your anger, child.”

“Thank you,” Lu Feng said in a broken voice. “If he were still here, I would have.”

It was the calmest, yet most despairing statement.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in the midwinter corridor, until the blood-red sunset drenched the mountains and the Abyss. From within the lab, the communication channel’s volume was raised. Amid static, a cry of excitement rang out.

“The tide’s receding—!”

“The beast tide is dispersing.”

“We broke through!”

Cheers of victory echoed in the channel. Amid celebratory fragments came scattered updates: over six hundred paratroopers from the Underground Base had died; the actual number of survivors at the northern base was just over one hundred; and people urgently asked why the aberrations had stopped—what had the Highland Institute discovered?

Grief and joy overlapped. Despair and hope coexisted. Everything was luck. Everything came at a cost. Countless lives were lost. One person’s sacrifice.

A tear slowly slid from Polly Jones’ eye.

Suddenly, something white drifted from Lu Feng’s shoulder, landing on Polly’s coat. A soft mycelium strand reached out and touched him.

“What is this?” Polly picked it up.

“The inert sample,” Lu Feng said. “What he valued most.”

Polly knew exactly who Lu Feng meant. Between them, there was only one “he.”

He stared at the cluster of mycelium and then reached out to touch it. The strand gently curled around his finger. Polly asked softly, “Why did it come to me?”

“I don’t know,” Lu Feng replied.

“It’s an asexual spore, a reproductive unit of fungi,” Polly murmured. “He never told us his species. So, he was—”

Looking at the spore, Lu Feng said quietly, “He was a mushroom.”

His voice was hoarse, yet filled with infinite tenderness and sorrow.

“He was just… a little mushroom.”