Little Pink Starfish

Summer had arrived in the Abyss.
From the Highlands Research Institute, looking down revealed an endless sea of deep ink-green undulations, like vast waves stretching into the pale blue sky. In the distant mountains, a flock of black, winged monsters circled, letting out long cries.

Their calls, carried with the wind, reached the mountain peaks. On the corridor, the vines’ leaves and flower strands swayed, scattering snowy petals over An Zhe. He raised a hand to catch one, holding it in his left hand while his right played with the end of a vine.
Lu Feng reached out to brush petals from his collar and hair. Feeling the motion, An Zhe turned and pulled the vine closer for Lu Feng to see. “Look.”

—He had just found a snow-white flower bud on this vine.
Of course, whether or not there was a flower bud, whether it was big or small, black or white, wouldn’t interest Colonel Lu. The colonel simply leaned down and kissed his forehead with a blank expression.

“Tut.” Across from them, Dr. Ji made a sound of admiration. He leaned against the windowsill, shaking a reagent bottle in his left hand, his right hanging by his side.
In the final battle defending the northern base, Dr. Ji had lost his entire right arm and lower leg. Yet he completed conversations with the Highlands Institute under immense pain. His survival from blood loss could only be attributed to divine mercy.

Later, Dr. Ji, missing limbs, applied to join the Highlands Institute. Though his mind was intact, in this era without prosthetics, a missing arm and half a leg could end a scientist’s career. He came not to continue research, but out of admiration for Polly Jones, willing to donate his body to spore-type research. With dozens of volunteer test subjects, the institute identified six safe transmittable frequencies—one lifeform even showed regenerative ability.

Now, Dr. Ji functioned almost like a normal person, though his spore-type limbs hadn’t fully adapted.

An Zhe turned to see what Dr. Ji was “tutting” about.
Dr. Ji was watching Lu Feng. Then he clapped crisply twice.
“Caught you, Colonel Lu,” he said. “If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d think you were forever the righteous gentleman—a perfect father. Oh, wait, you’re too young—let’s say, a decent older brother.”

Lu Feng plucked the last petal from An Zhe’s collar and looked calmly at Dr. Ji.
“Ji Bolan,” he said, “I overestimated your character.”
“Fine, fine,” Dr. Ji raised both hands in surrender. “My bad. I underestimated the moral standards of our great Judge.”

Lu Feng said nothing.
“I admit it—your standards aren’t too high, mine are just low.”
His gaze fell on An Zhe, who was holding Lu Feng’s wrist and staring at him.
“If I were assigned such a little darling,” he grinned, making a gesture, “I’d tie him to the bed, and then…”

Lu Feng gave him a chilling glance.
“…and then dissect him.” Dr. Ji shut up.

“Dr. Ji’s brain is malfunctioning,” Lu Feng said to An Zhe. “You could consider treating him with mycelium.”
“No need!” Dr. Ji exclaimed, horrified. “I’ll leave now.”

An Zhe, uninterested in Lu Feng’s “plot” against the doctor, rose on tiptoe and kissed Lu Feng on the cheek.

“Tut,” Dr. Ji said again.

“You may go,” Lu Feng told him.
“This is how you treat your best friend, Colonel?”
“Yes.”

“What, I can’t even spectate your little playhouse games?”
“No.”

The term “playhouse” piqued An Zhe’s interest. He looked at Dr. Ji again.
“So cute,” Dr. Ji said, eyes gleaming strangely. “I bet he’d cry a lot if dissected.”

An Zhe felt something might be possessing Dr. Ji—maybe a fusion with Boss Xiao.

Dr. Ji sighed, folding his arms and turning his attention back to the pale blue reagent bottle.
“Colonel Lu, really not going to try it?” he asked. “Extract 1014—no side effects. With a small magnetic frequency modulator, one of three test subjects gained perfect night vision. This is from the Abyss, brought back a month ago.”

Sunlight filtered through the vines, illuminating the slender glass tube—the reagent sparkled.

Lu Feng only glanced at it.
Seeing no response, Dr. Ji muttered, “Tch,” and left with his reagent, fiddling with his communicator. “Polly’s calling—bye.”
An Zhe replied, “Goodbye, Doctor.”

An Zhe knew.
Besides, Colonel Lu’s abilities had always been extraordinary; he could already move freely in the Abyss without needing enhancements or skills.
As An Zhe absentmindedly stared at the vivid green vines, he thought to himself how he’d been eyeing them for a while.

“Don’t eat random things,” Lu Feng noticed his action.
“This one’s digestible,” An Zhe defended himself.

He extended a thread of mycelium for Lu Feng to see. The thread crept up the colonel’s black uniform sleeve and sprouted a fresh green leaf atop the silver cufflink, trembling lightly in the wind.

This had become one of An Zhe’s recent hobbies. After discovering he could safely fuse with all kinds of living and non-living matter (except the ugly ones), he had tried many things.

One of his more successful attempts had him transform into a flurry of floating willow catkins in a room, nearly choking Lu Feng.
But fusions weren’t always safe. As Lu Feng had long warned, polymorphic monsters could misfire during transformation. Just recently, after enjoying some potato soup, An Zhe had fused with a small potato tuber out of fondness—and passed out for three hours.
Polly had explained that the mushroom’s frequency was far too incompatible with that of a potato, resulting in rejection. This could happen with other objects too: while results were usually fine, the process was unpredictable—like sodium dissolving in water, explosive but effective.

Since then, Lu Feng had banned him from eating random things.

But An Zhe really wanted to eat this bit of vine. It wouldn’t harm the plant, and it was just a normal, beautiful flowering vine.

So, he gently scraped its surface and let the sap seep out.
It was… peaceful. As the pale green juice soaked into his mycelium, a breeze from the southern Abyss passed through the chilled sky, brushing over the vine that clung to the institute. The sun, the moon, the stars—all of them shone on it.
An Zhe closed his eyes. His body seemed to stretch open like the vine, and Lu Feng was beside him. He didn’t need to worry. He let Lu Feng half-embrace him and sat down on a long wooden bench in the deep green corridor.

Perhaps it was because both his and the vine’s state were stable, Lu Feng didn’t stop him this time.
Which meant—it was tacit approval.

He lay in Lu Feng’s arms, holding his hand, his thoughts drifting lazily like soaking in warm water.
“It grew here for many years without flowering,” he murmured. “Then one day, some winged creatures brought pollen. It bloomed white. It thought it looked beautiful and was happy.”

He mumbled on about the vine’s emotions, hugging Lu Feng’s shoulders and snuggling in closer, resting his cheek on the cool silver tassel on Lu Feng’s chest. It felt nice.

Lu Feng “mm”-ed softly to show he was listening.

A vine’s emotions and memories were simple things, often indescribable in human language. An Zhe searched for words:
“It also wanted blue flowers. And… it hoped birds or butterflies or bees would come again, pollinate the flowers, so it could bear fruit.”

Then he had nothing more to say.
Lu Feng ruffled his hair.

At that moment, Lu Feng’s communicator lit up. He picked it up. An Zhe glanced at the screen—it was a message from the doctor who had just left:
“You really won’t consider Extract 1014? Your friend really needs you. He needs a test subject.”

—The doctor hadn’t given up on pushing his extract.

An Zhe watched Lu Feng tap a single reply: “No.”

The doctor responded:
“Why so cold? Night vision isn’t useful? You don’t need it? Every time you go to the Abyss, I worry about your safety. Only if you inject 1014 can I rest easy.”
—He sounded so sincere.

Lu Feng replied:
“Don’t infrared goggles work?”

“Then consider Extract 1015. Pure black membrane wings, average wingspan 4.3 meters, flight capable—very cool. I genuinely hope you experience the thrill of gliding.”
“Think about it?”

Lu Feng:
“No need.”

The doctor replied instantly, his frustration practically leaking through the screen:
“Times have changed. Judges should lead the way.”
“You need to abandon bloodline purity theories. Let go of prejudice. Embrace foreign genes.”

Lu Feng’s response remained brief and cold:
“Thanks.”

“This is wrong. Do you need psychological counseling?”
“No.”

“You’re hopeless!” the doctor texted.
Then added:
“When will you fix your bloodline obsession and moral superiority complex? You exiled yourself and never came back, right? I want to splash extract on you.”

Clearly, the doctor was enraged again.
He always got like this when extract sales failed.

Lu Feng’s expression remained calm. He replied:
“I’m perfectly normal.”

“Choose 1014 or 1015 and I’ll believe you.”
Lu Feng:
“.”

Doctor:
“So you’re beyond saving.”

Lu Feng frowned slightly. After a pause, he typed one character:
“Ugly.”

A short silence.

Doctor:
“…”
“…”
“…”
“You win.”

Lu Feng released the communicator. An Zhe, still cuddling it, read the exchange and laughed softly.
He thought, The doctor just realized? I figured that out long ago.

After the “Bell Tone” event, many people voluntarily accepted certified safe frequencies. Some grew wings. Some gained photosynthesis. Some had harmless rejection reactions. A few fused but gained nothing.

Lu Feng refused it all.

Not because he had some obsessive bloodline ideology, as the doctor claimed.
The real reason was simple—
Lu Feng thought all the other creatures, or mutants, were ugly.

He was fine coexisting with gene-fused people. But growing anything extra himself?
No.
He found it gross.

An Zhe set down the communicator and looked up at Lu Feng. From his angle, he could clearly see all the details.

Lu Feng had an unforgettable face. Few dared or bothered to look directly at him.
An Zhe thought his brows and eyes were the best part—sharp and clean, like the cold wind atop Abyss peaks.
He touched Lu Feng’s long, fine brows. Once, Boss Xiao had admired a doll head with similar features, sighing: “Truly like him.”

Below were narrow dark green eyes, half-covered by lashes, cold and quiet, barely showing his own reflection.

An Zhe thought, if a person looked like this, he was entitled to find everything else ugly.

Looking back at the communicator, the doctor’s last message read:
“So you mean I’m ugly too?”

No reply from the colonel.

An Zhe looked back at Lu Feng and snuggled closer for no reason, feeling inexplicably drowsy.
Lu Feng drew him in and asked, “What’s wrong?”

An Zhe shook his head and suddenly thought of a question.
He looked at Lu Feng but said nothing.

An Zhe was usually a mushroom that slept and woke early. His pupils were normally clear and bright, black and white sharply defined, but now they looked different—misty and wet.

Lu Feng lowered his head, drawing closer.

Then An Zhe whispered, “I’m a variant species too.”
“Mm.” Lu Feng replied, “A little variant.”
An Zhe asked, “Then do you think mushrooms are ugly?”

“You’re not,” Lu Feng said. “White looks nice.”

“What if I were a gray mushroom?”
“Still fine.”
“A black mushroom?”
“That’s okay too.”
“A rainbow-colored mushroom?”
“Mmhm.” Lu Feng looked at him expressionlessly and said blandly, “I’ll give you a white mushroom to eat.”

This man had a special trait—the more he teased someone, the more serious his face looked.

So An Zhe also kept a straight face and said, “I’ll eat you.”

With a small laugh, Lu Feng scooped him up and changed his position—from cradled in his arms to face-to-face.

An Zhe went limp, falling forward to bump foreheads with Lu Feng. That was unusual—he usually had bones. But now he felt a lazy ache in every joint and didn’t pull back.
Lu Feng had a high nose bridge. It tickled, so An Zhe nudged him again and buried his face in Lu Feng’s shoulder.

Lu Feng wrapped his arms around him, and An Zhe instinctively snuggled closer.
Lu Feng seemed to chuckle, holding him tighter.

The communicator screen lit up again and again. Dr. Ji was still tirelessly sending sarcastic messages. Lu Feng glanced at the increasingly deranged rants, thought of the earlier conversation, and turned to An Zhe.

He asked, “Is my moral standard really that high?”
“Huh?” An Zhe didn’t catch the context at first. After thinking, he said, “You’re a good person.”
Lu Feng replied, “Oh.”
An Zhe felt that was a bit vague, so he added, “You treat us well.”

Lu Feng asked, “And how about me to you?”

“To me…” An Zhe pondered. “Sometimes not so well.”
Lu Feng said, “You can try that answer again.”

An Zhe stubbornly said nothing. Lu Feng laughed again, and An Zhe could feel the soft vibrations of his chest, they were that close.

Lu Feng didn’t push further.
So An Zhe began to think.

Of course, Lu Feng treated him well. In the Abyss, injuries were unavoidable—sometimes just a scratch on his arm, and Lu Feng would treat it as though he’d lost a limb.
If An Zhe wanted to do something, Lu Feng wouldn’t stop him. If it was something An Zhe didn’t want to do or was uncomfortable with, he would never insist—though that was rare.

—But, this man often teased him about trivial things. From the moment they met and Lu Feng falsely accused him to throw him in prison, he had shown his true nature.
Lu Feng was good to Dr. Ji too, despite their daily banter.

As for others—

Lu Feng treated them fairly.
If disaster struck the institute, no matter who was with him, Lu Feng would make sure they escaped first and face the danger alone. If anyone asked for help, he’d never refuse.

But that was it.
Unless necessary or related to work, he didn’t engage with others—except Polly.

People at the institute got along well—joking, bickering, cooperating peacefully.
Clearly, the great Judge did not join in.

An Zhe thought, the colonel had been protecting people from afar for so long that he might have forgotten how to be among them. Or maybe he never learned.

He said, “You could lower your standards a little for yourself.”
“How?”

An Zhe had no idea, so he replied, “Think of something yourself.”
Lu Feng responded, “Okay.”

His voice was crisp and cool—young-sounding.
An Zhe thought, he was a mushroom trying to join human society. He had much to learn here. But for Lu Feng, it was the same.

So he said, “For example, if you want to make friends with people at the institute, you could eat with them and bring them fruit when you return.”

This might not work for Lu Feng, but it was just an example. Lu Feng would understand.

“Not interested,” Lu Feng replied. “I eat with you and bring fruit for you.”

An Zhe said, “That’s not the same.”
“Mm?” Lu Feng made a nasal sound he often used when teasing, “How is it not the same?”

An Zhe didn’t feel like talking to him anymore, so he bit Lu Feng’s neck.
Realizing it might hurt, he kissed it afterward in apology.

Lu Feng chuckled. “You’re right.”

An Zhe often felt he and the colonel spoke different languages. He wanted to rise and rub Lu Feng’s face.

So he pushed against Lu Feng’s shoulder to lift himself—

But suddenly, his body went limp for no reason, nearly toppling forward—

—Onto Lu Feng.

Lu Feng caught him. “What’s wrong?”

An Zhe shook his head. He couldn’t describe the feeling.

Lu Feng reached to check his forehead but found nothing abnormal.
An Zhe slumped on his shoulder, breathing heavily, unable to muster any strength. “I don’t feel good…”

“Where does it hurt?”

An Zhe only clung to him, unable to articulate his condition. It felt like… being called by the seasons, waiting for something.
The last time he felt this way was the day the spores left.

But this was different.

Was he about to produce fertile spores again? To enter a cycle of withering and reproduction? That didn’t seem right.
He only wanted to be close to Lu Feng. Lu Feng held his hand—his was cool, but An Zhe realized he himself was burning.

He burrowed into Lu Feng’s shoulder, shook his head, closed his eyes—visions flashed before him.

Wind. Summer wind from the southern Abyss swept over the jungle, a sea of dark green rising and falling. This summer was the vine’s blooming season. Between leaves and branches, snow-white blossoms sprouted like mushrooms after rain, stars of petals filling the sky.

Then—waiting.

Waiting for what?

For birds, for butterflies.
What would they do?

He whimpered.
It was the vine’s fault. He had ignored Lu Feng’s warning and consumed sap from this year’s fresh vine, causing these strange symptoms.

Like when he ate a piece of potato and passed out for three hours.

Lu Feng lifted his head and gently patted his cheek. “An Zhe?”

An Zhe was conscious, but couldn’t control his body. Lu Feng sat him up to get a better look—An Zhe resisted, trying to lean on him again and murmured, “Vine…”

“It hurts?”

An Zhe randomly grabbed a hanging vine and held it up. “Vine.”

Holding him, Lu Feng breathed a small sigh of relief. An Zhe didn’t look like he was in pain.

He patted his back gently. An Zhe whimpered and burrowed into his arms again.

Lu Feng glanced at the cascading green vines beside them, blooming in their season.
Beyond them was the pale research building—fortunately, they weren’t far from their residence.

The wind carried a faint floral scent, always present. But now there was an added freshness—like post-rain grass and little white flowers.

It was a mushroom’s favorite smell, shaped over rainy seasons into An Zhe’s own scent.

The great Judge let out a rare, soft sigh.

He held An Zhe’s shoulders and made him look up.
An Zhe clutched his sleeve tightly, eyes wet, lashes glistening with tiny droplets.

“You’re a mushroom,” Lu Feng said. “You can’t eat random things.”

An Zhe looked at the vine—there wasn’t a more ordinary vine in the world. Yet he still felt awful. Only being close to Lu Feng made it better. Like the vine’s white flowers insisting on waiting for butterflies.

He furrowed his brow and looked back at Lu Feng.

Lu Feng looked down at him too.

—And then lifted him up.

“Did you remember this time?”