Note: This article is currently translated by AI from the original Chinese version.
I · The Storm Night
The rain fell hard.
The entire sky was stretched into a pale, arcing surface by the energy barriers, lightning rolling across its apex like beasts trapped beneath a dome. This was the "Skynet" of Earth's detention facility, designed to monitor every energy wave and consciousness signal. Wind, rain, and thunder—all circled within its circuits, never to escape.
The house stood alone on the plain, surrounded by neither walls nor lights. Even at dusk, there was no sunset to be seen. The furnace was the only source of light. Dampness mingled with the scent of rust, as if seeping from the storage tanks of an old age.
Xinhe sat at the table, his expression calm. In his hand, he turned a cigarette as though examining an antique. He looked up at me, his grey-white pupils unnaturally deep—whether from consciousness sealing or from having lived through too many ages, I could not say.
He placed the cigarette between his lips.
I raised my hand, summoning a flame in my palm—transparent, steady, as if held by invisible pincers.
"I'll do it," I said.
Xinhe raised his hand slightly to decline, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "No need."
He drew a match from his pocket and struck it against the edge of the table. The spark flared, illuminating half his face—sharp features, composed expression.
"You know," he said, "in the era you remember, humanity was still debating whether cigarettes should be banned."
I smiled faintly. "Back then, they hadn't yet begun debating—whether humanity itself should be."
Thunder exploded overhead, as if the universe were turning over. And in that moment—
The door swung open.
Wind swept in, yet without rain. A woman entered, her silver-grey coat automatically shaking off the moisture, her footsteps light upon the wooden floor. Her eyes were sharp, her entire being like a precision instrument.
"Xinhe." Her voice was crisp and efficient. "The backdoor I buried has been exposed. The Alliance's monitoring program will auto-repair in three hours. We must move now."
Her gaze flicked over me briefly—puzzled, wary.
I froze, as though struck by rain. Instinctively, I reached for the faint communication link in my wristbone, trying to call the warden. The signal felt pinched off by small, stubborn fingers—severed.
I looked at Xinhe. He appeared untroubled, as if he'd known all along. He raised his index finger and tapped lightly on the table.
"Sit," he said. "We need to catch our breath."
The woman didn't sit, scanning me with suspicion.
Xinhe raised an eyebrow, his tone leisurely. "This is Ye Lan, from the Eastern Star Domain, chief designer of the Galactic Centre energy extractors, co-inventor of jump devices. She built half the universe's transportation system for the Alliance."
"That was long ago." Ye Lan's voice was flat, colder than the rain outside. "Later, they found me too clever and locked me away."
Xinhe added with the ghost of a smile: "I'd say she got too greedy, which earned her a ten-thousand-year sentence."
Ye Lan's expression remained unchanged, only casting me a cold look.
Xinhe smiled, turning to me. "This is Sun Liang," he introduced. "A premature birth. Incubated for less than a century, knowledge irrigation only up to the year 2000 AD. In the spirit of humanitarianism, he was sent to this shelter. You can think of him as—a primitive human specimen from the fossil age."
I smiled awkwardly, about to extend my hand in greeting, when she raised her palm and projected a light orb—standard identity authentication. I reached to touch it, but the orb flickered several times before contact and went dark.
Ye Lan frowned and withdrew her hand. Xinhe rescued me: "He has no registration number. He exists in the system's blind spot."
Ye Lan's brow relaxed almost imperceptibly, then she turned to Xinhe. "Blind spot... perfect."
She sat down, producing a projection chip that unfolded mid-air into a virtual interface.
"This is the vulnerability topology. I buried a backdoor years ago in the Solar System's energy infrastructure. Once we reach the sun's vicinity, I can disable the protection mechanisms of the stellar energy extraction system, allowing Xinhe to amplify the sun's energy output. The system will collapse, and we can slip away in the chaos. But the monitoring program has detected the anomaly. It will auto-restart at dawn—once complete, all vulnerabilities will be patched. We must depart within three hours. I cannot disable Earth's surveillance."
Ye Lan fell silent, looking at me.
Xinhe continued for her: "Sun Liang, do you know why they don't monitor you? Because you're an incomplete invalid, without even a registration number. The mainframe won't record someone who 'doesn't exist.'"
I was confused. "So?"
"So—" Xinhe said softly, "you can do what we cannot. Go to the physical layer and shut down Earth's core mainframe. As soon as you press that switch, the mainframe will enter forced protection mode, all systems will cease operation until manual reset. Reset takes one hour—that's our window."
I stared at him. "You want me to... shut down the mainframe?"
Xinhe smiled slightly, his tone gentle as a father coaxing a child. "Don't be nervous. Just press a button. After that, you can walk out of here."
He paused, adding with a touch of self-mockery: "You know I'm from the Big Dipper Alliance, one of the oldest star federations. Don't be fooled by my current weakness—that's only because the prison system confines our consciousness to flesh. I was once 'stellar-class combat power,' and chief designer of the 'Divine Chain' weapon."
"Divine Chain..." I nearly whispered the words.
That was a name of infamy in interstellar society: a weapon capable of penetrating multiple backups, achieving "true death."
It was said that Xinhe alone had caused the permanent annihilation of over a thousand consciousnesses.
"Your mother domain, the Eastern Star Domain, abandoned you, leaving you imprisoned with criminals." Xinhe smiled, his voice soft as a dream yet carrying irresistible force. "But the Big Dipper Alliance will help you complete the ninety years you lack. I promise you: complete education, complete identity, even your own star."
Ye Lan looked up, her voice cold. "You're certain you want to involve him? Someone who doesn't even have a 'stellar account'?"
"Precisely because of that." Xinhe replied lightly. "The system won't suspect him."
Ye Lan was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Rendezvous at the old tower in two hours."
She stood, collecting the projection chip. Light patterns flowed across her coat, automatically constraining energy.
"Don't be late." She left without another word, the wind fading with her departure.
Only Xinhe and I remained in the room. He didn't speak immediately, merely staring at the furnace fire, his fingertips caressing the cigarette pack.
"Sun Liang," he began softly, "do you know? In ancient times, those who kindled fire were called 'priests.' Fire is the world's restart button."
He rose, circling behind me, his palm resting gently on the back of my neck. A warm glow passed over my skin.
"Just in case," he said with a smile, "I've left a beacon on you. That way, if the system recovers early, I can still find you."
"You're monitoring me?" I felt uneasy.
"Monitoring? No." He curved his mouth. "Protection."
He moved toward the door, donning his coat.
"Sleep for a while. When all this is over, you'll see a true dawn."
I said nothing, only listened as his footsteps faded into the wind.
The flames continued burning in the furnace. The light inside the room flickered, like a heartbeat. I reached for the back of my neck, where the warmth still lingered, as if some invisible wave pulsed beneath.
Outside, the rain gradually lessened, the flashing of the sky's barriers continuing its periodic rhythm. I suddenly realized—that one-hour "window" might not be their escape opportunity, but the moment my cage began to melt.
II · The Night Visitor
Night deepened.
The rain had stopped, but the dome's barriers still flickered with rhythmic electrical light, like the pulse of a vast heart. I lay in bed, the furnace fire extinguished, the air still retaining the scent of Xinhe's smoke—a fragrance between the old age and the future.
I couldn't sleep. The "beacon" at the back of my neck occasionally sent out faint pulses, as if reminding me: that fire still burned. I stared at the ceiling, my mind running through the question again and again—should I press that switch?
At that moment, a knock came at the door.
Three times, at extremely short intervals. Not the wind.
"Come in." I tried to keep my voice steady.
The door opened. The figure wore an old-fashioned deep blue coat, his snow-white beard catching the light like silver threads. His eyes were gentle, yet forbade direct gaze.
"Warden." The words slipped from my lips. My heart pounded.
He smiled, as if he'd known I was awake.
"Sorry to disturb you so late. I hope you don't mind." His voice was low, with a rhythm that put one at ease. "Things will be busy after this, and there likely won't be another chance, so I came to visit tonight."
He entered, surveying the room—ash, cigarette butts, unwashed teacups. His gaze paused at the table's edge for half a second, as if detecting something, yet he said nothing.
I quickly got up, gathering the clutter on the table.
"I didn't think anyone would come at this hour."
The furnace fire was dead. He raised his hand—a golden gleam flickered at his fingertips, the air trembled slightly, and flames rose again in the furnace. The firelight danced on his face. That face didn't look old, it was even too young. Only those eyes had witnessed too many collapsing star systems.
"You look tired."
"Insomnia."
"Do you have plans tomorrow?"
I was silent for a while, then pushed the conversation forward: "Not just tomorrow, but the future. If I could leave here, where would I go?"
The warden looked at me, as if confirming I truly wanted to know. He drew a thin chip from his coat, flicked it open, and a semi-transparent star map rose between us.
"Let's start with the two factions you're most likely to encounter," he said. "The Big Dipper Alliance, and the Eastern Star Domain."
He pointed to one side of the star map, where a golden spiral resided: "This is the Big Dipper Alliance. An ancient family collective, with only a dozen core members. Their history is long, as is their patience. What they value most is continuation and control. You've met one of their people: Xinhe. He's a typical specimen of this faction—capable, remarkably efficient. He once expanded territories, achieved distinguished merits; in others' eyes, he's also the one who orchestrated the 'Slaughter of a Thousand.' Since being listed on the universal wanted list, the family concealed him, only managing internal affairs behind the scenes. In the last war between the Big Dipper Alliance and the Eastern Star Domain, his home star fell, and he was taken into custody."
He paused, his tone calm: "If you obtain their written promise, they might grant you access to a 'small stellar account.' The advantage is speed and integrated resources; the disadvantage is that you'll be caught in a family network. Though employment contracts have disappeared, working for the Big Dipper Alliance—it's not much different from wage labor."
He switched to another section of the star map, an area covered in blue-white energy.
"This is the Eastern Star Domain, your homeland. A large star domain formed through continuous expansion and annexation, with extremely high merit requirements. You've met one of their people: Ye Lan. She accumulated merit through countless projects, exchanging it over ten thousand years for wealth and power. In the Eastern Star Domain, merit equals authority—the higher your merit, the more energy you can command. But power is always a pyramid. The higher you go, the fewer slots available. For premature births, the space to reach the summit may not be great."
I pointed to the scattered red dots on the star map. "What about these?"
"Scattered people," the warden said. "They're distributed throughout 'starless system' zones—the universe's slums. Even though they comprise eighty percent of the galaxy's population, the star domains view them as dangerous elements. However, if you truly want to complete your premature education, they might be a more realistic path than the official channels. After all, that's how they recruit new blood."
I nodded, my throat tightening. Xinhe's smile and his words 'I'll help you complete ninety years' overlapped in the firelight, like two shadows devouring each other.
Silence filled the room.
The warden's expression was gentle, as if in pity, or perhaps persuasion. He extended three fingers, his voice low and steady: "When you can stand on your own, remember three aspects of resource accumulation."
"First, information. Never bind your consciousness to any institution through 'single-line binding,' especially during cross-domain transmission. Maintain offline backups, delayed synchronization, multi-location distribution—these are the minimum conditions for survival. It sounds abstract, but think of yourself as a machine distributed across various parts of the universe: don't let the same person tighten all your screws."
He smiled slightly. "The one conversing with you now is only one of my hundred avatars."
"Second, energy. Acquire your own star as soon as possible—this is the 'land' of this era. With a star, you have a stable energy source, and only then do you truly have a foothold."
"Third, matter. Planets, materials, vessels—these are the smallest units by which you can participate in the world. Without matter, even if information is eternal, you can only be a shadow."
I was silent. My chest felt hollow—I possessed none of these three things. Could I transfer my consciousness before my flesh decayed?
The warden watched me, his tone softening: "Don't rush. You're not even a hundred years old. In others' timescales, that's merely the blink of an eye."
He paused, then added in a low voice, as if reminding, or perhaps testing:
"The sun has nearly ten billion years of life remaining. If you wish, you could stay here forever."
The firelight reflected in his eyes, those eyes still gentle, yet unfathomable. I didn't know if he was warning me or confirming something.
After the door closed, the room returned to silence. The furnace fire crackled, as if replaying his words. My time was too short—I had to seize it.
III · Breakout
Night had not yet turned its page.
The old tower stood like a nail driven into the plain, black without edges. Wind swept beneath the empty net, stirring up stone powder falling from the tower's cracks, like tiny hourglasses counting down.
I arrived ten minutes early. The tower door was an old alloy plate, its corners scorched dark blue by long-term arc burns. Inside, a narrow corridor held no lights; at its end, a point of cold light gleamed like water.
Ye Lan emerged first from the shadows. She wasn't wearing her daytime silver-grey coat, only a tight operational suit, sleeves neatly fastened. Xinhe appeared afterwards, his expression leisurely, as if casually attending an inconsequential appointment.
"Let's go." Ye Lan was brief.
She raised her hand. The tower's base console clicked open with a "clack," a spiral platform descended, revealing a passage into deeper depths. Xinhe glanced at me, his smile warm: "Don't be afraid. The secret passage was something she buried years ago when maintaining the mainframe. A direct line to the upper core layers."
We entered the secret passage. The walls were early carbon-ceramic construction, occasionally bearing sealed maintenance markings. Wind noise gradually faded; only footsteps layered in ordered succession.
At the seventh corner, Ye Lan stopped, drawing two flat rings from her waist.
"Consciousness interfaces." She handed one to Xinhe, fastening the other into her own temporal bone.
"We'll be detected the moment we approach the mainframe. We must use mechanical bodies. Near the sun, we'll rely on this method too."
They sat beside the control cabin, their bodies quickly falling dormant. Interface signals flashed, remote communication links came online.
"Sun Liang," Ye Lan's voice resonated in my ear canal, "you're the only one who can reach the core. We'll guide you through the link."
I took a deep breath and continued down the passage alone. The passage suddenly widened at its end, a ring of blue-white guide lights illuminating. Crossing the final threshold, my vision opened—a circular machine room like a peeled-back eyeball. Multilayered protective rings contracted inward; at the center sat a cold, silent black cube, so quiet it seemed not to exist.
Earth's Mainframe · Physical Core.
"Follow the sequence." Ye Lan's voice rang clearly in my mind. "First, lower the power, then cut the main electricity, then flip the physical protection switch. We'll monitor readings at every step."
I obeyed. Cold light flowed across the control panel, the sensation beneath my palm like ice water. Each trigger dimmed the machine room's lights another shade, as if peeling away the world's skin layer by layer.
"Last step." Xinhe reminded me softly.
I walked toward the center. The switch was thumb-sized, red beyond reality. I took a deep breath and pressed down.
Beep—
An extremely soft sound, like the world nodding to itself.
The next instant, the entire planet seemed to have its nerves pulled: the Skynet went dark. The pale arc of light in the sky vanished, clouds dispersing into true darkness. Wind sounds, the low hum of energy transport, the tremors of patrol craft... all ceased. Everything as if someone had pressed "mute."
"Window begins countdown, one hour." Ye Lan's voice grew hoarse. "Return immediately. Don't linger."
I nodded, activating the small aircraft they'd prepared. It shot up from the vertical shaft beside the machine room, racing up the secret passage toward the upper levels. I glanced back once—Xinhe and Ye Lan's signals remained stable, their consciousness extending along the solar link.
—I was merely the one who pressed the button.
The aircraft broke through the night, the old tower gradually approaching in view. I descended, the tower door automatically sealing.
The air was too quiet. I extended my hand, attempting to summon flames.
Nothing happened. Air remained air—cold and formless. I tried again, a third time, still not a single spark.
Only then did I truly understand "Skynet failure": the abilities I'd thought were my own were actually the system's energy proxy. System offline, I could do nothing.
I walked out of the tower door.
Wind struck my face, carrying an unnatural emptiness. The plain seemed swept by vacuum; not a single beacon light in the distance. I stood before the tower, looking toward the horizon—the darkness at the edge trembled.
Thirty minutes passed.
At the thirty-seventh minute, the darkness at the horizon brightened, as if someone had lit a match at the bottom of the sea.
It wasn't an illusion.
The sun was expanding.
At first, only a slight bulge in diameter, then the photosphere seemed pushed up by countless invisible hands forming wave peaks, flares writhing across the surface, surging outward. My chest tightened, throat parched—air seemed sucked away.
"Ye Lan?" I tried calling.
The response was a burst of electrical static, followed by rapid breathing and the crisp sound of mechanical link severance from the tower base. I rushed back to the control level.
Ye Lan leaned against the wall, face pale, consciousness interface half-disconnected. Her flesh—finally awakening.
"Xinhe didn't come back." She struggled to speak, voice nearly breaking. "The sun is rapidly expanding. The monitoring systems have all collapsed."
I didn't react immediately. "Xinhe?"
"We were used and abandoned by Xinhe." She looked up at me, voice cold as metal. "He has multiple consciousness bodies, bypassing the limits I designed."
My throat tightened. "So... this was all intentional?"
"We only meant to make the sun's energy burst, crashing the system." Ye Lan's pupils contracted. "But he made the fusion completely lose control. The sun will expand first, then swallow Earth."
Outside, the sky was no longer black, but an over-bright grey. All monitoring towers had ceased responding, even the most basic navigation beacons seeming strangled.
My voice shook. "After committing such a crime, where can we go?"
"First leave the Solar System, then figure it out." Ye Lan quickly stood, stumbling to release the hidden lock beneath the control console. "There's a jump craft I hid under the old tower. If we don't go now, it'll be too late."
She turned, fixing me with her gaze, voice firm: "Xinhe has already left. The promises he made you—all void. Now, we can only rely on ourselves. Either be written into his ending, or from now on—rewrite the script."
The tower trembled lightly. The brightness in the distance surged again, like a silent, whitening sea.
Something in my chest "clicked" into alignment—the latch formed by fear colliding with clarity.
"Let's go," I said.
Ye Lan nodded, pulling open the tower's bottom hatch. Cold air rushed in like a tide. Deep inside, a small craft hung silently, its hull unmarked, unregistered, like a drop of black mercury extracted from shadow.
I looked back one last time. Outside the tower, wind sounds recovered slightly, as if the world struggled to breathe. The window had twenty minutes remaining.
Ye Lan leaped into the pilot's seat, her palm sweeping across the panel: "Engine start. Target—orbital jump point."
"And after?" I asked.
She looked at the expanding sky, voice low and steady: "After?—Survive first, discuss after later."
The jump craft ignited. Darkness before my eyes compressed, stretched, shattered. The old tower rapidly shrank behind us, like a sealed full stop.
The universe ahead held no punctuation, only a thin line leading to places we might still reach.
IV · Escaping the Solar System
The jump craft shot out like a nail fired from darkness, carrying us drilling into deeper blackness. The engine twisted spacetime into a hemp rope; my chest repeatedly compressed, relaxed, compressed again. On screen, the sun continued expanding behind us—bulging, rolling, erupting, like a fire-sea upturned from within.
"Twelve minutes from tower exit, four hundred seconds to Jupiter's orbit." Ye Lan's voice was clipped. "Don't let your guard down."
I gripped the handrails tight. She pushed the craft position onto a low-noise flight path, computation power maxed out, scraping past gaps in the asteroid belt. Throughout the Solar System, light signal broadcasts rose one after another:
"Solar System level-one fault, all units execute evacuation. Level-one wanted targets: Ye Lan, Sun Liang."
Three cold white markers lit up behind us, advancing at nearly equal distances, like three light needles intertwined.
"Here they come." Ye Lan glanced once, pulling the safety belt tight. "Three of the warden's avatars."
Good news: only three, most computation power clearly diverted to repairing the sun. Bad news—we might not withstand even one.
The three markers positioned rear-center, rear-left, rear-right, locked steadily onto our trajectory, as if they'd predicted the route long ago.
The first wave of attack had no sound—only the instrument panel flashed. The outer protection field was directly gouged out, as if someone had pricked the shell with a needle.
"Light pressure disruption plus trajectory extraction, standard 'rein' formula." Ye Lan's fingers flew across the control console. "Don't move."
The second wave followed immediately. Tens of thousands of micro-kinetic bodies rushed from both flanks, weaving an invisible net in vacuum. Prediction lines on screen frayed at the edges—any wrong move would drop us into a net knot.
"Can't hold much longer." Ye Lan's voice grew hoarse. "Head-on collision, we can't beat them."
"Then find a shield." I clenched my teeth. "Find Xinhe, make him block for us."
"We don't know where he is."
I suddenly remembered the heat at the back of my neck—the "beacon" Xinhe had left me. That was what he'd called "protection," the other end likely connected to a monitoring or retrieval point.
"I can reverse-locate him." I said. "Capture the handshake frequency, use phase drift to deduce the monitoring endpoint position."
Ye Lan merely glanced at me once, then connected her fingers to the auxiliary port: "You report numbers, I'll correct filtering."
I adjusted the beacon to maximum detection mode, my external heartbeat nearly dropping to zero, only capturing the extremely faint returning echoes. Noise points surged like tides and receded; among countless interference waves, one fluctuation was abnormally regular—like a well-hidden star.
"Right front twenty-seven degrees, outer layer surface." I reported numbers. "Distance approximately 1.8 million kilometers, fleeing outward."
Ye Lan immediately deflected the craft's nose. The three pursuit points adjusted positions accordingly, like three shadows moving simultaneously.
"Still need one phase beat." She said softly. "A bit closer, and I'll 'hook' you onto him."
"Hook onto him?"
"Attach the craft to the inner edge of his protection field." Ye Lan said. "Once coupled, the system will misidentify us as a single target. If he refuses, he'll suffer debris flow backlash—which will expose his position. To survive, he can only expand protection, covering us inside."
The third wave arrived. The supervisors processed the space ahead into a "rough surface"; every inch the craft advanced felt like scraping on sandpaper, the energy bar leaping into the red zone.
At the critical point, the void ahead suddenly "sank." A steady, unflashy protection field lifted from the side, as if someone supported the sea surface from below.
—Xinhe.
He seemed to "generate" from nothingness, his vessel bearing no identification marks, only a calm, clean arc surface. Three supervisors almost simultaneously "turned their attention," one immediately breaking formation, pressing toward him.
"Follow tight." Ye Lan commanded in a low voice.
We slid along the protection field's edge, like running on a wall. Xinhe didn't look back, only bulging the field boundary toward us—enough to deflect the kinetic bodies behind. The next instant, the space ahead seemed torn open, dense high-energy beam lines forming a fan-shape enveloping both us and him.
The warden began raising stakes.
"Angle too tight." Ye Lan judged quickly. "We must split their fire."
She abruptly switched modes, the control console splitting into a second authorization set: "Sun Liang, take over the right cabin. I'll draw their attention."
"What are you going to—"
"My craft has a sub-vessel, attached to the lower belly bay." She said calmly. "Originally an emergency transfer craft. I'll eject you out, use it to run. Listen for my signal."
She began inputting commands, the craft body emitting a low resonance. The structure beneath my feet trembled, coupling locks between main cabin and lower modules releasing one by one.
"Ye Lan, wait—!"
"Don't waste my bandwidth." She didn't look back, fingertips striking repeatedly. "I'll hang you a 'light copy,' leaving only emergency algorithms and my minimal memory index. With it, even if I die, I'm not really dead; but you have no ability for consciousness separation—dead is truly dead. If I don't come back, remember to reconstruct me."
A cold light leaped from her palm, directly injecting into my skin-layer interface. Sign-off complete, system recognition: copy mounting successful.
"Done," she took a deep breath, "you go—I'll block."
As the words fell, the main craft suddenly lifted its nose, like a thoroughly unlocked beast. The escape pod I occupied was thrown outside the protection field's edge, thrusters igniting in inertia. The main craft reversed its body, directly facing the three supervisors.
"Xinhe, accelerate him! Otherwise I'll crash into you, you traitor!"
Ye Lan's light-voice signal exploded across the spectrum, carrying fury and determination.
Xinhe didn't respond, only remaining abnormally calm. I saw him press his palm—a high-energy flow line sprayed from his craft's spine, energy flowing along the protection field toward my escape craft, all systems instantly lighting to full power.
Protection field resonance—he was accelerating me.
The jump calculator exceeded safety limits in an instant, I could barely breathe. The engine burned to its limit, darkness of space forcibly torn open with a light seam.
"After you get out, erase the beacon I left on your neck."
Xinhe's voice came again, blurred, distorted,
"That's my line to find you, and others' line to find you too."
"What about you—"
"I'll survive." He said briefly. "I still have to reclaim what belongs to me."
Signal completely severed.
The escape craft burst from the combat zone, the protection field vaporizing into fine mist at the outer layer. Through the porthole, I saw those three lights entangled together in the distance—Ye Lan's main craft dragged into a fire-sea, her trajectory still flashing. Xinhe's protection field collapsed and regenerated at the center, like a heartbeat; three supervisors formed a closed ring, calm, restrained, like executing some inevitable judgment.
—Then, everything was swallowed by light.
New readings jumped on the instrument panel: heliopause. Solar wind compressed into an invisible wall, the outer side stellar interstellar medium—another sea.
I took a deep breath, feeling the light copy beneath my skin activating. Her voice resonated from within—faint, yet certain:
"Course correction. Target: outer layer neutral flight path. Close registration channel, low-visibility cruise."
I pulled out the jump craft's identification module. Behind, the sun continued expanding. The old tower, Earth, those belated broadcasts and warnings, all swallowed into fire's folds.
I didn't look back.
The jump craft passed through the heliopause, like one drop of water passing through another. The Solar System rapidly shrank behind, becoming a whitening full stop. Ahead held no punctuation, only that thin line—leading toward places we might still reach.
V · Starless Sea Waypoint
I traveled the neutral flight path for an entire day.
No reply from Xinhe, Ye Lan's original body hadn't caught up either. The jump craft felt like a hollowed shell, only sliding forward on inertia; engine maintained in the lowest noise zone, "Light Copy · Ye Lan" softly reporting energy and temperature parameters in the cabin. I wasn't drowsy, only chest-tight—that kind of complex clarity that forbade sleep.
Ahead, a point suddenly brightened—against the star-sea, unlike a navigation marker, nor a waypoint lamp, like a needle lit specifically for me.
I instinctively altered course. The bright point transmitted a light-voice first:
"No need to hide, old friend. Running is a waste of effort."
My spine tensed—it was the warden. As a "primitive," I couldn't possibly match his avatars. My heart tightened first: was I about to face reckoning? Then came that sour regret: was all this for nothing in the end? Why did I participate in the breakout? Earth—my last second homeland—was also destroyed by my hand.
The bright point approached, condensing into human form. The warden manifested in human flesh, still that smiling face, without威压.
"You're regretting." He said, tone level. "Normal. The first day after failed breakout, nine out of ten people think: 'Why didn't I refuse yesterday?'"
Knowing I couldn't turn the tables, I asked directly: "What about Xinhe and Ye Lan?"
He smiled. "Your two accomplices, you mean."
"Xinhe doesn't disappoint—old fox. Big Dipper Alliance's reception picked him up at the outer layer. This avatar of mine could only fight him to a draw—he cleaned all traces spotlessly. He's back with his people now. You likely won't cross paths with him again soon."
"What about Ye Lan?" I stared at him.
"Original body defeated, purged." He paused. "But she left you a 'light copy,' so she's not dead by my hand."
My palms unconsciously clenched, that drop of cold light signed into my skin seeming to roll gently in my pulse.
"What exactly do you want?" I asked. "Chasing here, do you want to eliminate us completely?"
He looked at me, as if removing a not-too-thick mask: "No need to be so tense. As warden, I haven't treated you poorly."
He paused, then slowly added: "In fact, I belong to the 'revolutionaries' branch of the scattered people, infiltrating the system for years."
I froze. Heavy news dropped, yet without any sound.
"This sun's expansion wasn't Xinhe's work alone." He said. "I lent him an east wind. Earth's destruction—the 'cradle of humanity's' collapse—is destined to magnify all consequences. Big Dipper Alliance and Eastern Star Domain must make statements, preferably accusing each other, mutually arming. Only when the situation hangs at war's edge can scattered people breathe, reproduce, grow in the cracks."
"You used Earth as a bargaining chip?" I lowered my voice.
He didn't respond directly, only turning to colder facts: "You know, two-tenths of the universe's star domain elites control eight-tenths of resources. Scattered people can only live in cracks. We don't create cracks, only keep them from being welded shut too quickly."
I had nothing to say. My chest felt like cold metal stuffed inside.
He continued: "I must put on a show: pursuit, wanted notices, reports, all procedures complete. Meanwhile—I intend to let you go. Because Ye Lan's light copy is in you, we need her."
He paused, adding: "Of course, also to recruit you."
I smiled bitterly. "I'm currently a level-one fugitive."
"In their net, yes." His tone remained calm. "But in the 'Starless Sea,' no. You're heading toward the nearest scattered people waypoint—in three hours you'll see the 'grey light.' When you arrive, present my recommendation signal to them—your new life begins from that moment."
A faint signal flashed into my terminal, like a darkly hidden key.
"You want me to join the scattered people?" I asked.
"More specifically—join the revolutionaries branch of the scattered people." He lowered his volume, as if afraid to startle me. "I can give you three certain things: First, complete your premature infusion—we have that technology. Second, assist reconstructing Ye Lan's light copy, letting her truly be reborn. Third, give you the right and resources to live as a 'person,' no longer anyone's system attachment."
"What's the cost?"
"You'll be drawn into conflicts, even wars." He answered quickly. "This time, not fleeing in others' scripts. You'll learn to choose enemies—not just Xinhe, not just Big Dipper Alliance or Eastern Star Domain. Learn to build a framework that can hold up along the three axes of information, energy, and matter, with your own hands."
He mentioned those three terms—ones the warden had spoken in the tower. I closed my eyes, furnace fire, Xinhe's smoke, cold light from Ye Lan's palm, all surfacing together.
I was silent for a long time—everything seemed already written in fate's blueprint.
"Why do you trust me?" I asked.
"I don't 'trust' you." The warden—or perhaps I should call him "keeper"—spoke with frank, almost gentle tone. "I trust Ye Lan's judgment: she mounted the copy on you, meaning she's willing to entrust her life to you once. Second, I trust the 'gap'—that imperfection your premature birth brought. Gaps let wind in, and also make you less easily domesticated by vested order."
Having finished, his brightness faded slightly, like a projection completing its task.
"Next step is simple." He concluded. "Don't go online on any official registration channels. In three hours, you'll see the 'grey light,' report my name, they'll take you to the 'crucible.' There's a transitional shell there, enough to carry Ye Lan's light copy startup, and complete your missing cognitive layers."
He looked at me, as if confirming something: "Next time we meet, I hope we address each other as comrades."
With that, he turned, transforming into a converging light point. The star-sea returned to silence.
In the cabin, "Light Copy · Ye Lan's" voice softly sounded: "I'm here."
I gripped the control stick, gazing at the gradually brightening grey light ahead. Confusion, helplessness, anger, unwillingness wove into a dark current—like salt dissolving in cold seas.
I knew what I was about to face: No longer fate's fugitive, but fate's maker. Perhaps, I truly succeeded in breaking out.
Many centuries later, when Ye Lan and I stood side by side on the star-sea battlefield facing Xinhe, I would recall—that night we three fled from Earth.