Chapter 65
Following the pre-planned route, Lu Fenghan led Qi Yan onto the high-speed transportation vehicle bound for Mykono.
It was morning, and the cabin wasn’t too crowded. Many passengers were dozing off against the walls. Along the way, one could see advertisement screens through the windows, displaying news about Fugilina’s upcoming tour in the Southern Cross Region in a month, with both on-site and virtual tickets available for purchase.
Qi Yan, who had never seen this type of advertising before, examined it closely, trying to understand its playback mechanism.
Until Lu Fenghan’s hand blocked his view.
A low magnetic voice came from behind his ear. “Don’t look at her. She’s not attractive.”
Qi Yan understood that Lu Fenghan was referring to Fugilina. Only then did he carefully look at the person in the advertisement. “By today’s standards of beauty, her appearance could easily score above ninety-five points, meeting the criteria of ‘attractive.’”
Lu Fenghan stood behind Qi Yan, one hand holding onto a handrail, the other tucked into the pocket of his gray windbreaker. He leaned his chin on Qi Yan’s shoulder, sighing deliberately.
Qi Yan leaned back against his chest and asked sideways, “Why are you sighing?”
Lu Fenghan: “I’m jealous.”
“Jealous?”
“Yes, you’ve been looking at other people, and it makes me jealous.”
After recalling the meaning of ‘jealousy’ from his memory, Qi Yan instantly drew a parallel. “In the Technical Department, when you asked me if we should go back after I answer Lorenz’s question, were you also jealous?”
Lu Fenghan hadn’t expected to be caught out at this moment.
Nonetheless, he gracefully admitted, “Yes.”
Not wanting to dwell on Lorenz, Lu Fenghan swiftly redirected the conversation, “It feels like we’re busy office workers who rarely get a day off to go out and have fun.” He glanced at a group of casually-dressed young people chatting nearby. “Just like them.”
Qi Yan followed his gaze.
The unfamiliar low hum of the high-speed transport vehicle filled the air. Lu Fenghan, no longer in his military uniform, stood beside him, and the silent explosions in space and the looming threat of enemies gradually faded from their minds.
In a daze, Qi Yan thought that it really was just as Lu Fenghan described.
Disembarking from the high-speed vehicle, they found themselves in another area far from the starport.
It was the rainy season, and even though the sky was clear, the air still carried a damp, humid scent mixed with unidentified floral fragrances, making one feel lethargic.
The surrounding buildings were generally not tall, and the roads were only half as wide as those on Leto. Screens embedded in the exterior walls of the buildings broadcasted news of frontline victories. The scene shifted to General Nie Huaiting, adorned in the dark military uniform of a four-star general, facing the camera and responding to reporters’ questions.
The Southern Cross Region, being close to the frontlines, was highly sensitive to military affairs. However, the pedestrians hurried by, their faces free of anxiety, going about their meals and work as usual, with few stopping to pay attention to the news.
In contrast, Lu Fenghan’s hand rested on Qi Yan’s shoulder as they listened together to the military’s public statements.
It felt slightly jarring.
Lu Fenghan’s voice was soft. “This is the advantage of the Alliance’s vast territory. Leto may be occupied by rebel forces, but the Central Region is too far from the Southern Cross Region. People here can receive the most detailed information from the news, yet their daily lives remain unaffected, and they don’t feel the impact. Similarly, even as starships explode one after another on the front lines, not a wisp of smoke drifts over here.”
Understanding Lu Fenghan’s implication, Qi Yan responded, “Sociologist Ivanova once proposed a theory that as the Alliance’s territory continues to expand, and the distances between planets and administrative regions begin to be measured in light-years, the empathy among citizens and the sense of unity within the Alliance are diminishing. Eventually, regional autonomy might prevail, and the ‘Alliance’ may become merely a ‘nominal union.’”
Perhaps because he had changed out of his military uniform or was intentionally toning it down, Lu Fenghan’s imposing aura was subdued. He lowered his gaze to Qi Yan, the contours of his profile evident. “Hmm, so the senior military officials hold a viewpoint: without external threats like the rebel forces, the Alliance wouldn’t be as united internally.”
“It sounds reasonable, but if the Alliance relies on such stimuli like ‘external threats’ to maintain ‘unity,’ then such unity isn’t sustainable.” Qi Yan pondered for a moment. “If the Alliance loses this stimulus, it will gradually disintegrate. This indicates that ‘disintegration’ is part of the historical development process. Human effort can delay it momentarily but cannot completely prevent it.”
Lu Fenghan wholeheartedly agreed with Qi Yan’s perspective.
He found it peculiarly delightful. No matter what he said, Qi Yan understood and comprehended.
He glanced once more at the screen where Nie Huaiting, calm and articulate, sat there as formidable as a mountain. “If Hodgkin had a clear mind and could face this issue head-on, he wouldn’t have caused so much trouble.”
Although Hodgkin had become a notorious traitor to the Alliance, few dared to mention why he had betrayed.
“Hodgkin wasn’t content with the status quo. He attempted to use theocracy to justify ‘autocracy’ and ‘dictatorship,’ strengthening centralized rule through authoritarian and harsh laws, all in pursuit of a certain ‘unity.’”
Lu Fenghan recalled his video conversation with Nie Huaiting.
“Over a decade ago, Hodgkin had already expressed his disappointment with the overly liberal atmosphere of the Alliance. He believed it was unacceptable and he thought that the Secretary-General and the Supreme Commander should take action. However, it was clear that neither the Secretary-General nor General Nie’s actions met his expectations, so he turned to the rebels, believing they could realize his political ideals.”
Qi Yan shook his head. “I’m not a person from the future, so I’m unsure if the current Alliance is ‘correct.’ However, advocating divine authority, brainwashing, restricting freedom, enforcing harsh laws, and controlling people’s thoughts to make everyone a ‘standard and perfect Alliance citizen’ is a regression for mankind.”
“Exactly. Hodgkin’s methods make me feel like mankind has regressed four or five hundred years, or even straight back to wearing animal skins and hunting woolly mammoths.”
Lu Fenghan’s eyes sparkled with sarcasm, his gaze intense. “In the first year of the Star calendar, the Alliance was formally established, and the Human Interstellar Convention was promulgated. The original document is still kept in the archives of Leto. It clearly states principles of freedom, equality, dignity, order, and the rule of law. But there was no mention of ‘gods’ or ‘dictatorship.’”
After the news finished airing, the two headed to the public hovercar platform.
The architecture on Mykono star vividly reflected the unique style of the Southern Cross Region. Taller buildings often sported large rings atop, adorned with inscriptions and patterns, resembling grand monumental artworks from a distance.
Their destination was a modest restaurant simply named ‘Starflower Mushroom Noodles.’ After seating themselves, Lu Fenghan flipped through the menu. “They have four different flavor combinations. Which one do you want?”
Qi Yan glanced at the pictures on the menu and then cross-referenced them with his memory. “From the entrance, we passed 31 tables. Out of 93 bowls of noodles, the number of people who chose each flavor was 21, 14, 38, and 20 respectively. Based on the statistical results, if we ignore unknown influencing factors, flavor three should be the most appealing to the majority.”
Lu Fenghan chuckled when he saw Qi Yan casually conducting a data survey. “Alright, as you say, we’ll go with flavor three.”
The noodles were served in mushroom-shaped bowls, steaming hot, and accompanied by various side dishes.
Qi Yan took a bite and then picked out two of the side dishes, placing them into Lu Fenghan’s bowl. Only after doing so did he realize it might be impolite. But when he looked up, he found that the food he had transferred had already been eaten by Lu Fenghan.
Seeing Qi Yan holding a spoon and a pair of chopsticks, staring blankly at him, Lu Fenghan raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
Qi Yan quickly lowered his gaze, feeling somewhat flustered for no apparent reason.
Understanding the cause, Lu Fenghan transferred the side dishes Qi Yan liked from his own bowl to Qi Yan’s and deliberately said, “Let’s swap.”
It took Qi Yan a moment to respond. “…Okay.”
After answering, he immediately took a sip of soup, attempting to cover up his embarrassment.
Lu Fenghan paused, his gaze lingering on Qi Yan’s flushed nose from the steam. “Is it delicious?”
“It’s delicious, very flavorful. I’ve never tasted this before.”
“Shall we come back tomorrow for another round?”
Qi Yan: “But don’t you only have one day off?”
Lu Fenghan had a valid reason. “Rest days can be accumulated. On this day two years ago, I was conducting strategic meetings on the ship, so I can move that day’s unused leave to tomorrow.”
As for what Vincent and Erich might think, that wasn’t his concern.
With plenty of time now, the two of them finished their noodles and walked to a nearby small square, where they admired a centuries-old sculpture fountain. Lu Fenghan then bought a pack of bird feed for Qi Yan to feed the pigeons. Noticing someone playing classical music from Earth’s era by the roadside, they stopped and listened for an entire hour.
Lu Fenghan rarely had such leisurely moments.
Since entering the First Military Academy, every day was packed with training and classes. He wished he could split every second into smaller parts to use more efficiently, and he even reluctantly developed the skill of memorizing study materials while doing physical training.
Later, after joining the Expeditionary Force, he spent 359 out of 360 days a year on the starship. Setting foot on solid ground was a rare experience.
Even during the six months in Leto, he couldn’t truly relax due to lingering concerns.
But today—
It was different.
He looked at Qi Yan, whose features were relaxed, with a pigeon feather still clinging to his coat, and thought that Qi Yan probably felt the same way.
As dusk fell, Lu Fenghan followed the pre-arranged plan and took Qi Yan to try the specialty blue-scaled fish of Mykono star. Eventually, they found a nearby hotel to stay in at the last minute.
Neither of them mentioned paying for the two rooms.
Upon entering the room, Lu Fenghan instructed Pojun, “Connect to the nearby Starnet.”
In less than ten seconds, Pojun responded, “It’s very secure.”
Lu Fenghan grunted in acknowledgment, then turned his head to look at Qi Yan, who happened to be looking back at him.
Their gazes met.
Whether it was because the room felt too cramped or not well-ventilated, Lu Fenghan felt his breathing becoming constricted.
Uncontrolled images flashed through his mind.
Magelyn had once adviced Wayne that when choosing a room, the bed should be small. Too wide would result in sleeping on opposite sides, but a small bed would allow for cuddling all night afterward.
Duchamp, on the side, had emphasized the importance of ambiance. The lighting shouldn’t be too bright, and it was best to have scented candles and fresh flowers—
Stop.
Taking a deep breath, his temples throbbing with pain, Lu Fenghan deeply felt that he had been corrupted by his subordinates!
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the bed in the room. It wasn’t very wide, just enough to feel a bit cramped for two people, and the bedside lamp was dimly lit—
He couldn’t let his thoughts go any further.
Surveying the furnishings in the room, Lu Fenghan quickly found something to occupy himself. “Should I take a shower first?”
His throat felt dry, his voice a bit hoarse than usual.
“Sure.” Qi Yan glanced at the shower cubicle, noticing it was transparent, allowing a clear view inside. His heart skipped for a moment. “I’ll go to the rooftop terrace to check out the night view.”
Without waiting for Lu Fenghan’s response, Qi Yan turned and opened the door.
The hotel building only had seven floors. The rooftop was empty and undecorated, with only a half-withered climbing plant in one corner.
Sitting on the edge of the rooftop, Qi Yan dangled his legs over the side, his slender shadow casting diagonally.
“Pojun, are you there?”
“I’m here,” Pojun’s voice came from Qi Yan’s personal terminal.
Qi Yan glanced at the scattered lights in the distance and looked up at the night sky. “There’s only one moon here.”
“Yes, this moon is called Alpha-I, Mykono’s satellite,” Pojun continued. “The General, like you, enjoys observing the night sky. On Dawn, the days are long and nights short. A day lasts 32 Leto hours, while a night lasts 18 Leto hours. The General had me adjust his activity and sleep schedule according to his biological clock. If he woke up during the night, he would spend the time stargazing.”
“Stargazing?”
In Qi Yan’s memory, Lu Fenghan didn’t have this hobby.
“Yes. After being stranded on Dawn, the General once asked me if I could confirm the position of the Lagoon Nebula. But based on the starmaps I had at the time, I couldn’t provide an answer, which disappointed him.”
Lagoon Nebula.
Qi Yan vaguely sensed something. “And then?”
“Later, the General told me that it didn’t matter if we couldn’t determine the location of Lagoon Nebula. With billions of stars in the night sky, there’s always a ray of starlight emitted from distant stars, passing through where you are before reaching his eyes.”
Qi Yan was stunned.
Pojun: “The General called this ‘consolation.’”
The stars reflected in Qi Yan’s eyes as he tried to imagine what Lu Fenghan was feeling when seeking out a particular ray of starlight, but found that he couldn’t.
He simply felt a tide rising in his heart, like mist gathering in the jungle, a little bitter, a little heavy, even making his eyes sting, as if something were about to spill over.
He heard himself asking, “Can you determine the position of Dawn?”
Pojun: “Yes.”
“Give me a multidimensional starmap.”
After finishing his shower, Lu Fenghan took clean clothes from the wardrobe and buttoned them up neatly. While looking in the mirror, he ran his hand over his jaw to ensure there was no stubble.
After smoothing out the small wrinkles on the edge of his gray overcoat, he left the room and went to the rooftop to find Qi Yan.
They were in the old city area, where the night view wasn’t particularly spectacular, but due to minimal light pollution, they could see the myriad of stars in the sky.
Despite the darkness, Lu Fenghan immediately spotted Qi Yan’s location and approached, sitting down beside him.
Just as he was about to ask if Qi Yan was cold, he felt his sleeve being lightly tugged twice.
“Look up.”
Although puzzled, Lu Fenghan followed the instruction and lifted his head.
Qi Yan pointed to Lu Fenghan. “The Serpens Cauda is over there.”
Lu Fenghan followed his direction and nodded.
“To the east of the star at the tail of the Serpens, about twenty degrees north, there is a bright star called M11,” Qi Yan said with concentration. “It’s an ancient star, existing for 9.8 billion years.”
Using the night sky as his canvas and M11 as the starting point, he drew a line. “Here, in the Lagoon Nebula, lies the planet where the White Tower is located.”
The two points connected.
Qi Yan’s finger continued to move slowly, tracing a path. “After passing the planet where White Tower is located, follow this straight line forward, and you’ll reach Dawn star.”
The three formed a line.
Qi Yan brought his fingers together and earnestly informed Lu Fenghan, “The light from M11 once passed through the night sky above me and fell into your eyes.”
The sound of the wind was serene.
At this moment, in the clear depths of Qi Yan’s eyes, Lu Fenghan saw the reflection of a falling galaxy.
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