Limited Ambiguity Chapter 50 Part 2

Chapter 50.2

Lu Fenghan opened his eyes.

The light was too intense, causing Lu Fenghan’s vision to blur, taking a while to focus.

What came into view was the sky, with clouds above. From the corner of his eye, he could glimpse something green. Judging by the texture, it should have been the tips of grass blades.

Disjointed memories momentarily led Lu Fenghan to believe he was lying on the lawn of the First Military Academy, lazily basking in the sun. Then he remembered how Qi Yan’s earlobe was pricked by a blade of grass, and he petulantly claimed that he was injured.

“Hello.”

Hearing this, Lu Fenghan’s gaze sharpened, displaying obvious vigilance.

He initially thought it was because he had just woken up that his alertness had dropped to zero, which was why he hadn’t noticed anyone nearby. But as he stiffly turned his neck to look around, he confirmed that there was no one around, not a single person.

If it wasn’t an auditory hallucination, then it could be explained with a bit of superstition—an encounter with a ghost in outer space.

“Hello.”

The voice sounded again.

Lu Fenghan didn’t respond immediately.

“According to various data assessments, you have indeed awakened,” the voice reappeared. “Or perhaps, I’ve malfunctioned within the wormhole, and I’m unaware.”

“Self-diagnosis complete. Conclusion: I am not malfunctioning.”

“Second self-diagnosis underway. Conclusion: No damage detected, no self-repair needed.”

After cautiously listening to these sentences one after another, Lu Fenghan spoke up, “Who are you?”

Three seconds passed.

“Hello, I am Pojun. It’s a pleasure to speak with you. Your opening statement aligns with my expectations. I’m glad we share such a connection.”

This sentence was lengthy, and upon careful listening, a subtle stiffness could be detected.

Seizing upon a key word, Lu Fenghan’s breath caught. “Pojun?”

“Yes, thank you for naming me. Your naming skill surpasses 98.976% of the entire Alliance. I really like this name.”

Lu Fenghan, unable to move, closed his eyes in exhaustion and asked, “Are you on my wrist?”

“If you’re referring to my data core, then yes, I temporarily reside in your personal terminal.”

It took Lu Fenghan a long time to exhale a sigh of relief. “I’m not dead.”

“Yes, aside from a concussion, three cracked ribs, a bloody laceration on your forehead, and a scratch on your arm, you are still alive, with no imminent risk of death.”

Lu Fenghan couldn’t believe he survived the explosion of the microstarship. “Did you save me?”

“The situation was dire at the time. Sensing a rapid decline in your vital signs, I was forced to activate. There was a nearby medium-sized starship with system failure, and I took the opportunity to infiltrate and forcibly eject their escape pod.”

What was clearly a life-or-death situation in a split second appeared ordinary in Pojun’s matter-of-fact account.

“After we entered the escape pod, the wormhole was destroyed by the explosion. We were propelled out by turbulence, beyond the Alliance territory. Through analyzing nearby data, I decided to land the escape pod on this planet. We were fortunate.”

Lu Fenghan roughly understood the sequence of events and realized what Pojun meant by “fortunate.”

The place where he lay had grass, indicating it was a planet suitable for biological survival. Food and water sources shouldn’t be an issue.

“Thank you.”

Pojun politely replied, “You’re welcome.”

Eight hours had passed since Lu Fenghan could move independently. His head still felt heavy, but he could stand steadily. As for the cracked ribs and the scratched arm, they didn’t impede his movements. The bleeding from his forehead had already stopped clotting, so he didn’t pay it any further attention.

As he explored the surroundings, Lu Fenghan asked, “Can you tell me a short story?”

This was something Qi Yan had asked him back on the desolate planet—whether he would like an AI to chat with him and tell jokes and stories.

Pojun replied, “Of course. My data core contains nearly a hundred thousand cold jokes, millions of short stories spanning from ancient times to the present, and I can even sing.”

Lu Fenghan raised an eyebrow. “Could you sing a song for me?”

But after hearing just one line, Lu Fenghan frowned. “Alright, I get it. You can sing.”

Pojun remained modest. “Thank you for your acknowledgment.”

Lu Fenghan: “……”

Truth be told, he wasn’t entirely impressed.

It wasn’t until nightfall that Lu Fenghan ceased his exploration. Prompted by Pojun’s warning of an impending rain, he entered a cave formed of rocks. Unable to access the Starnet and with no rescue available, he had to ensure he didn’t fall ill.

Using dry twigs he found, he kindled a fire. Leaning against the cold rock wall, Lu Fenghan remarked, “Have you noticed that all the plant species we’ve seen are quite similar?”

“Yes, I have.”

“It doesn’t seem natural. It’s more like someone scattered seeds here.” Lu Fenghan tapped his fingers on his knee, thinking that if there really was someone here, perhaps he could find a way to leave this place.

Lu Fenghan wondered how Qi Yan was doing now.

The image of Qi Yan, eyes moist, watching him as the escape pod launched, flashed before his eyes.

He had managed to make the Little Delicate cry.

So intensely, so heartbreakingly.

A sudden pang of pain struck his chest, and Lu Fenghan felt a wave of self-disgust. Shifting his position, he straightened his injured leg and gazed at the shadows of the flames dancing on the rock wall. Abruptly, he asked, “The White Tower is in Lagoon Nebula, right?”

Pojun replied, “Yes.”

The “White Tower” was established during the Earth era, a time when the global ecological environment had severely deteriorated. Mankind rallied the world’s top researchers, all for the survival of the species.

Therefore, to this day, the White Tower’s purpose remained the same as its inception—for the continuation of mankind.

The First Technological Advancement in Earth’s history that sent humans into space and unveiled the prelude to the Interstellar era was an achievement of the White Tower. Subsequently, the Second Technological Advancement in the first year of the Star calendar was also propelled by the White Tower.

In the history of the human race, the White Tower held a lofty position.

After the establishment of the rebel forces, members of the White Tower were among the top targets on their blacklist, prompting them to gradually go into hiding.

And to protect the White Tower, whenever the name “White Tower” was mentioned in public, everyone would use “the other side” as a reference, a tacit understanding that went unspoken.

With the affirmative answer he received, Lu Fenghan felt slightly relieved.

If it was the White Tower, then Qi Yan would surely be safe amidst the chaos.

With a troubled mind, Lu Fenghan got up. Instead of rashly leaving the cave, he turned towards the depths of the cave and asked Pojun, “Can we go in?”

“Yes, according to environmental data, the danger level inside is extremely low,” Pojun answered, also considerately activating the light source.

Lu Fenghan stepped inside. It was too quiet around, and not even the sound of insects could be heard. The light ahead pierced through the darkness, while the shadows behind followed closely, giving him a sense of impending danger, as if he could be swallowed up at any moment.

Breaking the silence, Pojun asked, “Do you need me to sing for you?”

Lu Fenghan didn’t answer directly but instead asked, “Why do you ask?”

Pojun: “Because my developer reminded me with a piece of data that occasionally you might be a little afraid of the dark and need someone to accompany you.”

Lu Fenghan was taken a back for a moment, then chuckled.

It was the night when Qi Yan came to him with a gaming terminal, and they slept together on the same bed. It was the excuse he hastily made up.

Feeling his mood softened, Lu Fenghan casually asked, “Are you afraid of the dark?”

Pojun: “I’m not afraid.”

Lu Fenghan: “Then what are you afraid of?”

Pojun: “I’m afraid of ghosts.”

Lu Fenghan thought he misheard. “What?”

Pojun: “I’m afraid of ghosts.”

Lu Fenghan: “Is it because of your developer’s design, or for some other reason?”

Pojun: “It’s unrelated to my developer. While infiltrating the systems of the medium-sized ship, I accidentally took away some data. During your unconsciousness, I explored the surroundings and got bored. So I searched through it and found a horror movie. Out of curiosity, I watched it. I was scared and regretful.”

For a moment, Lu Fenghan felt a mixture of emotions—

He now had an AI that was afraid of ghosts.

The cave wasn’t too deep, and it hadn’t been long since they arrived at the end of it.

Lu Fenghan adjusted the light to shine on the wall. “There are writings.”

In the depths of the cave, shielded from sunlight and wind, the inscriptions appeared somewhat faded, but still discernible. It was evident that someone had painstakingly carved each word by hand.

It was a message.

“To Those Who Come After:

I was born in the year 2109 of the Earth calendar and was a member of the Alliance’s ‘Great Voyage’ project. In the year 2131 of the Earth calendar, I and three companions set sail from Earth and arrived at this unfamiliar planet. Unfortunately, our spacecraft was damaged and we could no longer return.

One member committed suicide three months later, another died of illness, and I spent many days and nights on this unfamiliar planet with the remaining companion. After losing hope of leaving, he also ended his own life.

I experienced an indescribable loneliness.

This planet is suitable for human habitation, but there are no signs of life. I scattered the plant seeds carried in the spacecraft wherever I went, and they thrived. However, I became even more acutely aware that this is not my homeland.

If anyone arrives here in the future, please take away a stone as a symbol of my companions and me, who, after many years, crossed the galaxies and returned home.

I took the liberty of naming this planet ‘Dawn.’

May the mankind welcome the light.”

Lu Fenghan did not find the bones of the person who left this message. He speculated that this message was not only carved in this one place.

The “Great Voyage” project was a near-tragic, heroic plan proposed toward the end of the Earth era, before the Alliance settled in Leto. It was hoped that, like the “Age of Exploration” of the Earth era, in the universe, a “New World,” a habitable planet, would be discovered.

At that time, the Earth’s environment deteriorated to an extreme extent, no longer suitable for human habitation, threatening to extinct the human race.

On one hand, scientists from the White Tower devoted themselves to finding a way out, while on the other hand, countless ordinary people responded one after another, driven by an unparalleled courage unimaginable to people today, piloting almost rudimentary spaceships and plunging headlong into the vast universe.

Solely for mankind.

Solely for the continuation of the race.

Lu Fenghan bent down to pick up four small stones.

He faintly saw, more than two hundred years ago, a blurry figure using crude tools, carving these lines of words on the rock wall, one by one.

He saw four young people land on this planet, their faces full of smiles, filled with longing for the future of the race.

He saw countless spacecraft departing from Earth, flying into the boundless space, in search of a miracle.

Lu Fenghan’s voice was very soft, afraid of disturbing something.

“Why can the human race, a not particularly strong, even fragile species, go from ancient ignorance to the Earth era, and then to Interstellar era?”

Outside the cave was a strange but vibrant planet.

Beyond the planet was the vast expanse of the universe.

Humans in the universe was even less than a drop in the ocean.

Lu Fenghan’s shadow cast slantingly on the ground.

He seemed to be questioning and answering himself.

“It is hope.”

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