Limited Ambiguity Chapter 51

Chapter 51

The unnamed planet where Lu Fenghan landed had long days and short nights. Daytime would last for 32 Leto hours, while after sunset, there would be 18 Leto hours before sunrise.

However, as a member of the Space Force, Lu Fenghan’s circadian rhythm was not regulated by sunlight. He designated his waking and sleeping hours and had Pojun carry out his orders. He also found several bags of nutritional supplements and two cans of nutrient paste from the wreckage of the escape pod, along with fruits from the plants grown from seeds left by previous occupants, ensuring he wouldn’t starve.

Lying in the grass, Lu Fenghan picked a grass stem and chewed on it, squinting at the “sun” in the sky.

There was only the sound of the wind around him.

Pojun spoke up voluntarily, “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking about Qi Yan, about how to leave this place, about going to find him.”

“But under current conditions, you can’t leave here to find my developer.”

Pojun presented a logical argument, completely oblivious to the fact that his words were adding fuel to the fire. “The unnamed planet we’re on is not within the Alliance territory, so we can’t access the Starnet, which means we can’t call for help. No one knows you’re here. This planet is uninhabited and devoid of technology, so there are no conditions for building spacecraft and starships. The only hope we have is for some unlucky person to crash-land on this planet, but the probability of that happening, after rigorous calculation, is infinitely close to zero.”

Lu Fenghan couldn’t hold back a sigh, biting off the grass in his mouth. The bitter sap soaked his tongue, causing him to furrow his brow.

“You think I don’t know that?”

Pojun: “Of course, you knew.”

“Do I need you to remind me?”

A silence enveloped the conversation for five seconds before Pojun, in a matter-of-fact tone, said, “Ah, I see now. This is a human display of, ‘losing one’s temper out of humiliation.’”

“……”

Arching an eyebrow, Lu Fenghan challenged, “If only you’re not Qi Yan’s creation.”

Pojun: “Then what?”

Lu Fenghan: “Then you won’t have another chance to speak.”

Pojun wisely opted for silence.

Half an hour later, as Lu Fenghan rested with his eyes closed, he abruptly spoke, “Pojun.”

“What is it?”

Rising to his feet, Lu Fenghan brushed off grass blades nonchalantly. “Last night, I saw a strange shadow in that cave. It could’ve been a trick of the eye, of course, but it’s also possible it was something otherworldly.”

Pojun: “!”

Returning to the cave, Pojun seemed to have frozen. He called out several times, but there was no response.

Without insistence from Lu Fenghan, he manually activated a light source on his personal terminal and ventured deeper into the cave, eventually halting in front of the rock wall inscribed with markings.

Though time on this unnamed planet had only allowed his forehead wound to scab over, he now grasped why, among the four individuals who had unexpectedly landed on this planet, two had chosen suicide out of despair, leaving behind the deceased and a few written words.

The individual who left this message likely couldn’t endure the ordeal any longer.

Stranded alone on the desolate planet, trapped by gravity’s embrace, he oscillated between day and night, perpetually clinging to a faint hope.

He didn’t know how long he stood silently in front of the engraved words before finally turning to leave.

Soon, Pojun noticed through statistical analysis that Lu Fenghan’s speech dwindled over time. Often, after delivering a lengthy discourse, Lu Fenghan would only respond with a brief “Hmm.”

More often than not, Lu Fenghan aimlessly wandered the terrain during the day, and in the darkness of night, he would gaze up at the shimmering stars, lost in thought.

“In which direction can I find the Lagoon Nebula?”

Amidst the lush wild grass, Lu Fenghan lay on the ground, his chin tickled by the grass blades, yet he made no effort to move. His gaze scanned the sky intently, searching for something.

Pojun replied, “Based on the starmaps available in my database, I am unable to answer your question.”

The expected answer.

A sharp pang of bitterness pierced Lu Fenghan’s heart.

He recalled the times they lay side by side on the bed, Qi Yan lifting his hand, using his fingertips to trace the location of the Lagoon Nebula for him.

He had also imagined that if he couldn’t see Qi Yan anymore, at least he could gaze in that direction, knowing that the person he missed was on some planet within that expanse of stars.

Now, even such thoughts had become a luxury.

Hope…

Hope.

That simple “okay” from Qi Yan had become a lifeline, tethering him to his hope.

Pojun: “What are you worried about?”

What am I worried about?

Erich was guarding the front line, so there shouldn’t be any immediate problems. Even if the Alliance was on the verge of collapse, there was still Nie Huaiting to lean on.

He was only worried about the Little Delicate, unsure of his current state, whether he was alright or not.

Lagoon Nebula.

“How is Qi Yan? Has he awakened?”

Elisa shook her head in silence. “Not yet. The medical robot has tended to his wounds, but he remains unconscious.”

August pressed his fingers against his temple. “I reacted too slowly.”

Seated on a chair against the wall, he interlocked his fingers and took several deep breaths. “At that time, we were debating over a formula. Qi Yan mentioned he had done an expansion calculation of this formula a couple of days ago, but he wasn’t sure where he had put the scratch paper he used for the calculation. You know, these kinds of situations have happened frequently before.

“Then, he called out ‘Lu Fenghan.’ He asked if Lu Fenghan had seen the draft paper lying around on the sofa.” August inhaled sharply. “Elisa, he was subconsciously seeking confirmation from Lu Fenghan, confirming if his memory was correct.

“But, where was his Lu Fenghan? He must have had a brief moment of clarity, or rather, his logical reasoning became muddled, unable to reconcile within himself. He couldn’t deceive himself anymore—because he realized he couldn’t find that person.

“In that instant, Qi Yan… became very, very panicked, his face ashen. He got up and searched the room, then went out looking, but he couldn’t find the person he was searching for! Until he saw a piece of metal, a very dull, blunt piece of metal,” August paused in his narration, taking a moment before continuing, “He frantically scraped it against his arm, forcefully, repeatedly, until blood was drawn. Then he just held onto the metal piece, standing quietly in place, letting the blood drip from his fingers onto the floor.

“He was injured, waiting for Lu Fenghan to come and tend to his wound, to apply healing gel, to bandage it… but he stood there for a long time, and no one came.”

August’s voice choked, “How could he have waited? How could he have waited…”

Elisa turned away, her eyes red and swollen.

Despite his usual demeanor of emotional detachment, Qi Yan rarely displayed intense emotions.

Through the door came the brisk beeps of the medical robot. Elisa wiped away her tears and entered the room.

Qi Yan lay on the bed, much thinner than when he returned, his clothes hanging loosely on his frame. He glanced toward the door, a faint hope flickering in his eyes, only to extinguish in the next moment.

Every part of Qi Yan’s body ached, especially his chest, where palpitations made him nauseous.

Elisa sat beside Qi Yan’s bed and softly asked, “How do you feel?”

These words seemed to break some emotional barrier within Qi Yan. He couldn’t speak, tears slowly staining his cheeks, his fingers trembling as they clutched the sheets, his complexion draining of color.

He suppressed his sobs until his body began to tremble slightly, then he croaked out hoarsely, “It hurts so much… Elisa, it hurts so much…”

Tears streamed down Elisa’s face as she hurriedly covered Qi Yan’s cold hand with her own. “Where does it hurt?”

Qi Yan clutched one hand over his heart, pulling the fabric into deep wrinkles. The pain made him curl up completely, unable to speak.

He heard his own hoarse voice, then stared intently at a certain point in the air, lost in thought.

Lu Fenghan wasn’t here. What was the use of saying it hurt?

What was the use of saying it was cold, or that he was tired, or in pain, or afraid?

He wasn’t here anymore.

As if at that moment when the microstarship turned and vanished, the place in his heart that had been gouged out was left empty, unable to be filled again.

In the space between false consciousness and reality, there was no longer anyone willing to be his anchor.

It felt like transitioning from the lush greenery of summer to the endless chill of winter, where even huddling in bed couldn’t keep the meltwater from creeping in, congealing into bone-chilling coldness.

Due to prolonged medication use, Qi Yan’s pain receptors had become extremely sensitive. Elisa listened to his unconscious cries of pain, unsure of what to do, unable to touch him, only able to cry along with him.

After what seemed like an eternity, the stagnant air in the room was finally broken by Qi Yan’s hoarse voice.

“He… is doing well,” Qi Yan’s eyes reddened, teary, as if he was telling Elisa, yet also lost in his own memories. “He…” The word hung in the air as Qi Yan suddenly lost the ability to articulate. “I don’t know how to describe him.”

It seemed as though there wasn’t a single word that could adequately describe Lu Fenghan. Yet, he desperately wished for one more person who remembered him as he did.

“He’s… doing well.”

Elisa nodded, heavyhearted, tears mingling with a smile. “I know. He’s doing well, and he cares for you deeply.”

“Yes, after he ordered the escape pod to detach, I called his name. He said he was here, but now, I can’t find him anymore.”

Qi Yan’s voice was barely a whisper. Emotions hidden deep beneath the surface surged forth, gripping his heart tightly, even affecting his breath.

“He even apologized to me. He knew I wouldn’t forget the things I’ve seen, so he asked me, if possible, to forget that memory. But… but I did met him. How could I bear to forget?”

Eight years ago, it was this person. Eight years later, returning to Leto, the one he met was still him.

What could he do?

He couldn’t bear to forget, not even the slightest detail.

He began to contemplate how to freeze and preserve his memories, how to ensure that this fragment of existence he held onto wouldn’t slip away again.

Even now, he was afraid. How would he prove to himself in ten or twenty years that meeting Lu Fenghan wasn’t a figment of his imagination?

Elisa clasped Qi Yan’s icy fingers in her hand, her voice choked with tears. “I know… You don’t have to forget. You can always remember. As long as you remember, he hasn’t truly left.”

Qi Yan looked at Elisa, murmuring to himself, “But why… why do I feel so heartbroken? So… cold?” The suppressed longing broke free, and Qi Yan once again felt the searing pain of something being torn away from him. His tears flowed uncontrollably. “Even for just a moment, Elisa, I really want to see him again…”

Elisa closed her eyes, recalling twenty years ago when Lin Zhi was pregnant, and they basked in the sun together in the garden.

They eagerly anticipated the arrival of this new life, imagining holding his hand as he learned to walk, teaching him to speak and write, watching him make friends, and when he grew a little older, explaining to him what “love” was when he felt lost in emotions.

But she never imagined that this scene would unfold in such a way.

Gently smoothing out Qi Yan’s fingers, Elisa’s voice was gentle, her eyes moist as she looked at Qi Yan. “Because you love him. You love him, that’s why you feel sad, reluctant to let go, wanting to remember, not wanting to forget.”

Qi Yan slowly blinked his sore, teary eyes.

Did he… love him?

As this question arose, he remembered the hurried kiss on the microstarship.

It was warm, a bit painful, yet tender.

Like ancient stars piercing through layers of dust in the vast and magnificent nebulae, illuminating his eyes from afar.

Elisa was right.

He loved him.

He loved Lu Fenghan.

The rain outside started to patter softly once again.

Qi Yan choked up, and as that name crossed his mind, tears welled up again.

So it was.

Before he even knew what love was, before he was certain he could fall in love with another person, he had already fallen in love with him.

If you enjoy this novel, support the Translator ginevre on her ko-fi account :))