Chapter 52.1
After days of heavy rain, the planet where the White Tower stood finally saw clear skies. Despite being summer, the sunlight on the planet was not intense, maintaining a pleasant temperature.
The small pond in the garden was filled with water, reflecting the clouds in the sky. Qi Yan sat on a bench, flipping through a paper book, but couldn’t turn the page for a long time.
Elisa approached and handed him a nutritional supplement. “It’s lunchtime.”
Qi Yan took it, briefly hesitating to tear the packaging open, as if recalling something.
Elisa asked, “How was last night? Did you manage to sleep?”
Holding the opened nutritional supplement, Qi Yan’s pale skin on the back of his hand appeared cold under the sunlight. After a few seconds, he shook his head slightly. “No, still couldn’t sleep.”
His voice was low and weak, lacking strength.
Sometimes, Qi Yan felt like a balloon with a tiny hole, slowly leaking air.
Elisa tried to sound casual, “It seems the sleep vapor from last night didn’t work.”
“Hmm.”
Qi Yan’s already slender physique continued to waste away without limit. Night after night, sleep evaded him, and he couldn’t stomach anything. Consuming too much nutritional supplement would cause him to vomit physiologically, forcing him to swallow only a few intermittent mouthfuls. When forced to receive nutrients through IV, his body rebelled with fever, relying solely on the treatment pod to sustain his life.
Like a withered leaf in deep autumn, clinging precariously to a branch.
Now, Qi Yan no longer believed that Lu Fenghan was by his side. He had come to terms with reality, but Elisa paradoxically preferred him to linger in the fabricated memories.
Anything would be better than the present.
Perhaps it was true what they said, “All things turn to emptiness. All but dreams before they turn to nothing.”
Despite the sunlight bathing him, Qi Yan still felt a chill. He turned to Elisa. “How is the Alliance doing?”
It was the first time in days that Qi Yan showed concern for the outside world.
Elisa, concealing her surprise, replied, “You should know about what happened on the Foundation Day. The rebel army, along with space pirates, breached Leto. Outside Leto’s atmosphere, the space fleet was in disarray. However, thanks to the capital’s defense systems holding firm, the rebels ceased fire in space.”
Even now, Elisa found it hard to believe. “But the number of enemies infiltrating Leto was staggering. I even suspect Hodgkin orchestrated a massive deception, smuggling an entire rebel army directly onto the capital. So we lost in space, and we lost within the atmosphere.”
General Nie Huaiting, to prevent further casualties, ultimately decided to abandon Leto. Alongside the Secretary-General of the Alliance, the military command headquarters and administrative center were temporarily relocated to Kepler Region.
The imprisoned Klimo gradually divulged a significant list, including Acting Commander Weiss of the Southern Cross Region’s Expeditionary Force.
Hodgkin underwent a transformation, emerging as the spokesperson for the rebels in Leto. It was unclear whether he had been part of the rebellion from the outset or had defected midway.
Qi Yan snapped out of his brief reverie upon hearing this. “I think I submitted a proposal for upgrading the radar detection system on the intranet.”
“Yes, you envisioned extending the detection range to include the interior of wormholes. If we could detect high-density heat signals within wormholes, we could prepare defenses or set up ambushes before the enemy starships exit. However, you only initiated the project briefly before halting it.” Elisa asked cautiously, “Do you want to restart this project?”
“Hmm.” Qi Yan closed the paperback book, gazing at the reflection on the pool’s surface, his gaze still. “The Alliance is what Lu Fenghan wanted to protect.”
Lu Fenghan.
His words trailed off as Qi Yan’s fingers rested on the rough cover. After a few breaths, his voice, as light as a cicada’s wings, drifted absentmindedly. “Elisa, I always… think of him. My mind doesn’t obey my commands. Every moment, every second, he’s there. Even now, as I talk to you, I’m still thinking of him.”
With the passage of time, even the most vivid memories would fade, which was why many people were able to move on from past sorrows.
Qi Yan couldn’t do it.
Because he couldn’t forget.
He could only relive the pain he had experienced over and over again, engulfed by waves of anguish—suffocating, agonizing, endlessly repeating.
Elisa’s eyes welled up with tears. She reached out, straightening Qi Yan’s coat, wanting to offer comfort or persuasion, but no words escaped her lips.
Qi Yan began spending his days in the laboratory.
Everyone noticed that Qi Yan seemed to be slowly improving. Once he found something to focus on, his declining vitality regained support.
Every day, he would update his research progress on the intranet. The new tools he developed during the process were shared openly on the Starnet, just like before.
It was as if Qi Yan had never left Lagoon Nebula, never visited Leto, never encountered that person. The intervening time was folded away, and he remained the same brilliant and reserved young genius, quietly focusing on what he wanted to do in a tranquil place away from the noise.
August monitored Qi Yan’s progress daily, while also finding several research projects ready to be connected as soon as Qi Yan finished his current work.
Perhaps this way, they could divert Qi Yan’s attention, help him slowly emerge from the quagmire of memories.
Everyone held onto optimism and hope.
Even Elisa, who initially worried that Qi Yan might be pretending to be strong for their sake, gradually let go of her concerns. Perhaps Qi Yan had found a purpose, wanting to protect the Alliance—the same Alliance Lu Fenghan had dedicated himself to protecting.
Then one day, Qi Yan failed to update his research progress on time. Elisa rushed to his laboratory and found Qi Yan sitting in the corner, hugging his knees, staring into space, lost in contemplation.
A heavy weight settled in Elisa’s heart. She subconsciously treaded lightly, approaching. “Qi Yan?”
Wrapped in a white sweater, with only his porcelain fingers exposed, Qi Yan slowly shifted his gaze at the sound, his voice hoarse. “It’s almost the change of season. Lu Fenghan helped me pick out clothes at the tailor studio. He said he’d go get them.”
His lashes trembled. “Wait, it’s spring now. Why would he choose winter clothes for me? And, the place to collect clothes is in Leto. But I’m… I’m at the White Tower?”
He seemed to awaken, yet not entirely. He murmured, “Lagoon Nebula is so far from Leto, requires several wormhole jumps—” Qi Yan’s pupils suddenly dilated, his complexion turning pale. Like a fish out of water, he gripped his collar tightly, almost suffocating, hoarsely muttering to himself, “Don’t go… Lu Fenghan, don’t go, don’t do this! Don’t approach the jump point… you’ll die!”
The last syllables trembled into mere whispers.
As his words faded, he strangely quieted down again, resting his cheek on his knees, silent like a lifeless puppet.
Elisa, her eyes reddened, cautiously spoke, “Qi Yan, it’s cold here. Do you want to move somewhere else?”
Qi Yan gazed at Elisa. It took him a long time to comprehend her words. “No, I have to wait for Lu Fenghan to come back. He went to get my clothes.”
Elisa suggested, “Then, shall we wait for him somewhere else?”
Qi Yan furrowed his brow in confusion. “Wait for who?”
Elisa dared not speak the name, only tentatively asking, “Then what are you doing right now?”
“What am I… What am I doing? Oh, I’m waiting for the results of Project E97-Z,” Qi Yan said, then corrected himself, “No, this project has already been halted by me and August.”
He seemed lost in the confusion of memories, tilting his head subconsciously. “Lu Fenghan, do you remember?”
No one answered. He lowered his lashes, telling himself, “Lu Fenghan went to Leto, he’s not here. I’ll ask him when he comes back.”
Elisa closed the door, the sunlight stinging her eyes.
She made her way down the corridor to August’s laboratory.
August glanced at her expression. “Is Qi Yan’s condition worsening again?”
Elisa shook her head. “Not ‘again,’ he’s never improved.”
Feeling weak, Elisa leaned against the wall. “His rationality and logic force him to accept reality, to accept Lu Fenghan’s death, but his instincts and emotions refuse. So, he has to fight against these conflicting thoughts.
“Combined with his long-standing severe reality distortion, he’s like a black hole inside. Everything’s chaotic.
“He’s been trying hard, uploading research results every day, striving to rebuild his order, not to get lost in the darkness, but he failed.
“Lu Fenghan’s death is the final straw.” Elisa shivered at the memory of something, “August, do you know what I realized as I watched him?”
August fell silent, then responded, “Lin Zhi.”
“Yes.” Elisa hugged herself tightly, crying. “Yes, I look at Qi Yan now, and I’m so afraid… afraid he’ll end up like his mother.”
After a long silence, August took two steps back and sat down on a chair. After much contemplation, his azure eyes met Elisa’s gaze. “There is another way, the only way.”
“Pojun, is there a way to further enhance this design?” Lu Fenghan stood before a pile of scrap metal, his gaze fixed on a metal rod.
“This is already the optimal design,” Pojun spoke calmly. “We’ve flipped the wreckage of the escape pod and the ship that crashed over seventeen times.”
Lu Fenghan nodded in acknowledgment.
He was never one to sit idly by, and with someone waiting for him, he never entertained the thought of waiting to die on this planet.
After scouring the vicinity and retrieving several chunks of ore, he spent days dismantling the wreckage of the crashed spaceship thoroughly, then proceeded to dismantle the escape pod. Finally, amidst the pile of scrap metal, he managed to salvage components to assemble a makeshift signal booster.
Although Pojun used data and theory to explain that the boosted signal wouldn’t make much difference, Lu Fenghan didn’t believe it.
Every bit counted, and he didn’t believe his luck would be that bad.
A little extra was better than nothing, he refused to believe his luck would be so rotten.
The frontline debacle, where he managed to hitch a ride back to Leto on a transport ship and was rescued by Qi Yan using a Type VI treatment pod to save his life, might grant him the same stroke of luck this time.
If not a month, then ten months. If not a year, then ten years.
He was like a beast trapped in a cage, suppressing his instincts, stubbornly waiting for the faint glimmer of hope.
Because at the other end of that hope was Qi Yan.
Apart from essential daily activities, Lu Fenghan began to spend each day guarding the signal booster. It was tedious, and he mulled over every conceivable thought multiple times in his mind, with nothing much else to do.
Lu Fenghan decided to lie on the grass, mentally dissecting and revisiting every event that had occurred since meeting Qi Yan.
But even so, time seemed to pass slowly.
After Lu Fenghan had Pojun tell over a hundred lame jokes, share seventy to eighty anecdotes, and sing two and a half songs, he finally found something to pass the time—playing simulated warfare games with Pojun.
They set up a space combat sand table with two armies facing off, trading attacks back and forth, to see who could win.
Initially, Lu Fenghan lost more than he won in the first few rounds, but as he became accustomed to Pojun’s tactics, his victories outweighed his losses. After over a hundred rounds, Pojun rarely emerged victorious.
Pojun’s assessment: “Humans are terrifying.”
Lu Fenghan gladly accepted the compliment, “Old ginger is spicier. Don’t be sad. You’re still too young, by human standards, you’re not even a year old yet.”
Pojun: “So, are you already the ‘old ginger’ among humans?”
Lu Fenghan: “If you can’t speak properly, then shut up.”
It had heard this remark countless times before. Pojun obediently fell silent, but just before doing so, it added, “My developer clearly told me with some data that you have a good temper.”
With that said, it smoothly pretended to shut down.
Strangely, it left Lu Fenghan alone with his thoughts for quite some time.
Lu Fenghan never thought he had good temper or manners. During his time on the front line, with chronic sleep deprivation, his temper was even worse, and there were incidents where he made new recruits cry with just a glance.
But in Qi Yan’s eyes, he was someone with a good temper.
No.
Lu Fenghan’s taut lips relaxed, curving into a hint of a smile.
In the eyes of the Little Scatterbrain, everything about him was good.
Suddenly, Pojun spoke up, “Your heart rate suddenly increased. Are you feeling unwell? I must remind you, there are no medicine on this planet.”
Lu Fenghan’s mood was subtly good, rare enough not to make Pojun shut up but instead engage in conversation with him.
“Do you know what your developer was like?” he asked.
Pojun honestly replied, “I don’t know. He didn’t leave any relevant data in my core, but I’m curious. Do you know?”
Lu Fenghan wanted to say, “Of course, I do. Your developer is very smart, but also very absent-minded, often mixing up many things. He’s very delicate and afraid of pain. Even a slight force can leave bruises that take days to fade, and mosquito bites require bandages. He’s also very, very, very good at being spoiled, demanding to be held or to sleep together for a period. It’s impossible not to indulge and coddle him.”
But these were secrets that Lu Fenghan alone possessed and enjoyed.
So, Lu Fenghan replied, “I’m not telling you.”
Pojun: “……”
The signal booster waited day after day for the stream of information from the cosmos, like a verdict in a trial with an unknown end. On the gambling table, only the most mysterious and elusive luck was at stake.
Another day began, and after completing ten sets of physical training and taking a bath with spring water, Lu Fenghan walked to the signal booster and asked Pojun, “How many days have passed since we entered the jump point until now?”
“By Leto time, or by the time of this planet?”
“Leto time.”
“As of the time you asked, it’s been five months, six days, nine hours, eight minutes, and one second.”
Lu Fenghan fell silent. He sat beside the signal booster bathed in the glow of the morning sun. It took him a while to speak, his tone inexplicably subdued, “Five months.”
Over a hundred days, almost half a year.
Leto should have transitioned from winter to early summer by now.
A surreal void lingered within his heart.
The outside world kept spinning ceaselessly, with countless things happening.
Yet here he was, trapped on a planet.
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