Chapter 54.2
In the past decade, Lu Fenghan had never felt fear, regardless of the circumstances. Yet, in this moment, he dared not confront this suspicion head-on.
His voice felt as if it were weighed down by a thousand-pound boulder, wanting to ask “And then,” but the words couldn’t escape his lips.
“We soon discovered that Qi Yan was confusing reality and displaying signs of immersion in these fabricated memories. During that time, he was like a puppet, motionless in one place while continuously constructing memories in his mind. We tried many methods to bring him back to reality, but we remained powerless against his reality distortion. Even the medication he had been taking only provided limited assistance.”
Elisa continued, “Later, last year, due to the worsening of Qi Yan’s reality distortion, I suggested sending him to Leto. It was partly to protect him and partly in the hope that being in a new environment and meeting different people might alleviate his condition.”
Lu Fenghan closed his eyes.
It felt like a razor-sharp blade hovering above his head, about to plunge straight down and pierce through his chest and back.
Finally, Elisa uttered those words, “After you died, Qi Yan was brought back to the White Tower, but he was fabricating memories. He said you had always been by his side, reminding him to wear slippers, to eat.
“To strengthen the authenticity of these false memories, he even made cuts on his arms every day, then he would bandage them himself and tie them with a bowknot. He told us that you had seen him injured, applied healing gel, bandaged him, and assured him that he would recover soon.”
Every word felt like sharp nails piercing into Lu Fenghan’s flesh.
Lu Fenghan dared not even breathe deeply, fearing that it might cause pain to his internal organs.
His Little Delicate.
Even the gentlest brush of a grass blade against his ears would cause him to wince and furrow his brow in discomfort.
In a daze, a crack seemed to split open in his chest, and the sensation of flesh tearing spread throughout his body like a spider’s web.
“Later, Qi Yan admitted that you were already dead, but reason and emotion clashed within him. He fell into utter chaos, unable to sleep for long periods, unable to eat, relying only on the treatment pod to barely survive. He was like a taut bowstring, on the verge of snapping at any moment. August and I had no choice but to administer medication to him.”
“What medication?” Lu Fenghan asked, feeling a dull ache in his throat.
Elisa’s voice softened slightly. “It was a medication to suppress emotions. Once it took effect, he wouldn’t feel pain or sadness anymore, but he wouldn’t feel happiness, satisfaction, or… love either.”
Lu Fenghan remembered Qi Yan’s cold hand.
Cold as snow.
“August and I thought that, initially, using medication to maintain his ‘absolute rationality’ for a period of time would be best. Then, gradually reducing the dosage, we hoped to preserve Qi Yan’s sanity as much as possible, preventing him from being overwhelmed by negative emotions all at once.” Elisa’s voice carried a tone of guilt. “But even with such… cruel methods, the risk was still great. I only had a twenty percent chance of keeping Qi Yan in this world.”
What hopeless situation was Qi Yan in at that time, that Elisa felt compelled to resort to such medication, grasping at the faintest glimmer of hope?
His Qi Yan…
At that moment, Lu Fenghan’s self-loathing reached its peak.
The overwhelming, scorching pain surged forth. The light from the passing escort ship outside the porthole cast shadows of suffocating agony across his features.
Amidst the extreme silence, Lu Fenghan heard his own voice, “What can I do?”
In the equipment room, Qi Yan connected the new detection system to the central control system while simultaneously chatting with Pojun.
Because on the deserted planet, Lu Fenghan had preferred Pojun to talk more, so Qi Yan had programmed it accordingly.
Now Qi Yan realized that, once the restrictions were removed, Pojun indeed was quite the chatterbox.
Thanks to Pojun’s chatter, he now knew the origin of every tiny wound on Lu Fenghan’s palm.
“The General’s preferences are quite peculiar. On the Dawn planet, he enjoyed sitting for long hours in the deepest part of the caves. It seems that humans do have unique quirks.”
Pojun followed Qi Yan’s lead and began addressing Lu Fenghan as “General.”
Noticing Qi Yan’s silence as the central control system accessed the “Windcatcher” data stream, Pojun wisely remained silent.
It wasn’t until Pojun reminded him that it was time to rest that Qi Yan’s mind detached from the vast data stream.
He furrowed his brow, sensing something faintly amiss, and turned his head to see Lu Fenghan standing by the door in a standard-issue shirt, his gaze fixed on him, though Qi Yan couldn’t tell for how long.
But Qi Yan wasn’t sure how to react appropriately now.
He possessed all the memories of his past interactions with Lu Fenghan, yet he didn’t know what to do now, or what to say.
Lu Fenghan approached first.
He gently grasped Qi Yan’s wrist, his gaze scanning over the cold, pale skin, before finally asking after a long pause, “Is it still hurting?”
Qi Yan blinked slowly, paused for a moment, then replied, “No, it’s not.”
Although he still remembered what the pain felt like, recalling it now lacked the intensity of the actual experience.
This sense of absence made him feel somewhat cold.
But just as the chill began to settle, it was quickly dispelled by the warmth of Lu Fenghan’s hand around his wrist.
After listening, Lu Fenghan fell silent for two seconds before speaking again, “On the Foundation Day, after being attacked by a medium-sized starship, I shouldn’t have acted on my own.”
This was an apology.
Qi Yan was even more uncertain about what to do, so he tentatively responded, “It’s okay.”
Under Lu Fenghan’s penetrating gaze, he found himself torn between wanting to get closer and feeling flustered, wanting to distance himself.
Lu Fenghan noticed this awkwardness.
He released Qi Yan’s wrist. Observing as Qi Yan hesitantly brought his hand behind his back, he softened his tone, “Until what time will you be busy?”
Subconsciously, Qi Yan responded to Lu Fenghan, “Until eleven o’clock tonight.”
Lu Fenghan nodded. “Alright,” he said, then casually pinched Qi Yan’s cheek.
After Lu Fenghan left, Qi Yan stood in place for a long time, feeling a bit cold. Unconsciously, he adjusted the military coat draped over him.
There was no distinction between day and night on the starship, nor any reference for the passage of time. As Qi Yan sorted through the data stream generated from linking “Windcatcher” with the central control system, he felt stiffness in his neck. He guessed that quite some time had passed.
He asked Pojun, “What time is it?”
Before Pojun could respond, a voice came from the doorway, “It’s eleven o’clock.”
Qi Yan followed the sound and saw Lu Fenghan standing at the doorway, looking at him.
“Why are you here?” Qi Yan inquired.
Lu Fenghan responded convincingly, “To pick you up after work. It’s your first time on the command ship, and I’m afraid you might get lost.”
Qi Yan wanted to mention that with Pojun around, he couldn’t possibly get lost, but his body had already reacted instinctively, stepping in front of Lu Fenghan.
The two of them walked side by side, with Lu Fenghan leading the way.
“During peacetime, the ship simulates day and night, just like now. Except for those on duty, everyone else is resting in their rooms, and the lights are dimmed everywhere,” Lu Fenghan explained, “Tomorrow night, I’ll come pick you up at the same time. It’s very dark everywhere, and you might easily trip or get lost.”
Although Qi Yan found flaws in Lu Fenghan’s reasoning, he instinctively nodded in agreement. “Okay.”
Lu Fenghan felt a pang of tenderness at Qi Yan’s unequivocal “okay.”
When they arrived in front of Qi Yan’s room, Lu Fenghan informed him, “You can swipe the door open with your personal terminal. If anything happens, call me. I’m right next door. Anything at all.”
Qi Yan agreed as before.
As Qi Yan swiped open the door with a “beep” and prepared to enter, Lu Fenghan paused for three seconds, then, just before the door closed, he reached out to stop it from shutting.
Qi Yan stood inside the door, looking at him with confusion. “Is there anything else?”
Lu Fenghan extended his hand forward. “I’ve injured my hand.”
Qi Yan’s gaze fell on Lu Fenghan’s palm, where the small wounds remained untreated, some already healed, others still red and unscabbed.
A faint pang tugged at his heart.
Taking a step back, Qi Yan said, “Come in.”
Qi Yan wasn’t familiar with the room’s layout, so Lu Fenghan instinctively pulled out a medical kit and rummaged for the healing gel inside.
It was then that Qi Yan realized that Lu Fenghan must have healing gel in his room as well.
Sensing Qi Yan’s skepticism, Lu Fenghan casually improvised, “I ran out in my room, so I came to find you.”
Qi Yan accepted the explanation.
Lu Fenghan’s palm was broad, with slender knuckles and calluses scattered about. Qi Yan patiently spread the healing gel evenly over the wounds.
Qi Yan focused only on the wounds, not noticing that Lu Fenghan had been watching him the whole time.
After applying the gel, Qi Yan paused for a moment, then picked up a strip of bandage, wrapping it around Lu Fenghan’s palm twice before tying a neat bowknot.
“Done,” Qi Yan said.
Lu Fenghan flexed his fingers and stared at the bow knot tied on the bandage for a long moment.
A tender spot in his heart throbbed fiercely, almost overwhelming him with emotion.
Qi Yan wondered why Lu Fenghan hadn’t left yet, but he vaguely wished he would stay a few minutes longer. With this odd sentiment in mind, he didn’t speak up. Instead, he returned the medical kit to its place, pouring himself a glass of water, and taking out a transparent pill bottle, preparing to take his medication.
However, he felt a reluctance to take the medicine in front of Lu Fenghan.
So, holding the pill bottle, he approached Lu Fenghan again, carefully choosing his words, “It’s getting late. Do you want to go back and rest?”
Lu Fenghan focused intently on the person in front of him, his gaze holding a complexity that Qi Yan couldn’t decipher.
Qi Yan felt like he was being held in place by that gaze.
It felt like the entire timeline was artificially slowed down, each frame of the scene moving slowly and clearly.
Qi Yan watched as Lu Fenghan approached, bent down and rested his head against his neck.
The back of his hand, hanging by his side, was covered by the warmth of a familiar palm.
The pill bottle was held by both hands together.
In the dim light, the collar at his neck was slightly damp. Qi Yan heard Lu Fenghan whispering in his ear, his voice hoarse, filled with immeasurable sadness yet extreme tenderness.
“Qi Yan.”
“Hmm?”
“In the future, what you can’t be sure of, I’ll confirm it for you. What you can’t distinguish, I’ll distinguish it for you. I’ll be your remedy.”
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