1626

Chapter 1627: Pattern

When Yu Yuan heard the names “Dawnstar” and “Noonstar,” he remembered.

While Xie Feng’s memories were running, he existed in the background, like a background process—or rather, he was the background itself. Among the vast and rich data reserves of Veda, information on these two planets was stored: the causes of their apocalypses, when they occurred, and what futures they faced. Yu Yuan knew these details with absolute clarity.

Once he realized where Xie Feng and Dong Luorong were, he could piece together various clues and data reserves. It was almost as if he could foresee the paths their fates would take—even though his database contained no specific information about these two individuals.

He found himself wanting to warn them.

If they could receive his warning, perhaps their destinies would change. But the very thought of this was a mistake—a mistake Yu Yuan couldn’t yet understand.

They were only characters from memory. Everything he saw was history that had already played out. All he needed to do was observe, to let the memory run its course. According to his projections, once it ended, he would exit this data packet.

Xie Feng and Dong Luorong, in this very moment, had no idea that the outline of their futures had already been drawn. As they continued trying to discern their paths ahead, Yu Yuan quietly waited for their stories to conclude.

‘Could Dong Luorong be the type to believe in conspiracy theories?’

This thought crossed Xie Feng’s mind after watching the short film.

After the warning film went viral and became a global topic, it had been viewed billions of times. Like many other topics, it sp.a.w.ned countless conspiracy theories.

Some believed the video was entirely fabricated. Others thought the film itself was responsible for triggering the rise of posthumans. And so it went—there was always a segment of the population ready to believe conspiracies and lies. No matter how absurd the theory, repeated enough times, it would always find believers.

But conspiracy theories were everywhere—searching the internet would yield hundreds of thousands of results. There really wasn’t anything that could be described as the sort of “thought I usually wouldn’t dare say out loud.”

“You think the film is fake? If that were true, someone would’ve uncovered it by now. If that woman in the film exists on this planet, it’s impossible she wouldn’t interact with anyone…”

Before Xie Feng could finish speaking, Dong Luorong shook her head.

“I don’t doubt the film came from Dawnstar,” she said with a furrowed brow. “And I don’t think Lan Lingte was lying.”

So what did she mean by that?

Xie Feng was about to ask, but her thoughts were interrupted by a loud sneeze. The room was far too cold, but she was reluctant to ask Dong Luorong to raise the temperature, even though there wasn’t any particular reason not to.

Dong Luorong stayed silent for a moment, as if organizing her thoughts.

“If I could witness someone evolve firsthand,” Dong Luorong said slowly after a long pause, “it might answer a lot of my questions. They say people with more of a rebellious, fighting spirit are more likely to evolve… which explains why the ones recently captured as suspected posthumans are all that type.”

Xie Feng’s heart tightened. She suddenly thought of friends from her social circle who had recently gone missing, with no word since.

“Where did you hear that?” she asked casually, grabbing a tissue to wipe her nose. “I’ve never heard that before.”

She tried to sound nonchalant. Even though Dong Luorong didn’t seem like a bad person, she was still an imperial citizen with unclear motives. Xie Feng had been deliberately withholding information when sharing her experiences earlier.

Dong Luorong didn’t respond, as if she hadn’t heard the question. Instead, she followed her own train of thought. “In the film, Lan Lingte is introduced as the head of external affairs, right? But external to where, exactly?”

“Huh?” Xie Feng blinked, realizing she had never thought about it before. “She’s probably the head of the department responsible for communications between Dawnstar and Noonstar, right? Otherwise, why would she be the one sending us that message?”

Dawnstar had a slightly larger population than Noonstar, but it was governed as a single federal state, unlike Noonstar, which was divided into six nations—well, five now.

Due to the limits of transmission speed, technological challenges, and the high cost of resources, their understanding of Dawnstar was only superficial. But Dawnstar’s example had long fueled the ambitions of some Noonstar leaders, who saw planetary unification as their ultimate dream.

“Lan Lingte mentioned that Dawnstar has multiple facilities capable of interstellar communication,” Dong Luorong said quietly. “So it’s clear that maintaining contact with Noonstar isn’t the exclusive responsibility of any one department. And she also said it was ironic that, in the end, it fell on her to send the warning.”

Xie Feng opened her mouth, stunned. That was true—if Lan Lingte were specifically in charge of Noonstar relations, it would make sense for her to send the warning. There wouldn’t be anything ironic about it.

“That’s not really a flaw,” Xie Feng said hesitantly. “There could be a lot of reasonable explanations…”

“Yes, there could be many reasonable explanations. That’s not the issue,” Dong Luorong agreed. “The real issue is that we haven’t heard a single explanation.”

Why was that an issue? Xie Feng struggled to keep up—her mind felt foggy again, and she wondered if she really might have a concussion from her earlier fall.

“Why would people who’ve evolved destroy their planet?” Dong Luorong murmured. “With their abilities, they could do whatever they wanted. They could have billions of people serve them. Why destroy the planet? What do they gain from it?”

In fact, many observers and a.n.a.lysts on Noonstar had asked the same question and come up with plausible theories. Of course, Dong Luorong wasn’t the first to raise this point. Xie Feng started to mention some of the existing theories, but Dong Luorong waved her off.

“I know. I’ve seen all of them—they each make sense in their own way. But the problem is, all these theories were our guesses. Lan Lingte never offered any reason or explanation herself.”

That was true.

“Even you understand the importance of money, yet posthumans supposedly ignore money and go after resources? And with that kind of power, they wouldn’t need to steal anything. Just by sitting there, people would flock to offer them whatever they wanted.” Dong Luorong gave a bitter, mocking smile. “Power, at its core, is the ability to control other people’s fates. And what’s stronger than ultimate, unpredictable force?”

‘That’s all true, but what do you mean: even I know how to use money?’ Xie Feng thought, feeling a bit offended.

“Of course, there must be reasonable explanations for that too. But once again, Lan Lingte provided none.”

At this point, Dong Luorong almost seemed to be talking to herself. If Xie Feng weren’t sitting next to her, she might not even have noticed she was speaking out loud.

“A doomsday struck five periods ago, meaning those posthumans must have appeared much earlier… With so many people developing such strange abilities, how did Dawnstar not notice? They only realized it when those abilities had evolved beyond the point of military control, and by then, the entire planet was doomed.”

This time, Xie Feng stayed silent, already guessing what Dong Luorong was about to say.

“It’s even stranger that Lan Lingte asked us to send rescue s.h.i.+ps. According to her, posthumans from Dawnstar’s population caused the apocalypse. So how could the remaining survivors just be ordinary people? The ones left behind are most likely the culprits—the posthumans. What’s even the point of saving them? Sending our s.h.i.+ps would just mean certain death.”

These weren’t new questions.

Answers were everywhere online, along with official explanations from the imperial authorities. But as Dong Luorong pointed out, the real issue was that Lan Lingte herself never provided any explanation.

Even if she was short on time and overwhelmed, she should have at least clarified the situation with the rescue s.h.i.+ps—especially since requesting help was one of the message’s key purposes. How could she expect anyone to risk their lives for a rescue without explaining the situation properly?

“You see the pattern here, don’t you?” Dong Luorong asked, glancing at Xie Feng.

“So, you’re saying…”

Dong Luorong suddenly paused, turning her head to stare directly at Xie Feng. Even though they were both women, Xie Feng couldn’t help but feel fl.u.s.tered under that gaze. Stammering, she asked, “Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dong Luorong asked quietly. “You’re freezing, aren’t you?”

Since earlier, Xie Feng hadn’t been able to stop s.h.i.+vering. Some of the chills were so intense her teeth had started chattering. She had thought she could tough it out, hoping she’d get used to the cold. But the discomfort was unbearable—waves of heat would rise between bouts of s.h.i.+vers, leaving her unable to tell whether she was freezing or burning up.

Dong Luorong leaned in and rested a cool, slender hand on Xie Feng’s forehead.

She was so close that Xie Feng could feel her breath on her cheek. Her eyes were pitch black—usually, when describing someone beautiful, it’s said that their eyes were l.u.s.trous. But, this was not the case with Dong Luorong: her eyes were devoid of light, so dark it felt like one glance could cause her to fall into them.

Xie Feng resisted the urge to tremble, not daring to move. It felt like her heart and mind had condensed into a single point that was being gently pressed beneath her fingertips.

“You seem to have a fever,” Dong Luorong said, tilting her head as if unsure. “Then again, everyone feels warmer to me when I touch them.”

As it turned out, Xie Feng really did have a fever.

After being frightened, caught in conflicts, and knocked unconscious, followed by getting soaked in the rain and chilled by the wind, it was impressive that she hadn’t fallen ill sooner. But once the fever hit, it came cras.h.i.+ng down like a landslide. She drifted in and out of consciousness, shaking with chills and unable to open her eyes.

This disease, Xie Feng was sick for three days.

Chapter 1627: Pattern

When Yu Yuan heard the names “Dawnstar” and “Noonstar,” he remembered.

While Xie Feng’s memories were running, he existed in the background, like a background process—or rather, he was the background itself. Among the vast and rich data reserves of Veda, information on these two planets was stored: the causes of their apocalypses, when they occurred, and what futures they faced. Yu Yuan knew these details with absolute clarity.

Once he realized where Xie Feng and Dong Luorong were, he could piece together various clues and data reserves. It was almost as if he could foresee the paths their fates would take—even though his database contained no specific information about these two individuals.

He found himself wanting to warn them.

If they could receive his warning, perhaps their destinies would change. But the very thought of this was a mistake—a mistake Yu Yuan couldn’t yet understand.

They were only characters from memory. Everything he saw was history that had already played out. All he needed to do was observe, to let the memory run its course. According to his projections, once it ended, he would exit this data packet.

Xie Feng and Dong Luorong, in this very moment, had no idea that the outline of their futures had already been drawn. As they continued trying to discern their paths ahead, Yu Yuan quietly waited for their stories to conclude.

‘Could Dong Luorong be the type to believe in conspiracy theories?’

This thought crossed Xie Feng’s mind after watching the short film.

After the warning film went viral and became a global topic, it had been viewed billions of times. Like many other topics, it sp.a.w.ned countless conspiracy theories.

Some believed the video was entirely fabricated. Others thought the film itself was responsible for triggering the rise of posthumans. And so it went—there was always a segment of the population ready to believe conspiracies and lies. No matter how absurd the theory, repeated enough times, it would always find believers.

But conspiracy theories were everywhere—searching the internet would yield hundreds of thousands of results. There really wasn’t anything that could be described as the sort of “thought I usually wouldn’t dare say out loud.”

“You think the film is fake? If that were true, someone would’ve uncovered it by now. If that woman in the film exists on this planet, it’s impossible she wouldn’t interact with anyone…”

Before Xie Feng could finish speaking, Dong Luorong shook her head.

“I don’t doubt the film came from Dawnstar,” she said with a furrowed brow. “And I don’t think Lan Lingte was lying.”

So what did she mean by that?

Xie Feng was about to ask, but her thoughts were interrupted by a loud sneeze. The room was far too cold, but she was reluctant to ask Dong Luorong to raise the temperature, even though there wasn’t any particular reason not to.

Dong Luorong stayed silent for a moment, as if organizing her thoughts.

“If I could witness someone evolve firsthand,” Dong Luorong said slowly after a long pause, “it might answer a lot of my questions. They say people with more of a rebellious, fighting spirit are more likely to evolve… which explains why the ones recently captured as suspected posthumans are all that type.”

Xie Feng’s heart tightened. She suddenly thought of friends from her social circle who had recently gone missing, with no word since.

“Where did you hear that?” she asked casually, grabbing a tissue to wipe her nose. “I’ve never heard that before.”

She tried to sound nonchalant. Even though Dong Luorong didn’t seem like a bad person, she was still an imperial citizen with unclear motives. Xie Feng had been deliberately withholding information when sharing her experiences earlier.

Dong Luorong didn’t respond, as if she hadn’t heard the question. Instead, she followed her own train of thought. “In the film, Lan Lingte is introduced as the head of external affairs, right? But external to where, exactly?”

“Huh?” Xie Feng blinked, realizing she had never thought about it before. “She’s probably the head of the department responsible for communications between Dawnstar and Noonstar, right? Otherwise, why would she be the one sending us that message?”

Dawnstar had a slightly larger population than Noonstar, but it was governed as a single federal state, unlike Noonstar, which was divided into six nations—well, five now.

Due to the limits of transmission speed, technological challenges, and the high cost of resources, their understanding of Dawnstar was only superficial. But Dawnstar’s example had long fueled the ambitions of some Noonstar leaders, who saw planetary unification as their ultimate dream.

“Lan Lingte mentioned that Dawnstar has multiple facilities capable of interstellar communication,” Dong Luorong said quietly. “So it’s clear that maintaining contact with Noonstar isn’t the exclusive responsibility of any one department. And she also said it was ironic that, in the end, it fell on her to send the warning.”

Xie Feng opened her mouth, stunned. That was true—if Lan Lingte were specifically in charge of Noonstar relations, it would make sense for her to send the warning. There wouldn’t be anything ironic about it.

“That’s not really a flaw,” Xie Feng said hesitantly. “There could be a lot of reasonable explanations…”

“Yes, there could be many reasonable explanations. That’s not the issue,” Dong Luorong agreed. “The real issue is that we haven’t heard a single explanation.”

Why was that an issue? Xie Feng struggled to keep up—her mind felt foggy again, and she wondered if she really might have a concussion from her earlier fall.

“Why would people who’ve evolved destroy their planet?” Dong Luorong murmured. “With their abilities, they could do whatever they wanted. They could have billions of people serve them. Why destroy the planet? What do they gain from it?”

In fact, many observers and a.n.a.lysts on Noonstar had asked the same question and come up with plausible theories. Of course, Dong Luorong wasn’t the first to raise this point. Xie Feng started to mention some of the existing theories, but Dong Luorong waved her off.

“I know. I’ve seen all of them—they each make sense in their own way. But the problem is, all these theories were our guesses. Lan Lingte never offered any reason or explanation herself.”

That was true.

“Even you understand the importance of money, yet posthumans supposedly ignore money and go after resources? And with that kind of power, they wouldn’t need to steal anything. Just by sitting there, people would flock to offer them whatever they wanted.” Dong Luorong gave a bitter, mocking smile. “Power, at its core, is the ability to control other people’s fates. And what’s stronger than ultimate, unpredictable force?”

‘That’s all true, but what do you mean: even I know how to use money?’ Xie Feng thought, feeling a bit offended.

“Of course, there must be reasonable explanations for that too. But once again, Lan Lingte provided none.”

At this point, Dong Luorong almost seemed to be talking to herself. If Xie Feng weren’t sitting next to her, she might not even have noticed she was speaking out loud.

“A doomsday struck five periods ago, meaning those posthumans must have appeared much earlier… With so many people developing such strange abilities, how did Dawnstar not notice? They only realized it when those abilities had evolved beyond the point of military control, and by then, the entire planet was doomed.”

This time, Xie Feng stayed silent, already guessing what Dong Luorong was about to say.

“It’s even stranger that Lan Lingte asked us to send rescue s.h.i.+ps. According to her, posthumans from Dawnstar’s population caused the apocalypse. So how could the remaining survivors just be ordinary people? The ones left behind are most likely the culprits—the posthumans. What’s even the point of saving them? Sending our s.h.i.+ps would just mean certain death.”

These weren’t new questions.

Answers were everywhere online, along with official explanations from the imperial authorities. But as Dong Luorong pointed out, the real issue was that Lan Lingte herself never provided any explanation.

Even if she was short on time and overwhelmed, she should have at least clarified the situation with the rescue s.h.i.+ps—especially since requesting help was one of the message’s key purposes. How could she expect anyone to risk their lives for a rescue without explaining the situation properly?

“You see the pattern here, don’t you?” Dong Luorong asked, glancing at Xie Feng.

“So, you’re saying…”

Dong Luorong suddenly paused, turning her head to stare directly at Xie Feng. Even though they were both women, Xie Feng couldn’t help but feel fl.u.s.tered under that gaze. Stammering, she asked, “Wh-what’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Dong Luorong asked quietly. “You’re freezing, aren’t you?”

Since earlier, Xie Feng hadn’t been able to stop s.h.i.+vering. Some of the chills were so intense her teeth had started chattering. She had thought she could tough it out, hoping she’d get used to the cold. But the discomfort was unbearable—waves of heat would rise between bouts of s.h.i.+vers, leaving her unable to tell whether she was freezing or burning up.

Dong Luorong leaned in and rested a cool, slender hand on Xie Feng’s forehead.

She was so close that Xie Feng could feel her breath on her cheek. Her eyes were pitch black—usually, when describing someone beautiful, it’s said that their eyes were l.u.s.trous. But, this was not the case with Dong Luorong: her eyes were devoid of light, so dark it felt like one glance could cause her to fall into them.

Xie Feng resisted the urge to tremble, not daring to move. It felt like her heart and mind had condensed into a single point that was being gently pressed beneath her fingertips.

“You seem to have a fever,” Dong Luorong said, tilting her head as if unsure. “Then again, everyone feels warmer to me when I touch them.”

As it turned out, Xie Feng really did have a fever.

After being frightened, caught in conflicts, and knocked unconscious, followed by getting soaked in the rain and chilled by the wind, it was impressive that she hadn’t fallen ill sooner. But once the fever hit, it came cras.h.i.+ng down like a landslide. She drifted in and out of consciousness, shaking with chills and unable to open her eyes.

This disease, Xie Feng was sick for three days.