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Chapter 3: Sudden Death
The Ember Base was heavily guarded, and outsiders like Li Xingyuan weren’t allowed to linger for long.
If the beam of light Chen Yancheng spoke of truly held the potential to save humanity, Li Xingyuan should have immediately returned to Jiangcheng. But Chen Yancheng had admitted that the discovery was accidental, and its chances of being effective were slim at best.
“And you still want me to go to your lab and retrieve it?” Li Xingyuan couldn’t hide his frustration with his childhood friend.
“Who else can I trust? If not you, then who?” Chen Yancheng countered. “I’m destined to become an ember for the future anyway. This chance to play hero wouldn’t have come to you otherwise.”
Hero. That’s how they’d first bonded in elementary school—arguing over Ultraman, debating whether Tiga or Tarou was stronger, until their heated disagreement escalated into a physical fight. Afterward, they became inseparable friends.
Every man harbors dreams of heroism. But as Li Xingyuan rolled the word around in his mind, all he tasted was the bitterness of shattered aspirations.
When their meeting came to an end, Li Xingyuan struggled to find the right words for a heartfelt farewell. In the end, all he managed was a simple, “Take care.” Chen Yancheng merely smiled faintly and nodded.
They both knew this was goodbye—for good.
When Li Xingyuan met Old Liu again, the latter was washing the military jeep. With a towel slung over one shoulder, Old Liu meticulously scrubbed away scratches and mud from the vehicle. Seeing Li Xingyuan approach, he looked up. “Finished talking with Professor Chen?”
Li Xingyuan nodded, and so did Old Liu, without prying into the specifics of their conversation.
It wasn’t exactly a secret—Chen Yancheng hadn’t spoken in hushed tones, and Li Xingyuan was certain the escort soldier had overheard everything and would report it truthfully to his superiors. Still, Old Liu’s discretion earned him some respect.
As for the beam of light, given Li Xingyuan’s understanding of Chen Yancheng, he was sure his friend had already informed his superiors. Likely, no one believed him, which was why he turned to his most trusted companion.
A beam of light capable of saving humanity? How could such a thing be possible?
“How’s Pan Shuai doing?” Li Xingyuan asked, standing beside Old Liu as he pulled out his crumpled pack of Zhonghua cigarettes once more.
Old Liu shook his head, declining the offer. His focus remained on the car, scrubbing vigorously. “Sleeping inside. He’s exhausted from these past few days.”
Li Xingyuan hadn’t noticed before, but hearing this, a wave of fatigue washed over him—not just physical exhaustion, but the deep weariness that comes from finally relaxing after prolonged tension. He balled up the cigarette pack. “I’ll rest for a bit too. Thanks for everything, Old Liu.”
Old Liu shook his head. “When are we heading back to Jiangcheng?”
“Let’s stay a few more days. Rest up first, then we’ll leave,” Li Xingyuan replied with a tired smile. “You’re not from Jiangcheng, Old Liu. You don’t need to return with us. Go home.”
“I need to report back to my unit,” Old Liu replied firmly.
Li Xingyuan didn’t press further. He respected Old Liu’s decision.
The Ember Base had prepared a rudimentary dormitory for outsiders. The conditions were far from ideal, but given the circumstances, complaints seemed trivial. Inside the prefabricated structure, there was little more than a chair, a table, and two sets of bunk beds. The blankets were military green, and the air reeked of sweat and unwashed feet.
Pan Shuai lay on the lower bunk, facing the wall, fast asleep. A kettle simmered on the nearby table, emitting soft gurgling sounds.
Li Xingyuan pulled out a chair and sat down. Though physically drained, sleep eluded him. His mind felt cluttered, overwhelmed by the images of recent days and everything Chen Yancheng had told him.
The deep sea… the altered laws of physics materialized in his mind as towering black waves crashing down, suffocating and relentless.
The sound of bubbling water startled Li Xingyuan out of his reverie. He glanced at the kettle—it had boiled over.
Sitting there for a while, his body, initially heavy with fatigue, now ached as though it had stiffened into a corpse. Li Xingyuan picked up the kettle and poured himself a cup of scalding water.
“Pan Shuai,” he called softly, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Wake up and drink some water before going back to sleep.”
After finishing the water in the car, Li Xingyuan, Pan Shuai, and Old Liu hadn’t had anything to drink for quite some time. The area surrounding The Ember Base was desolate, and no one dared risk drinking from wild water sources.
Pan Shuai didn’t respond, likely sleeping too deeply—but then Li Xingyuan realized something was wrong. Pan Shuai’s snoring had stopped.
“Pan Shuai? Pan Shuai…” Li Xingyuan’s voice grew dry and hoarse. Then he shouted, “Old Liu!”
Old Liu rushed in immediately, his face tight, eyes blazing like molten steel. He strode over, quickly scanned the room, and then approached the bed, gripping Pan Shuai’s shoulder.
For a moment, his body froze. Slowly, it relaxed. He sat on the edge of the bed, cradling his comrade, and turned to Li Xingyuan.
“He’s gone.”
Pan Shuai was dead—the youngest of the three.
Li Xingyuan stared at Pan Shuai’s face. Over the past few days, he’d seen more corpses than in the previous twenty years combined, yet each one left an indelible mark. Pan Shuai’s face was bloated; one eye bulged grotesquely, half-open under swollen lids, clouded with yellowish spots. It reminded Li Xingyuan of the bloated whale carcass. Lying limp in Old Liu’s arms, Pan Shuai’s hair had fallen out in patches, leaving bald spots that made him look like a prematurely aged infant. Strangely, after just minutes, Li Xingyuan could barely recall what Pan Shuai’s normal face had looked like.
Pan Shuai had fallen asleep fully clothed, but his neatly arranged clothes now hung awkwardly. Beneath the fabric, irregularly shaped tumors swelled across his body, a hallmark of the mysterious radiation sickness that had been appearing frequently lately. It was a merciless death—sudden and irrational. At some point, every cell in his body seemed to betray him, transforming his flesh into fuel for the tumors.
If ordinary terminal illnesses were akin to a slow-approaching grim reaper, this radiation sickness was more like a meticulous cleaner. It methodically planned its work, sweeping humans—like stains—into the embrace of death in an orderly fashion.
Li Xingyuan patted Old Liu’s shoulder. “Let him go. He won’t suffer anymore.”
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