The Heavens: A Qing, the Yue Girl at the beginning

Time can pass quickly or slowly.

The days and nights spent preparing for that unknown storm passed by like flowing water amidst the high tension and meticulous preparations.

Every moment of waiting and uncertainty is like a stretched rubber band, tightly bound to everyone's heart.

December 24, 12 PM, Binhai.

This year's weather has been noticeably unusual.

In previous years, this southern coastal city would have experienced at most damp and cold winter rain at this time, but this year, unusually, it was sleet. Snowflakes mixed with icy rain tapped against the windowpane, making a fine and crisp sound, before turning into winding streaks of water that slid down.

The sky was a somber, iron-gray, pressing down low, like an old, water-soaked felt cloth about to engulf the entire city.

The raindrops were dense, but the wind was strangely sluggish, making the chill all the more penetrating, sticking thickly to the surface of everything.

Looking out from the damp windows of this old apartment building, the road below is wet and reflects the dim yellow glow of the streetlights.

There were few pedestrians, and the few who were there were hunched over, wrapped tightly in their coats, hurrying along their way.

It's like they're eager to retreat to their warm nest at home.

Further away, the skyscrapers of the CBD appeared indistinct in the rain and snow. The World Trade Center, the Yanhuang Museum, the City Rooftop Garden, and the Regent Hotel, which used to be brightly lit all night long, now seemed to have lost their brilliance.

Only a few scattered points of light flickered on the gray background, revealing an unusual, almost desolate silence.

It seemed as if it could be extinguished by rain at any moment.

But life goes on.

No matter how unusual the weather or how subtle the atmosphere, nothing can stop the warmth and life in the kitchen of an ordinary family. The ordinary, even somewhat trivial, daily routine continues tenaciously.

"Mingfei, come on, eat more. Look at you, haven't you lost weight again lately?"

My aunt greeted me in a warm tone.

She picked up her chopsticks and placed a large, glistening piece of sweet and sour pork ribs into Lu Mingfei's bowl. Beside them, the sauerkraut stewed pork hock simmered enticingly in the casserole, while the fried pork liver emitted a rich aroma.

These are all takeout orders from Fuyuan Restaurant, delivered in red insulated bags printed with the golden character "福" (Fu, meaning good fortune).

In the center of the table, plump, freshly cooked dumplings steamed, sending up plumes of white vapor that blurred the faces of the uncle and Lu Mingze across the table. Several empty beer cans lay crookedly at their feet, the green aluminum foil of Tsingtao beer reflecting the light.

Uncle opened another can, and foam overflowed and dripped onto the tablecloth.

He stared at the television screen; CCTV13 was broadcasting the news. The female anchor's voice was steady and restrained: "...It is recommended that ordinary households stock up on a certain amount of daily necessities, including but not limited to drinking water, ready-to-eat food, and commonly used medicines...and familiarize themselves with the emergency evacuation routes and the location of civil defense facilities in their community..."

"My company also issued a notice today."

Uncle took a sip of beer. "Old Zhang said his nephew in the army leaked information that things aren't peaceful on the northern border. It's not that there's going to be a war, it's just... taking precautions."

The scene cuts to an emergency drill being held in a certain location, where people wearing orange rescue suits are moving through simulated ruins.

But the uncle clearly wasn't paying much attention; his gaze quickly returned to the table: "...This trend is making me a little uneasy. It's good to stock up on things, just in case prices go up someday..."

The aunt immediately interrupted the uncle, her tone reproachful: "Oh dear, why are you telling the child these things! Who are you trying to scare! Binhai is perfectly safe! Even if the sky falls, there are tall people to hold it up! We ordinary people should just live our own lives."

"Just eat your food!"

She turned her head, her face naturally displaying a smile that mixed pride and expectation, and said to Lu Mingfei, "Mingfei is doing very well now. The teachers at Shilan Middle School all praise him, saying that he respects his teachers and cares for his classmates, his grades in all subjects have improved rapidly, and he even got an excellent score in the physical education test."

"Even Mrs. Wang next door asked me if I had found a good tutor..."

As she spoke, the other end of her chopsticks poked Lu Mingze, who was silently shoveling rice into his mouth, and she scolded him with exasperation:
"Look at your brother! And look at you! Your grades are mediocre, and you're at the bottom of the class in PE! Can't you learn from your brother?! Even if you learn half of what he does, your dad and I will be laughing in the middle of the night!"

"A person needs to have a goal..."

Lu Mingze sullenly pursed his lips, not daring to utter a sound, and stuffed a piece of pork knuckle into his mouth, chewing until his cheeks were bulging.

After completing the family ethics training assigned by the community and earning all the "credits," the aunt seemed to have shed her past meanness, bias, and vanity, completely forgetting how drastically different her evaluation of her foster nephew had been not long ago.

In her eyes now, Lu Mingfei is a role model in life and a model student with a good reputation in the neighborhood.

Lu Mingfei lowered his head and rummaged through the food in his bowl.

The ribs were stewed until very tender, and the sweet and sour sauce seeped into the rice. The taste was actually quite good, but he ate it in a daze.

—Ever since that strange younger brother who called himself Lu Mingze came to his door and stuffed a bunch of so-called "cheating codes" into his hands;
Ever since Old Tang actually flew all the way from the US, patted him on the shoulder and said, "Brother, I'll teach you something real"; ever since he started trying those seemingly fantastical "spiritual cultivation methods"...

Everything has changed.

During several rounds of nationwide new-style physical examinations and the "spiritual root" qualification test, he deliberately hid and concealed himself, fearing that he would attract the attention of some kind of "slice study".

Even though it was only the tip of the iceberg, the result was still so dazzling that it was astonishing, leaving countless acquaintances speechless.

The principal and city leaders personally presented him with the award certificate. Research institutes from all over the country invited him to visit, and they even covered his food, lodging and travel expenses. There was even a special fund approved to support A-level talents in youth cultivation, which was deposited into the corresponding agent account of the development foundation.

The feeling was like a train derailing, carrying his life, which he could see the end of at a glance, and crashing headlong into the completely unknown, misty mountains.

The scenery outside the car window was bizarre and wonderful, but he gripped the armrest of the seat tightly, unsure whether what lay ahead was a fairyland or a cliff.

But everything has clearly gotten better.

He's no longer that loser.

Someone served him food.

The teacher looked at him with admiration.

He could even feel something warm and powerful flowing through his body, like a warm current in winter, lurking deep within his blood, ready to be mobilized by some mysterious will at any time.

But why would he still wake up suddenly in the middle of the night, staring at the old water stains on the ceiling, feeling as if he were walking on floating clouds, as if it were an overly realistic dream?

In the dream, he wore shining armor, held a sharp sword, and was surrounded by cheering crowds and poems of praise.

But he knew that dreams always come to an end.

When I woke up, the armor was made of paper and the sword was made of plastic.

The crowd consists of departing audience members.

The rain and snow outside the window seemed to be getting heavier.

The wind whistled through the gaps between the buildings. Lu Mingfei subconsciously looked out the window. Under the increasingly dim sky, the city lights blurred into indistinct patches of light in the rain and mist.

For a fleeting moment, he seemed to see something flash by in the depths of the clouds, high and far away—like the shadow of a giant wing, or like a non-human glimmer bursting from the depths of a pupil.

Cold, distant, carrying an ancient chill.

He blinked, and the shadow disappeared.

"Mingfei, what are you daydreaming about? The soup is getting cold."

His aunt served him another bowl of soup.

Lu Mingfei took the bowl, the steam hitting his face.

He lowered his head and took a big gulp.

The soup was very hot, warming me all the way from my esophagus to my stomach.

Perhaps, this is good enough. He thought.

Perhaps this dream can last a little longer.

On the television, the news anchor had already begun reporting the next news item: "...An unusual geomagnetic fluctuation has been detected at the Antarctic research station, and experts say it may be related to the solar activity cycle..."

The uncle muttered, "Even the sun is throwing a tantrum," and reached out to change the channel, switching to a satellite TV channel that was showing a family drama.

The drama is currently showing a scene of a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law arguing.

No one spoke again. The only sounds were the soft clinking of chopsticks against bowls and plates, the actors' rhythmic lines on television, and the continuous rustling of rain and snow outside the window.

The sound was faint and continuous, seemingly without end.

……

In a small, secluded Japanese garden deep in a bamboo grove on the outskirts of Kyoto, a different scene unfolds.

In the center of the courtyard is a small pond, its surface covered with a thin layer of ice, reflecting the warm orange light of the paper lanterns under the eaves.

The patterns etched by the white stones in the dry landscape garden resembled solidified waves under the moonlight. An old plum tree peeked over the wall, its branches already sprouting tiny, rice-grain-sized flower buds.

It will take some more time before the red and white plum blossoms bloom.

Erii sat under the eaves of the veranda on the side.

She was wearing a light pink kimono casual outfit, with a white haori over it. Her long hair was tied back with a simple wooden hairpin, and a few strands of hair fell down her cheeks.

There was a low table in front of him, piled high with books.

Not comics, not game guides, and not setting books for tokusatsu dramas—but thick books.

One book was Stephen Hawking's "A Brief History of Time," next to it was "On the Origin of Species," and there was even a Japanese translation of Sartre's "Being and Nothingness."

On the title page of "Basic Psychology" are notes written in red pen: "Emotions are not enemies to be eliminated, but messengers to be understood."

She read slowly, her delicate brows furrowing slightly, her slender fingers tracing each word across the pages. Occasionally, when she encountered something she didn't understand, she would stop and carefully jot down her questions.

The universe is 13.7 billion years old. It takes light eight minutes to travel from the sun to the earth. Humans learned to use fire 400,000 years ago. During Japan's Heian period, nobles wore twelve-layered kimonos, which weighed over 20 kilograms.

Her handwriting gradually became neat and fluent, from its initial awkwardness and crookedness, filling her mind little by little with these numbers, these facts, and these stories from distant times and spaces.

Like rain seeping into parched land.

She began to understand that the world was vast, far beyond the room she had once lived in, the game console, and the cartoons that played on repeat. The world was also complex, too complex to be simply summarized as "good guys defeat bad guys."

Humans experience joy and sorrow; love and betrayal; birth and death.

And all of these are forms of "wisdom." They enable people to truly understand the rules governing this world, to recognize the origins of life, and to contemplate the meaning of "existence" itself.

Each book opened a new window for her.

This process was not easy; sometimes she felt confused and tired. But whenever she understood a new concept or figured out a principle, an indescribable sense of fulfillment and joy would well up inside her.

I sensed something quietly growing and changing, which added a touch of clarity to my understanding.

A voice once told her: "Your innate 'talent' is not enough. What's most important is building your own solid and bright inner world. You must learn to think for yourself, judge for yourself, and choose for yourself."

"No powerful life should forever remain a sheltered, naive princess." "This requires a stronger mind to navigate..."

She remembered.

I slowly began to understand its meaning.

The former patriarch, Tachibana Masamune, that evil thing with a gentle mask, was actually deliberately cultivating her into a "weapon" with terrifying power but a mind that remained at the child stage, an easily manipulated tool and puppet.

"call--"

After a long while, she closed the book in her hands and let out a soft sigh. White moisture condensed into a small cloud of mist in the cold air, slowly dissipating. She turned her head slightly, looking at the snowflakes falling silently in the courtyard, her eyes clear and firm.

She was like a fawn in a quiet, snow-covered mountain forest, occasionally looking up with clear eyes.

In the distance, the faint sound of a temple bell could be heard, long and lonely, yet carrying a certain comforting power.

……

Siberia, where the depths beneath the permafrost are unknown.

The forward base has five underground floors, including the central control room.

Hundreds of server racks are arranged in a solemn matrix, with indicator lights flashing like breathing.

On the huge circular screen, a waterfall of data cascaded down.

Three-dimensional star maps, geological profiles, energy rheology curves, molecular structure simulations, and countless rapidly flashing code windows illuminated the entire room as a cold, vibrant blue.

In the heart of this ocean of data, the style of the scene is somewhat abrupt.

In front of a workbench filled with various electronic devices and tangled wires like a spider web, Fingel von Frings, former head of the press department at Kassel College and now senior technical advisor at "Guanghan Outpost," is sprawled in an ergonomic chair in an extremely undignified posture.

He held a bucket of KFC in his left hand, while his right hand's five fingers typed a dazzling array of afterimages on the mechanical keyboard.

It was so fast that it almost made the wind howl.

The greasy fried chicken leg lingered near his mouth for less than a second before being gnawed down to the bare bone, which he then tossed precisely into the trash can three meters away with a "clatter."

The rim of the coffee cup was stained with suspicious sauce, and several empty energy drink cans were scattered nearby.

On the split screen in front of him, a girl in shimmering blue was resting her chin on her hands, and below, in a separate chat window, text was scrolling upwards at an astonishing speed.

Finger types in a line, and EVA replies almost instantly, sometimes with an answer, sometimes with a new question or instruction.

[Finger: The parameters of the third zone heat dissipation module have overflowed. It is recommended to start the backup loop and lower the priority to B.]

[EVA: Implemented. Finger, your intake of fat and sodium has exceeded the recommended limits again. According to the health protocol, it is recommended that you choose a vegetable salad for your next meal.]

[Finger: Come on, EVA. Making a polar bear dance ballet in this godforsaken place is as unrealistic as expecting it to eat grass. Is the data synchronization complete? Check if it's a floating-point precision issue. I've highlighted the suspected code segment in red.]

[EVA: Fluctuation model data has been received and integrated. Background radiation data bias has been corrected.]

The delay issue with panel number 3 is expected to be resolved by the maintenance team in two hours. Backup fine-tuning array number 4 has been temporarily activated for compensation.

[Finger: I've got this sorted out. For supper, I want hot pot, clear broth, with lots of tripe and shrimp paste.]

[EVA: The hot pot order has been submitted to logistics and is expected to arrive at the C-7 rest area in 45 minutes. Tripe and shrimp paste are in ample stock. Finger, you have been working continuously for 37 hours.]

Physiological indicators show accumulated fatigue. A deep sleep cycle of at least 90 minutes is recommended.

Fingel paused for a moment, then grinned, reached out and stuffed the last fry into his mouth, and continued typing.

[Finger: Checking the progress of the crisis recursion test.]

【EVA：收到，全环境测试预计于UTC时间12月25日02:00完成。当前进度98.3%。最终报告将在结果确认后0.5秒内生成并加密传输至指定终端。根据现有情报模型推演，‘危机窗口期’的概率峰值并未因‘元素束环’工程进度而产生统计学上的显著前移。】

Their conversations were wildly imaginative, ranging from meticulous equipment debugging and complex algorithm design to pointless banter.

Fingel still looked disheveled and unkempt, but his deep-set eyes shone with a focused light that only appeared when facing the most complex code and the "people" he trusted most.

He is no longer the Finger who only posts gossip and chats on the Night Watchers forum. He is a top hacker who can get the super AI EVA to cooperate fully. He is one of the few humans in this cold steel fortress with a fiery core.

On the workbench, a half-eaten hamburger gradually cooled down.

……

In Greenland, a top-secret joint research base deep beneath the ice sheet, codenamed "Yihe".

The temperature here is abnormally high.

At the heart of the base is a massive spherical cavity, with barriers composed of alternating layers of transparent superalloy and obscure microwave-absorbing material, and a network of cooling circulation microtubes throughout.

In the center of the cavity, suspended, is a light source that is too bright to look at directly—the "Solar Fire-Qi Exchange Catalytic Fusion Experimental Reactor".

Despite its maximum temperature being only around 500 million K, the density and power output of the bound plasma are thousands of times higher than those of conventional reactors due to the softening of the Coulomb barrier. It emits extremely powerful and soul-stirring light and heat, and the fire element tide is so dense that it can cause ancient alchemical measuring boxes to explode.

Even with multiple layers of protection and specially designed observation windows, the radiation levels that ordinary people experience are still far beyond the lethal dose, making it impossible for them to get close; otherwise, their blood would evaporate and their genes would disintegrate.

Not far from this artificial sun, on the edge of a scorching hell, a figure was silently enduring the baptism of this environment, transforming it into a furnace for forging itself.

Chu Zihang was only wearing a close-fitting black high-intensity training suit. His exposed skin was covered with a fine layer of sweat, which was instantly evaporated by the high temperature, leaving behind white salt stains.

He sat cross-legged on a specially made high-temperature resistant mat with his eyes closed, his body enveloped in an extremely thin yet exceptionally condensed layer of dark golden flame, which was a new type of "Monarch Flame" that was highly compressed and controlled.

He is "feeling".

Feel the restrained, raging power of the sun, feel the primordial energy flowing within it, which is of the same origin as your own "Sovereign Flame" but is even larger and purer, feel the subtle resonance between the "Yellow Heaven Great Law," which has reached the ninth level, and the vast heat of the outside world.

Every single thread and every minute detail is clearly visible.

This is part of his daily spiritual practice.

In this extreme environment, his control over the fire elemental energy, his understanding of his own power, and his comprehension of the profound meridians of "Ultimate Yang Without Limit" all improved at an astonishing rate.

During a break in training, Chu Zihang walked to the rest area on the side, where there was a simple metal table.

He opened his heavily shielded laptop and connected it to a special encrypted channel. The screen lit up, displaying an email editing interface. Recipient: Su Xiaoyan. Subject: Merry Christmas, Mom.

He flexed his somewhat stiff fingers and then tapped the recording function. The background sound was the deep, constant hum of the fusion reactor, but when he spoke, his voice was deliberately adjusted to be calm and soothing.

It even carried a tone unique to young people, slightly tired but positive due to busy studies.

"Mom, it's me. Merry Christmas. Well, everything's fine here. My supervisor's project is progressing smoothly, but there's a lot of data, so I've been staying up late a lot lately."

"However, the lab conditions are very good, and my classmates are very helpful."

"By the way, our team went to Tromsø last week. It's close to the Arctic Circle. Unfortunately, we didn't see the aurora borealis, but we did eat a lot of delicious cod..."

"How have you been sleeping lately? I remember you said you sometimes had trouble sleeping after experiencing the weightlessness walk outside the space station. I asked a classmate to order the new 'Shenzhao II True Qi Capsules' from you, they should have arrived with the sweater. Taking one before bed should help a bit."

"Don't worry, I've asked the doctor, and the ingredients are very safe."

This is already the umpteenth time he has set up emails in recent months. Each one has been carefully arranged with the date, weather, and observations, forming a complete timeline. The content is trivial yet real, and with careful embellishment, it depicts his busy, fulfilling, and safe overseas study experience.

All danger, bloodshed, and uncertainty were strictly filtered out, and every word was carefully chosen.

Su Xiaoyan may never understand why an internationally renowned "mentor" would take a high school student as a role model and travel the world with him for research. But in her simple and loving mind, her son Chu Zihang has always been the most outstanding, the most reliable, and the one who never lies.

What your son says he's doing, that's what he's doing.

She was convinced of this and was happy to show off her precious son, who was "doing scientific research abroad," to her new friends.

She readily accepted even the bizarre opportunity of winning a "space monthly pass" experience voucher or a free trip to space in a lottery.

Little did they know that this was to get away from the ground and gain safety.

Recording ended, playback confirmed, no flaws found, saved, and set the sending time to 10:00 AM tomorrow.

Click, encrypt, upload, and enter the sending queue.

"Finished recording? It's quite long, and very emotional. Your tone and delivery are much better than your father's back in the day."

A man wearing an old black trench coat had somehow gotten up and was leaning against a large cooling pipe, holding a disposable lunchbox in his hand, and eating the braised large intestine inside with relish.

Beside him was a black metal box that looked unusually heavy, like a guitar case, but with sharp edges.

That was Chu Tianjiao.

Hearing his son finish another recording, he swallowed the food in his mouth, cleared his throat, and spoke in a slightly teasing tone:
"Hey...son, next time you write a letter and record it, can you mention me to your mom?"

"No need for much, just a brief mention."

"Just say... say that you bumped into your dad on the streets of Oslo. Say that after my divorce, I had a stroke of good luck, partnered with someone to start a small business, made a little money, and am living a really comfortable and carefree life!"

"But you must emphasize this: Dad has always kept you and your daughter in his heart. I've remained chaste, passing through countless women without a single petal clinging to me, all for the sake of one day..."

Chu Zihang paused slightly on the keyboard, without looking up: "You've got the location wrong. I'm currently at the Royal Institute of Technology in Stockholm, Sweden, on a short-term academic exchange. I'm not planning to go to Bergen, Norway until next week. The 'chance encounter' in Oslo doesn't make sense in terms of timeline."

"Tsk, still so unlovable." Chu Tianjiao muttered vaguely, "Couldn't you have changed the time and place as well? If you don't want to, just say so. Why pretend to be so serious?"

“You brat,” he said, not angry at all, and picked up another piece of thick sausage. “I’m doing this for her mental health. Letting her know that her ex-husband is doing well and hasn’t found someone else will make her feel better, and she might eat half a bowl more rice tonight.”

Chu Zihang closed his laptop, stood up, and remained silent for a moment. With his back to Chu Tianjiao, his voice was slightly hoarse from the heat: "Are you sure you don't want to go back and see her? Even just once?"

The chewing sounds behind him stopped. "I've seen the photos. He looks good, and he wins more than he loses at mahjong. That's good."

"Some things are better left unseen than met. Some lies are better told than not told. You're doing a good job right now, keep it up."

But these newly developed photos hanging on the wall of the residence were actually the result of Chu Tianjiao secretly taking photos with a remotely controlled drone.

"This stove is burning really hard, it's powerful enough."

Chu Tianjiao squinted at the artificial sun, golden flames dancing in his pupils, then turned around, picked up the box, and walked towards the exit of the chamber: "I'm going out for a smoke."

The heavy, airtight door opened and then closed again.

……

Saturn's rings, billions of kilometers away, lie in the deep, cold void of space.

The massive, smoky gray ice block shifted slightly, and a synchronized vibration emanated from its end, causing the engineering units attached to it to simultaneously ignite a ghostly blue tail flame.

The ion stream drew out an extremely thin beam in the vacuum, continuously applying a precise and gentle thrust, causing it to peel away from the ancient ribbon of billions of fragments that made up Saturn's rings, slowly deviating from its orbit that had been running for countless years, and sliding toward the predetermined traction and collection point.

Within the Cassini Ring, one miniature ring satellite after another, and even larger "propeller" satellites capable of generating significant gravitational disturbances, were silently reassembled from billions of tons of water ice and rock, becoming the supplies and fuel reserves for the escaped ship "Polaris." (End of Chapter)