I fabricated myths to guide the revival of spiritual energy.

The third day after the war.

When the global spiritual storm finally subsided, the tension that had been gripping the hearts of all humanity for so long, due to concerns about the survival of their race, finally began to ease.

For the first 72 hours, no one had time to grieve.

Although air raid sirens have been lifted in major cities, the entire society is still operating under a frantic overload.

The array masters worked day and night to repair the almost melted city shield, the engineering teams cleared the ruins left by the surge of spiritual energy in the streets, and the corridors of the field hospital were crowded with wounded soldiers whose meridians were damaged due to spiritual pressure overload.

Everyone is doing their best to heal the wounds left by this interdimensional war; exhaustion and adrenaline forcefully mask all emotions.

Until the afternoon of this third day.

That immense grief, delayed for three whole days, finally spread silently through the peaceful world.

……

In an old double apartment in the eastern part of Xin Chang'an City.

Cheng Fei, the underground array maintenance worker, dragged his leaden legs and used his fingerprint to push open the door to his home. He had been troubleshooting array pattern malfunctions in the underground spiritual vein hub for three days and three nights, and his body reeked of a mixture of machine oil, ozone, and sweat. The continuous high-intensity work had left his brain somewhat malfunctioning, and even his steps were a little unsteady.

The room was quiet.

The afternoon sun slanted through the gaps in the blinds, casting long shadows on the slightly warped wooden floor of the living room, while tiny golden dust particles floated in the air. Outside, the occasional low hum of a hovercraft drifted from the street, and everything seemed so peaceful and serene.

Cheng Fei changed into slippers, walked to the refrigerator as usual, opened the door, and took out two cans of chilled carbonated drinks.

He pulled open the tab of a can with one hand, and with a "hiss," cool carbonated bubbles overflowed. He tilted his head back and took a big gulp; the cold liquid flowed down his dry throat into his stomach, dispelling some of the nauseating fatigue.

He carried another unopened can of drink and shuffled towards the living room in his slippers.

"Rat, that broken array eye on the second basement level is finally fixed. Damn, it almost killed me..."

As Cheng Fei muttered to himself, he shook his aching arm and habitually tossed the can of drink in his hand toward the spot on the sofa that had been worn into it for years.

"Clatter".

The can wasn't caught steadily by a pair of hands wearing half-finger gloves as usual. It slammed onto the empty sofa cushion, then rolled down and landed on the wooden floor with a dull thud.

The can rolled twice along the floor, hit the coffee table leg, and came to a stop.

The room remained quiet.

Sunlight shone on the coffee table, where two unwashed instant noodle cups and a dusty game controller sat.

Cheng Fei froze on the spot, holding his half-finished drink.

His gaze fell on the lonely can of drink, then slowly moved to the empty sofa. In a daze, he seemed to see Mouse sitting there cross-legged, tossing an old lighter around in his hand, grinning at him with a mouthful of white teeth.

But those were just dust particles floating in the sunlight.

Only at this moment did the memories that had been forcibly suppressed deep in the subconscious by three days of intense work pierce through the surface like a sharp knife.

Ten days ago, Haozi, as one of the first fire control operators selected, boarded the "Breaking Wave 7" flagship bound for Jupiter's orbit. Last night, the military released a report on casualties on Jupiter, stating that the "Breaking Wave 7" broke apart during the dimensional distortion, with most of its compartments wiped out, and no one survived.

The can of beverage that had fallen to the ground had a layer of fine water droplets condense on its surface, which slowly slid off.

The beverage can in Cheng Fei's hand fell to the ground with a "bang," spilling dark brown liquid all over the floor.

He seemed to have all his strength drained away in an instant, and slowly, utterly exhausted, he knelt down on the floor. He stared at the empty sofa, his trembling hands covering his face tightly.

The afternoon sun was still warm, but in the deathly silence, tears streamed down Cheng Fei's rough fingers and fell silently onto the floor, leaving a small, dark stain.

……

The intensive rescue operation, which lasted for seventy-two consecutive hours, finally came to an end. With the stabilization of the Earth's spiritual veins, those wounded who were on the verge of exploding were also out of danger.

The young nurse, Lin Xiao, took off her protective suit, which was covered in blood and smelled of medicinal herbs, changed into her own casual clothes, and walked out of the heavy gate of the underground hospital.

On the streets in the early morning, street vendors had already set up their stalls again. Steam rose from the meat buns, carrying a rich, homely aroma in the cool morning breeze.

Lin Xiao walked to the familiar breakfast stall.

"Boss, two cups of hot soy milk, two baskets of meat buns, to go." She skillfully scanned the code to pay.

Carrying a steaming hot breakfast, Lin Xiao walked along the street towards her dormitory. A gentle breeze caressed her tired, pale face, bringing a long-lost sense of comfort. The alarm had been lifted, the sky had cleared, and the sense of crisis that had hung over all of humanity had finally dissipated; everyone had survived.

She walked to a bench on the street corner, slowly sat down, and took out her personal communication terminal from her pocket.

On the interface, the chat box at the top is her younger brother. The boy who grew up following her around since childhood, and later resolutely joined the Starfleet, being assigned to the "Cloud Abyss" escort ship as a trainee radar operator.

Communication networks were cut off when the major battle broke out three days ago. Now everything has returned to normal.

Lin Xiao tapped her fingertips lightly on the screen, a gentle smile playing on her lips.

[Sis's off work. The alert's off! What do you want to eat? I'll cook for you when you get back from your vacation.]

Click to send.

A glaring red exclamation mark popped up on the screen.

[System notification: This user's Lingbo ID has been deactivated; sending failed.]

Lin Xiao's finger, which was tapping the screen, stopped in mid-air.

The streets were bustling with traffic, and a long queue had formed in front of the steamed bun shop not far away. Several children with schoolbags ran past her, playing and laughing. Everything seemed so vibrant.

Lin Xiao stared blankly at the red exclamation mark on the screen.

A morning breeze blew by, brushing a yellow leaf from a branch above the bench, which landed right on the plastic bag she was carrying. Inside the bag, the extra cup of hot soy milk was slowly cooling down.

She slowly pressed the communication terminal to her chest and lowered her head.

She bit her lip so hard it bled. On this bright, sunny post-war morning, when everything seemed to be heading towards a brighter future, she sat on a bustling bench, her shoulders trembling violently, tears streaming down her face like a burst dam, yet she couldn't utter a sound.

……

Fifty-eight-year-old Lao Zhou is a heavy transport truck driver responsible for the allocation of urban supplies. In the past three days, he has driven his modified psionic truck back and forth countless times through the aftermath of the bombing and the shattered streets, transporting truckload after truckload of array repair materials to the front-line air defense positions.

His convoy was not granted a mandatory rest until the afternoon.

Old Zhou walked unsteadily down the familiar old alley. At the alley entrance, Grandpa Zhang was repairing a window shattered by the earthquake. Seeing Old Zhou, he waved from afar, "Old Zhou, off work? You've worked hard!"

"Hey, I'm off work. It's not hard work." Old Zhou smiled憨厚ly, took out his access card from his pocket, and swiped it to open the unit door of his dilapidated tenement building.

Pushing open the door, the house was somewhat dimly lit.

Old Zhou didn't turn on the light. He went to the kitchen, skillfully scooped two bowls of rice from the rice container, rinsed them clean, and then took out two pieces of mutated beast meat and a few green vegetables from the refrigerator, preparing to cook.

Old Zhou's wife passed away early, leaving him to raise his son, Zhou Xiaoming, single-handedly. Xiaoming was very sensible; knowing his family's financial situation was poor, he persevered and was admitted to the Dao Academy. After graduation, he became a proud interstellar frigate navigator.

Every time Xiaoming comes home on vacation, Lao Zhou will cook his favorite braised meat, and the father and son can chat all night long over a couple of ounces of liquor.

"Sizzle—"

As the meat was put into the pot, the range hood roared to life. The rich aroma of meat filled the small kitchen.

"You brat, now that the alert's over, it's time for a vacation, right?" Old Zhou muttered to himself as he stir-fried the meat in the pan. "He said he'd be back in a few days when he called last time, but this time I'm making sure he has a couple more drinks with me..."

The meal was prepared quickly.

Old Zhou placed two bowls of steaming rice on the table, put the plate of braised pork in the middle, and set out a clean set of chopsticks and bowls on the opposite side.

He took off his apron and, as was his habit, walked to the storage cabinet in the living room, intending to take out the bottle of fine wine that he had treasured for a long time.

Just then, his gaze fell on the coffee table.

I don't know when, maybe when he left in the morning, a small, square, black alloy box appeared on the coffee table. The box was covered with the military's gold emblem, and next to it was a piece of paper stamped with a red seal.

Old Zhou stood rooted to the spot.

In the kitchen, the old refrigerator compressor emitted a monotonous "humming" sound.

He slowly and somewhat sluggishly turned around and walked towards the coffee table. His hands, which were usually calloused and capable of steadily gripping the steering wheel of a heavy truck weighing over ten tons, were now trembling like leaves in the wind.

He didn't look at the words on the paper, but instead reached out with trembling hands and opened the black alloy box.

The box was lined with black velvet.

Inside was only a charred, deformed identification plaque with melted edges. On the back of the plaque, the words "Navigator - Zhou Xiaoming" could still be faintly seen.

Old Zhou stared blankly at the charred piece of iron for a very long time.

He stretched out his rough fingers and gently, carefully stroked the plaque, just like when he was a child stroking his sleeping son's cheek.

"You silly child..."

Old Zhou's voice was terribly hoarse, as if it were being torn from the deepest part of his chest. "Didn't we agree that you'd be back in a few days?"

He slowly picked up the plaque, walked to the dining table, pulled out a chair, and sat down in his seat.

Across the table was an empty bowl and chopsticks, and steaming hot rice.

Old Zhou picked up his chopsticks, took the largest piece of braised pork, and put it into the empty bowl opposite him.

Then, he picked up his rice bowl and shoveled mouthfuls of white rice into his mouth. Large tears fell into the rice bowl, mingling with the rice as he chewed and swallowed.

Outside, the afterglow of the setting sun bathed the city, now revitalized. From the distant square, the soothing strains of an unknown singer drifted through the air.

Humanity has won.

But in the tranquility of countless homes lit up with lights, there are always some corners that remain forever in that cold, starry night.