目录
v4.2.14

云虫

第四章 命运之锥

距第一次云中行走 三天后

傍晚的便利店亮得发白,玻璃门一开一合,漏出一点热柜的暖气和食物的味道。 街上的天色已经沉下去了,潮湿的风贴着台阶慢慢吹过来,灯光落在地上,像一层冷冷的水。

希扬一个人坐在门口的台阶上,低着头,手肘搭在膝上,不知在想什么。书包放在脚边,还有一瓶半满的矿泉水,安安静静地立在那里。

这时,一只手从旁边伸过来,轻轻拍了拍他的肩。

希扬回过头。

月牙儿正弯下腰,把一叠刚洗出来的照片递到他面前。

她这一天穿得和往常有些不一样,黑色的长裤,深色的短夹克,线条很利落,整个人像被夜色重新收束过一遍。 肩后还背着一把白色的贝斯,斜斜贴在身侧,在便利店冷白的灯光下显得格外扎眼。帽檐压得很低,几乎遮住了大半张脸,只留下灯光从侧面落下来,掠过她的鼻梁和唇角,映出一点冷冷的轮廓。

她低声道:

“照片洗出来了。”

希扬接过那叠照片,低头翻了两张。

“结果怎么样?”

月牙儿靠到身后的玻璃上,抱起手臂,语气淡淡的。

“跑了三家店,结果还是一样。全都过曝了。”

希扬没有说话,只把那几张照片一张张看过去。纸面上一片发白,像是被什么光狠狠灼过,原本该留下来的景物和人影几乎都被吞了进去,只剩下一些模糊不清的边缘。

月牙儿看着他,又补了一句:

“不过也不算全废。有几张还能勉强看出一点东西。”

希扬抬起头。

月牙儿把帽檐往下压了压,声音很轻,像是在回想那一瞬间。

“当时我脑子一片空白。等我反应过来手里还攥着相机的时候,张良他们已经转身要走了,最后只来得及在他们背过去的时候抓了几张。”

希扬把那几张单独抽出来,低头仔细看了一会儿。惨白模糊的底色里,果然还隐约压着两道背影,一高一低,边缘发散,像隔着一层旧梦,勉强还能看出人形。

“这几张还在。”

“嗯。”月牙儿淡淡道,“张良,还有那个刺客,背影都还剩一点。”

她停了一下,低头看着自己鞋尖,像是自嘲似的笑了笑。

“不过拿这种东西给别人看,也没人会信吧。”

希扬捏着那几张照片,沉默了片刻,才轻声道:

“至少它能证明一件事。”

月牙儿抬眼看他。

希扬也抬起头,看着她,声音很平静。

“至少能证明,我们没有疯。那天看到的东西,也不是幻觉。”

月牙儿安静了一瞬,帽檐下的神情看不分明,只是唇角那点淡淡的冷意,不知什么时候松了一点。她没接这句话,只是沉默了片刻,才轻声问:

“你那边呢?”

希扬低头看着手里的照片,停了停才道:

“差不多。白教授当晚就组了一个临时工作组,按我说的位置和参数又试了一次,用的是同样的设备,同样的频率,可最后还是什么都没有。云虫没再回应,像那天什么都没发生过一样。”

风吹过来,台阶边的一张小票被卷起来,在地上滚了半圈,又贴回墙角。

“听起来,倒像是我们两个刚好撞见了一次不该撞见的事。”

希扬笑了笑,那笑意却很淡,像是连他自己也说不清这算不算运气。

月牙儿低头看着脚边,声音也淡了下来:

“那你老师他们现在,大概也觉得我们是在胡说了。”

希扬摇了摇头。

“白教授信我。”

他说到这里顿了一下,目光落在台阶下潮湿发亮的地面上,

“只是没有办法继续。工作小组是临时组的,设备、场地、人手,全都要往上报。如果一直什么都复现不出来,就不可能一直耗下去。”

月牙儿低低“哦”了一声,神情倒并不意外,像是早就猜到了结局。

“所以还是停了。”

“嗯。”

便利店的自动门又开了一次,一个提着塑料袋的中年人从里面走出来,经过他们面前时,脚步明显慢了一下。

他先是看了希扬一眼,随即目光就落到月牙儿身上,带着那种毫不掩饰的、饶有兴味的打量,从帽檐、外套、长裤,一直扫到她脚边那把白色的贝斯,像是在看什么不该出现在这里的东西。

月牙儿显然很熟悉这种目光。她没有抬头,只是把帽檐又往下压了压,动作很轻,却带着一种本能的抗拒,像是想把自己再往阴影里藏深一点。直到那人提着塑料袋慢悠悠走远,她才重新抬起眼,神情里有一点淡淡的不耐,却很快又沉了下去。

两人之间安静了一会儿。

“你坐在这里做什么?”

月牙儿偏过头,忽然问道。

希扬看了看便利店门口跳动的电子钟,语气依旧平静。

“等七点半。七点半以后,这里的便当会半价。”

月牙儿怔了一下,随即低低笑了。

“原来高材生,也会做这种事。”

希扬没接这句,只是看着她,轻声问道:

“你呢?这么晚了,还要去哪里?”

月牙儿淡淡道:“有个演出。”

希扬的目光落到她放在一旁的贝斯上,停了停,低声道:

“酒吧?”

月牙儿没有否认,只是弯了弯嘴角,算是默认。

希扬沉默片刻,像是斟酌过,才轻声问了一句:

“我能去看吗?”

月牙儿一下笑了,抬起手,在他眼前慢悠悠地竖起一根手指,轻轻晃了晃。那意思很明白:不行。像他这样的人,不该去那种地方。

希扬也笑了笑,没有再追问。

月牙儿抬手拨了拨颊边的碎发,顺势在他身边坐了下来,只是比他高出一截台阶。她坐下来的动作很轻,像只敏捷的猫,衣角擦过台阶边缘,也只带起一点极细微的声响,转眼就被夜里的风吞没了。

希扬只觉得她坐得很近。晚风从街口吹过来,夹带着她身上淡淡的香味,若有若无,却又让人无论如何都没法忽略。

便利店的灯冷冷照在玻璃上,门口人来人往,夹杂着各种喧嚣的人声。

希扬低着头,手里还捏着那几张发白的照片,沉默了好一会儿,才忽然低声说了一句:

“月牙儿,我们再去一次吧。去云虫脚下。”

月牙儿微微一怔,转过头看了他两秒,才淡淡开口:

“现在去不了。它已经走到海上了,我们够不着。”

“那就等它登陆以后。”

月牙儿轻轻摇了摇头,像是在说他把事情想得太简单了。

“等它登陆,就已经到市区了。脚下那一带早就会被封起来,封锁线、警戒区、记录站,什么都会有。”

希扬抬起头,看着前面的街灯,停了一下,才说:

“我已经和白教授申请过临时工作证了,两张。等它登陆以后,只要说我们是云虫观察记录员,就能进去。”

月牙儿听到这里,唇角轻轻弯了弯。

“哦?”她把尾音拖得有些长,“我现在也算你们工作组的人了?”

希扬一时没接上话。

月牙儿看着他,忍不住又添了一句:

“那你们给不给我发工资?”

希扬怔了一下,耳根隐约有点发热,神情却还是一本正经的。

“要是有的话……”他顿了顿,声音低下来一点,“我的那份也给你。”

月牙儿憋住笑,低头压了压帽檐,只觉得这人认真得有点好玩。

风吹过台阶边缘,把她放在膝上的那几张照片轻轻掀起一角。月牙儿伸手把它按住,笑意也渐渐淡了下去。她低头看着照片,沉默片刻,忽然轻声问:

“你是不是觉得,只有我们两个,才能跟云虫说上话?所以你才非要再去一次,是不是?”

希扬沉默了一会儿,才轻轻点了点头。

“白教授他们那边折腾了这么久,设备、参数、频率,什么都试过了,结果还是一点反应都没有。可偏偏是我们,偏偏是那一天,偏偏就在那个地方,收到了它的回信。”

月牙儿听完,低低笑了一声,那笑意很淡,倒更像一种自嘲。

“你这个年纪的小孩,是不是都爱做这种救世主的梦?”

她把照片收回怀里,抱着膝盖,目光落在街对面那一片模糊的灯火上。

“你看看我们两个,一个坐在便利店门口等半价便当,一个赶着去酒吧卖笑。拯救世界这种事,怎么想也不该轮到我们。不是更应该留给那些站在高处、正在享受这个世界的人吗?世界是他们的,当然也该由他们去救。”

希扬没有接话,只是安静地看着她。

月牙儿的声音慢慢低了下去,轻得像是要被风吹散。

“何况,这个世界也没那么值得。”

夜色已经完全沉下来了。便利店的白光照着她半张脸,帽檐却压得很低,把她眼里的神色遮去了大半。希扬转过头,像是想越过那片阴影,看清她的眼睛。他看了她一会儿,声音也跟着轻了下来,甚至带着一点试探的意味:

“如果……我是说如果,真的有这样一个机会落到你手里,并不需要你做什么惊天动地的事,只要你举手之间,就能替这个世界做一个正确的选择——你会吗?”

月牙儿没有立刻回答。

她低着头,帽檐下的神情仍旧看不分明。过了很久,才淡淡开口:

“这个世界不配。”

月牙儿说完这句话,自己也静了一下。她像是忽然觉得这话说得太重了,便低头笑了笑,语气也淡了几分。

“算了。” 她轻声道,“你应该听过这么一句话——生命是一袭华美的袍,爬满了蚤子。”

希扬安静地看着她,过了片刻,才低声开口:

“那你也应该听过这一句。”

便利店冷白的灯光勾勒出少年清瘦的轮廓,他的声音里有一种很固执的平静。

“我们都生活在阴沟里,”他说,“但仍有人在仰望星空。”

月牙儿微微怔了一下。

像是心里某个柔软的地方,被人极轻地碰了一下。她原本还想再搬出哪一句名言顶回去,可话到了嘴边,却忽然散了。

她沉默了片刻,终究什么也没再说,只把照片收好,站起身,把贝斯和背包重新背到肩上,转身朝街口走去。

走出几步,她又停了下来,回头看了他一眼。

希扬还坐在便利店门口的台阶上, 身上那件校服已经洗得有些发白, 肩背清瘦,脚边放着那个反复用了许多次的矿泉水瓶。怎么看都只是个过分节俭、甚至有些落魄的少年,坐在那里等七点半后的半价便当 —— 实在谈不上体面,甚至还带着一点说不出的好笑。

可就在那一瞬间,月牙儿忽然觉得,这个人和她从前见过的那些人都不一样。

那感觉又让她莫名想起了那个戴着半张面具、一身剑气、决心刺杀秦始皇的青年。他们其实并不相像,可偏偏又有某种说不清的相似。明知世道污浊,前路未卜,却还是不肯熄掉心中的那抹光。

月牙儿站在原地看了几秒,眼神有些恍惚。

夜色里,车灯流转,人声杂沓,那个少年依旧安安静静地坐在台阶上。

他在仰望星空。

生命是一袭华美的袍,爬满了蚤子 - 张爱玲 (1940)

我们都生活在阴沟里,但仍有人仰望星空。 - 奥斯卡·王尔德(1892)

雲蟲

第四章 命運之錐

距第一次雲中行走 三天後

傍晚的便利店亮得發白,玻璃門一開一合,漏出一點熱櫃的暖氣和食物的味道。 街上的天色已經沉下去了,潮溼的風貼着臺階慢慢吹過來,燈光落在地上,像一層冷冷的水。

希揚一個人坐在門口的臺階上,低着頭,手肘搭在膝上,不知在想什麼。書包放在腳邊,還有一瓶半滿的礦泉水,安安靜靜地立在那裏。

這時,一隻手從旁邊伸過來,輕輕拍了拍他的肩。

希揚回過頭。

月牙兒正彎下腰,把一疊剛洗出來的照片遞到他面前。

她這一天穿得和往常有些不一樣,黑色的長褲,深色的短夾克,線條很利落,整個人像被夜色重新收束過一遍。 肩後還揹着一把白色的貝斯,斜斜貼在身側,在便利店冷白的燈光下顯得格外扎眼。帽檐壓得很低,幾乎遮住了大半張臉,只留下燈光從側面落下來,掠過她的鼻樑和脣角,映出一點冷冷的輪廓。

她低聲道:

“照片洗出來了。”

希揚接過那疊照片,低頭翻了兩張。

“結果怎麼樣?”

月牙兒靠到身後的玻璃上,抱起手臂,語氣淡淡的。

“跑了三家店,結果還是一樣。全都過曝了。”

希揚沒有說話,只把那幾張照片一張張看過去。紙面上一片發白,像是被什麼光狠狠灼過,原本該留下來的景物和人影幾乎都被吞了進去,只剩下一些模糊不清的邊緣。

月牙兒看着他,又補了一句:

“不過也不算全廢。有幾張還能勉強看出一點東西。”

希揚抬起頭。

月牙兒把帽檐往下壓了壓,聲音很輕,像是在回想那一瞬間。

“當時我腦子一片空白。等我反應過來手裏還攥着相機的時候,張良他們已經轉身要走了,最後只來得及在他們背過去的時候抓了幾張。”

希揚把那幾張單獨抽出來,低頭仔細看了一會兒。慘白模糊的底色裏,果然還隱約壓着兩道背影,一高一低,邊緣發散,像隔着一層舊夢,勉強還能看出人形。

“這幾張還在。”

“嗯。”月牙兒淡淡道,“張良,還有那個刺客,背影都還剩一點。”

她停了一下,低頭看着自己鞋尖,像是自嘲似的笑了笑。

“不過拿這種東西給別人看,也沒人會信吧。”

希揚捏着那幾張照片,沉默了片刻,才輕聲道:

“至少它能證明一件事。”

月牙兒抬眼看他。

希揚也抬起頭,看着她,聲音很平靜。

“至少能證明,我們沒有瘋。那天看到的東西,也不是幻覺。”

月牙兒安靜了一瞬,帽檐下的神情看不分明,只是脣角那點淡淡的冷意,不知什麼時候鬆了一點。她沒接這句話,只是沉默了片刻,才輕聲問:

“你那邊呢?”

希揚低頭看着手裏的照片,停了停才道:

“差不多。白教授當晚就組了一個臨時工作組,按我說的位置和參數又試了一次,用的是同樣的設備,同樣的頻率,可最後還是什麼都沒有。雲蟲沒再回應,像那天什麼都沒發生過一樣。”

風吹過來,臺階邊的一張小票被捲起來,在地上滾了半圈,又貼回牆角。

“聽起來,倒像是我們兩個剛好撞見了一次不該撞見的事。”

希揚笑了笑,那笑意卻很淡,像是連他自己也說不清這算不算運氣。

月牙兒低頭看着腳邊,聲音也淡了下來:

“那你老師他們現在,大概也覺得我們是在胡說了。”

希揚搖了搖頭。

“白教授信我。”

他說到這裏頓了一下,目光落在臺階下潮溼發亮的地面上,

“只是沒有辦法繼續。工作小組是臨時組的,設備、場地、人手,全都要往上報。如果一直什麼都復現不出來,就不可能一直耗下去。”

月牙兒低低“哦”了一聲,神情倒並不意外,像是早就猜到了結局。

“所以還是停了。”

“嗯。”

便利店的自動門又開了一次,一個提着塑料袋的中年人從裏面走出來,經過他們面前時,腳步明顯慢了一下。

他先是看了希揚一眼,隨即目光就落到月牙兒身上,帶着那種毫不掩飾的、饒有興味的打量,從帽檐、外套、長褲,一直掃到她腳邊那把白色的貝斯,像是在看什麼不該出現在這裏的東西。

月牙兒顯然很熟悉這種目光。她沒有抬頭,只是把帽檐又往下壓了壓,動作很輕,卻帶着一種本能的抗拒,像是想把自己再往陰影裏藏深一點。直到那人提着塑料袋慢悠悠走遠,她才重新抬起眼,神情裏有一點淡淡的不耐,卻很快又沉了下去。

兩人之間安靜了一會兒。

“你坐在這裏做什麼?”

月牙兒偏過頭,忽然問道。

希揚看了看便利店門口跳動的電子鐘,語氣依舊平靜。

“等七點半。七點半以後,這裏的便當會半價。”

月牙兒怔了一下,隨即低低笑了。

“原來高材生,也會做這種事。”

希揚沒接這句,只是看着她,輕聲問道:

“你呢?這麼晚了,還要去哪裏?”

月牙兒淡淡道:“有個演出。”

希揚的目光落到她放在一旁的貝斯上,停了停,低聲道:

“酒吧?”

月牙兒沒有否認,只是彎了彎嘴角,算是默認。

希揚沉默片刻,像是斟酌過,才輕聲問了一句:

“我能去看嗎?”

月牙兒一下笑了,抬起手,在他眼前慢悠悠地豎起一根手指,輕輕晃了晃。那意思很明白:不行。像他這樣的人,不該去那種地方。

希揚也笑了笑,沒有再追問。

月牙兒抬手撥了撥頰邊的碎髮,順勢在他身邊坐了下來,只是比他高出一截臺階。她坐下來的動作很輕,像只敏捷的貓,衣角擦過臺階邊緣,也只帶起一點極細微的聲響,轉眼就被夜裏的風吞沒了。

希揚只覺得她坐得很近。晚風從街口吹過來,夾帶着她身上淡淡的香味,若有若無,卻又讓人無論如何都沒法忽略。

便利店的燈冷冷照在玻璃上,門口人來人往,夾雜着各種喧囂的人聲。

希揚低着頭,手裏還捏着那幾張發白的照片,沉默了好一會兒,才忽然低聲說了一句:

“月牙兒,我們再去一次吧。去雲蟲腳下。”

月牙兒微微一怔,轉過頭看了他兩秒,才淡淡開口:

“現在去不了。它已經走到海上了,我們夠不着。”

“那就等它登陸以後。”

月牙兒輕輕搖了搖頭,像是在說他把事情想得太簡單了。

“等它登陸,就已經到市區了。腳下那一帶早就會被封起來,封鎖線、警戒區、記錄站,什麼都會有。”

希揚抬起頭,看着前面的街燈,停了一下,才說:

“我已經和白教授申請過臨時工作證了,兩張。等它登陸以後,只要說我們是雲蟲觀察記錄員,就能進去。”

月牙兒聽到這裏,脣角輕輕彎了彎。

“哦?”她把尾音拖得有些長,“我現在也算你們工作組的人了?”

希揚一時沒接上話。

月牙兒看着他,忍不住又添了一句:

“那你們給不給我發工資?”

希揚怔了一下,耳根隱約有點發熱,神情卻還是一本正經的。

“要是有的話……”他頓了頓,聲音低下來一點,“我的那份也給你。”

月牙兒憋住笑,低頭壓了壓帽檐,只覺得這人認真得有點好玩。

風吹過臺階邊緣,把她放在膝上的那幾張照片輕輕掀起一角。月牙兒伸手把它按住,笑意也漸漸淡了下去。她低頭看着照片,沉默片刻,忽然輕聲問:

“你是不是覺得,只有我們兩個,才能跟雲蟲說上話?所以你才非要再去一次,是不是?”

希揚沉默了一會兒,才輕輕點了點頭。

“白教授他們那邊折騰了這麼久,設備、參數、頻率,什麼都試過了,結果還是一點反應都沒有。可偏偏是我們,偏偏是那一天,偏偏就在那個地方,收到了它的回信。”

月牙兒聽完,低低笑了一聲,那笑意很淡,倒更像一種自嘲。

“你這個年紀的小孩,是不是都愛做這種救世主的夢?”

她把照片收回懷裏,抱着膝蓋,目光落在街對面那一片模糊的燈火上。

“你看看我們兩個,一個坐在便利店門口等半價便當,一個趕着去酒吧賣笑。拯救世界這種事,怎麼想也不該輪到我們。不是更應該留給那些站在高處、正在享受這個世界的人嗎?世界是他們的,當然也該由他們去救。”

希揚沒有接話,只是安靜地看着她。

月牙兒的聲音慢慢低了下去,輕得像是要被風吹散。

“何況,這個世界也沒那麼值得。”

夜色已經完全沉下來了。便利店的白光照着她半張臉,帽檐卻壓得很低,把她眼裏的神色遮去了大半。希揚轉過頭,像是想越過那片陰影,看清她的眼睛。他看了她一會兒,聲音也跟着輕了下來,甚至帶着一點試探的意味:

“如果……我是說如果,真的有這樣一個機會落到你手裏,並不需要你做什麼驚天動地的事,只要你舉手之間,就能替這個世界做一個正確的選擇——你會嗎?”

月牙兒沒有立刻回答。

她低着頭,帽檐下的神情仍舊看不分明。過了很久,才淡淡開口:

“這個世界不配。”

月牙兒說完這句話,自己也靜了一下。她像是忽然覺得這話說得太重了,便低頭笑了笑,語氣也淡了幾分。

“算了。” 她輕聲道,“你應該聽過這麼一句話——生命是一襲華美的袍,爬滿了蚤子。”

希揚安靜地看着她,過了片刻,才低聲開口:

“那你也應該聽過這一句。”

便利店冷白的燈光勾勒出少年清瘦的輪廓,他的聲音裏有一種很固執的平靜。

“我們都生活在陰溝裏,”他說,“但仍有人在仰望星空。”

月牙兒微微怔了一下。

像是心裏某個柔軟的地方,被人極輕地碰了一下。她原本還想再搬出哪一句名言頂回去,可話到了嘴邊,卻忽然散了。

她沉默了片刻,終究什麼也沒再說,只把照片收好,站起身,把貝斯和揹包重新背到肩上,轉身朝街口走去。

走出幾步,她又停了下來,回頭看了他一眼。

希揚還坐在便利店門口的臺階上, 身上那件校服已經洗得有些發白, 肩背清瘦,腳邊放着那個反覆用了許多次的礦泉水瓶。怎麼看都只是個過分節儉、甚至有些落魄的少年,坐在那裏等七點半後的半價便當 —— 實在談不上體面,甚至還帶着一點說不出的好笑。

可就在那一瞬間,月牙兒忽然覺得,這個人和她從前見過的那些人都不一樣。

那感覺又讓她莫名想起了那個戴着半張面具、一身劍氣、決心刺殺秦始皇的青年。他們其實並不相像,可偏偏又有某種說不清的相似。明知世道污濁,前路未卜,卻還是不肯熄掉心中的那抹光。

月牙兒站在原地看了幾秒,眼神有些恍惚。

夜色裏,車燈流轉,人聲雜沓,那個少年依舊安安靜靜地坐在臺階上。

他在仰望星空。

生命是一襲華美的袍,爬滿了蚤子 - 張愛玲 (1940)

我們都生活在陰溝裏,但仍有人仰望星空。 - 奧斯卡·王爾德(1892)

CloudInsect

Chapter 4: The Cone of Fate

Three days after their first walk among the clouds

The convenience store at dusk glowed a stark white. Its glass doors slid open and shut, leaking a little warmth from the hot-food case and the smell of cooked food. The sky over the street had already darkened. Damp wind crept slowly along the steps, and the light spread across the ground like a sheet of cold water.

Suvan sat alone on the steps outside the entrance, head lowered, elbows resting on his knees, lost in thought. His backpack lay at his feet, beside a half-full bottle of water standing there in silence.

Then a hand reached in from the side and lightly tapped his shoulder.

He turned.

Mahina was bending down, holding out a stack of freshly developed photographs.

She was dressed a little differently from usual that day: black trousers, a dark short jacket, the lines of it clean and sharp, as though the night itself had tightened around her. A white bass hung behind one shoulder, slanting against her side, startlingly bright beneath the convenience store’s cold white lights. The brim of her cap was pulled low, hiding most of her face, so that only the light skimming across her nose and lips gave her profile a faint, cold outline.

Softly, she said,

“The photos are developed.”

Suvan took the stack and flipped through the top two.

“How did they turn out?”

Mahina leaned back against the glass behind her, folding her arms, her tone flat.

“Three different shops. Same result every time. Every single one overexposed.”

He said nothing, only kept looking through them one by one. The paper was washed almost white, as though some fierce light had scorched through it. The scenery and figures that should have remained had nearly all been swallowed, leaving behind only blurred, uncertain traces.

Mahina watched him and added,

“Not a total loss, though. A few of them still show something.”

He looked up.

She tugged the brim of her cap a little lower, her voice light, as though she were stepping back into that instant in her mind.

“My head was completely blank back then. By the time I realized I was still holding the camera, Zhang Liang and the others were already turning away. I only managed a few shots as they were leaving.”

Suvan pulled those few out and studied them carefully. Beneath the pale, ruined wash of light, there really were two dim silhouettes pressed into the frame, one taller than the other, their edges feathered and scattered, as though seen through the residue of an old dream. Barely enough to tell they were human.

“These are still there,”

“Yeah.” Mahina’s voice stayed cool. “Zhang Liang. And that assassin. You can still make out a bit of their backs.”

She paused, lowered her gaze to the tip of her shoe, and gave a faint, almost self-mocking smile.

“But if you showed these to anyone else, nobody would believe it.”

Suvan held the photos between his fingers in silence for a moment, then said quietly,

“At least they prove one thing.”

She looked up at him.

He lifted his head too and met her gaze, his voice calm.

“At least they prove we weren’t crazy. Whatever we saw that day, it wasn’t a hallucination.”

Mahina fell quiet for a moment. Beneath the brim of her cap, her expression remained unreadable, but the faint coldness at the corner of her mouth seemed, somehow, to loosen. She did not answer that. After a pause, she asked softly,

“What about your side?”

Suvan lowered his eyes to the photos in his hands and paused before answering.

“About the same. Professor Bai assembled a temporary team that very night. They went back to the exact location and parameters I gave them, used the same equipment, the same frequency, and still got nothing. CloudInsect never answered again. As if nothing had happened that day.”

A gust of wind came through. A scrap of receipt paper rolled halfway across the ground before sticking again by the wall.

“It almost sounds like the two of us just happened to stumble into something we were never supposed to see.”

Suvan smiled, but only faintly, as though even he himself could not decide whether it counted as luck.

Mahina lowered her gaze to the ground by her feet, her voice dimming with the light.

“So your professor and the others probably think we’re making it up now.”

He shook his head.

“Professor Bai believes me.”

He stopped there for a second, his eyes dropping to the damp, gleaming pavement below the steps.

“He just can’t keep it going. The team was temporary. The equipment, the site, the personnel—all of it has to be approved. If nothing can be reproduced, you can’t keep burning resources forever.”

Mahina let out a low little “oh.” She didn’t look surprised, as though she had expected that ending from the start.

“So it’s stopped, then.”

“Yeah.”

The automatic doors slid open once more. A middle-aged passerby carrying a plastic bag stepped out, slowed noticeably as they passed, glanced first at Suvan, then let their gaze settle on Mahina. It was the kind of open, shameless scrutiny people reserved for someone they found strange—from the brim of her cap to her jacket and trousers, down to the white bass by her feet, as if she were something that did not belong in the world around them.

Mahina was clearly used to that kind of gaze. She did not look up. She only tugged the brim of her cap lower, lightly, instinctively, as though trying to sink herself further into shadow. Only after the person had drifted away did she lift her eyes again. There was a trace of irritation there, but it faded almost at once.

Silence settled between them for a while.

“What are you doing sitting here?”

she asked suddenly, turning her head a little.

Suvan glanced at the digital clock over the convenience store entrance. His tone was still even.

“Waiting for seven-thirty. After seven-thirty, the boxed meals go half-price.”

Mahina blinked, then let out a low laugh.

“So even top students do this.”

He did not answer that. He only looked at her and asked softly,

“What about you? Where are you going so late?”

“I’ve got a show.”

His eyes dropped to the bass beside her.

“A bar?”

Mahina did not deny it. She only curved her lips a little, which was answer enough.

He hesitated, as though weighing the words carefully, then asked in a low voice,

“Can I come watch?”

That made her smile properly. She raised one finger in front of him and slowly wagged it once. The meaning was obvious: no. Someone like him had no business going to a place like that.

Suvan smiled too and did not press any further.

Mahina lifted a hand, brushed the loose strands of hair by her cheek aside, and then, in the same motion, sat down beside him, one step higher. She moved lightly, almost catlike, the edge of her jacket just barely whispering against the step before the sound was swallowed by the night wind.

He only felt how close she was now. The breeze coming off the street carried with it a faint trace of her perfume—so light it almost dissolved into the air, and yet impossible to ignore.

The convenience store lights shone cold against the glass. People moved in and out, carrying with them the ordinary noise of the city.

Suvan lowered his head, still holding those pale, ruined photographs. After a long silence, he said quietly,

“Mahina, let’s go again. Back to the foot of CloudInsect.”

She turned toward him, startled, and looked at him for two full seconds before answering.

“We can’t. It’s already moved out over the sea. We can’t reach it.”

“Then we wait until it makes landfall.”

Mahina gave a faint shake of her head, the gesture saying more clearly than words that he was making it sound too simple.

“By the time it reaches land, it’ll already be inside the city. The whole area under it will be sealed off—blockades, checkpoints, observation stations, all of it.”

Suvan lifted his head and looked toward the streetlights ahead. After a pause, he said,

“I already asked Professor Bai for temporary work permits. Two of them. Once it lands, if we say we’re CloudInsect observation recorders, we’ll be able to get in.”

At that, the corner of Mahina’s mouth lifted slightly.

“Oh?” she drew the word out slightly. “So I’m part of your team now?”

For a second, he had no answer.

She watched him, then added, unable to resist,

“Do I at least get paid?”

Suvan froze for a beat. A faint flush rose near his ears, though his expression remained almost solemnly serious.

“If there is pay…” He paused, lowering his voice a little. “You can have my share too.”

Mahina stifled a laugh and lowered her head, tugging at the brim of her cap. There was something oddly amusing about how serious he was.

The wind lifted a corner of the photographs on her knees. She pressed them back down, and the hint of laughter faded from her face. Looking down at them, she was silent for a moment before asking softly,

“Do you really think only the two of us can speak to CloudInsect? Is that why you’re so determined to go back?”

Suvan was quiet for a while, then nodded.

“Professor Bai’s people have been at it for all this time. Equipment, parameters, frequency—they tried everything, and still got nothing. But somehow it was us. That day. In that place. We were the ones who got its reply.”

Mahina let out a low laugh. The sound was thin, almost self-directed.

“Do boys your age all like dreaming they’re saviors?”

She drew the photographs back into her arms and hugged her knees, looking across the street at the blurred wash of lights.

“Look at us. One of us is sitting outside a convenience store waiting for half-price dinners, and the other’s hurrying off to smile and play in some bar. How could saving the world possibly fall to people like us? Shouldn’t that be left to the ones standing up high, the ones actually enjoying this world? It’s their world. Let them be the ones to save it.”

Suvan said nothing. He only kept looking at her.

Her voice lowered, softer and softer, as if the wind might carry it off at any second.

“Besides, this world isn’t all that worth saving.”

Night had fully fallen by then. The convenience store’s white light illuminated half her face, while the low brim of her cap hid the rest, keeping her eyes mostly in shadow. Suvan turned toward her, as if trying to see past that darkness, trying to catch her eyes beneath it. He watched her for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter too, almost tentative.

“If…” he said, “if a chance like that really did fall into your hands—not something grand, not some impossible feat, just one small choice, one gesture, enough to make the right decision for this world… would you do it?”

Mahina did not answer at once.

Her head was lowered. Her face remained unreadable beneath the brim of her cap. Only after a long while did she speak, lightly, almost flatly.

“This world doesn’t deserve it.”

The words fell, and even she seemed to feel their weight. She went still for a second, then lowered her head with a faint, almost embarrassed smile, as if realizing she had let something too bleak slip out too plainly.

“Forget it,” she said softly. “You’ve probably heard this one before—life is a gorgeous robe, crawling with fleas.”

Suvan watched her in silence for a moment, then answered quietly,

“Then you’ve probably heard this one too.”

The convenience store’s cold white light drew out the thin lines of his face. There was a strange steadiness in his voice, gentle, but stubborn all the same.

“We are all living in the gutter,” he said, “but there are still those who look up at the stars.”

Mahina froze, just slightly.

It was as though something soft inside her had been touched, very lightly. She had been ready to throw some other famous line back at him, to pin him down with another piece of borrowed brilliance, but the words dissolved before she could speak them.

After a while, she said nothing at all. She simply gathered up the photographs, rose to her feet, slung the bass and her bag back over her shoulder, and turned toward the street.

After a few steps, she stopped.

Then she looked back.

Suvan was still sitting there on the steps outside the convenience store, in that school uniform faded almost white with repeated washing, his shoulders thin, the reused water bottle beside his feet. Seen from any ordinary angle, he was nothing more than an absurdly frugal, slightly shabby boy, sitting there waiting for the seven-thirty discount meals—hardly dignified, almost faintly ridiculous.

And yet, in that instant, Mahina felt that he was unlike anyone else she had ever known.

For some reason he reminded her of that young man in the half-mask, all blade and resolve, determined to strike at Qin Shi Huang. In truth they looked nothing alike. And yet something in them felt the same. Both knew the world was filthy, both knew the road ahead was uncertain, and still neither would let the last bit of light inside them die.

Mahina stood there for a few seconds, her gaze slightly unfocused.

In the night, headlights streamed past, voices rose and fell, and the city kept making its noise. But the boy still sat there, very quiet, on the steps.

He was looking at the stars.

“Life is a gorgeous robe, crawling with fleas.” — Eileen Chang (1940)

“We are all living in the gutter, but there are still those who look up at the stars.” — Oscar Wilde (1892)