Chapter 34

Chapter 34

A pristine mycelium strand extended out, gently resting on the metal grid's surface. Then, it slithered through the tiny gaps in the mesh.

—It was safe, at least here, there were no lethal weapons; only the grid stood as a barrier.

After the first strand passed through the three layers of grid and entered the pipe, the remaining strands followed, gathering together. Their softness and flexibility made them seem almost liquid. The white tide seeped through every crevice, flooding the three metal grids before reuniting behind them. A pipe stretching forward appeared in An Zhe's perception. Its walls were smooth overall but had speckles of rust in some spots, releasing an iron oxide scent that resembled the odor of blood. A breeze blew from the end of the pipe.

An Zhe moved forward. His mycelia acted like tentacles, gliding along the pipe walls in a gentle flow. This pipe was straight, turning at a right angle, then continuing straight. He proceeded further, reaching a crossroads. A slightly thicker, horizontal pipe connected to the one he was currently in.

The wind grew stronger, and the airflow became intricate, suggesting that this vast pipe system was like a labyrinthine maze.

An Zhe hesitated briefly on the spot. He extended a long strand of mycelium, leaving it within the pipe, before moving forward. Although Lu Fen thought he wasn't smart, An Zhe didn't consider himself foolish either. He decided to use this strand as a marker for his path, allowing him to retrace his steps no matter where he went.

Relieved by this decision, An Zhe confidently crossed the crossroads and continued in the same direction. After another right-angle turn, a faint light appeared ahead.

An Zhe reached the source of the light—a ventilation shaft. The familiar news anchor's voice echoed. It was evident that he had entered someone else's ventilation system.

"After a month, the main city has recalled twelve thousand mercenaries, officially entering the recovery phase. During the estimated ten-year recovery period, all scientific resources will be dedicated to investigating the origin of the infection…"

"Knock, knock, knock." A rhythmic knocking echoed.

An Zhe had stumbled upon this place by accident, and he had no intention of invading someone else's privacy. He was about to leave, but at that moment, he temporarily put aside that thought.

The door creaked open.

"Colonel Lu," a female voice spoke up, crisp and concise.

Colonel Lu.

This was Lu Fen's room.

An Zhe quietly emerged from the vent, shifting his position slightly to better hear the conversation. He was indeed curious about Lu Fen's life.

Then, he heard that familiar icy tone: "Hello."

"Good day, Colonel Lu. I'm a staff member from the twenty-first level of Eden," the woman replied.

Eden.

An Zhe perked up his ears – if he still had such organs now.

Lu Fen asked, "What is it?"

"That's right," the woman smiled, "First of all, congratulations on your return from the Outer City, Colonel. Secondly, I'm here on behalf of my superiors to inquire if you have any intention of donating sperm to Eden at this time."

Lu Fen's reply was swift and unfeeling, "No."

"That's too bad. If you change your mind in the future, please do get in touch with us. Your genes are exceptional, and it would be a loss to the entire base if they're not utilized effectively."

"Thank you," Lu Fen's tone remained unperturbed by her compliment. He continued, "Is there anything else?"

"The flowers that Mrs. Lu planted have bloomed," the woman said. "She asked me to bring you a bouquet on my way. Work in the Main City is very hectic, so she reminds you to take care of yourself and get enough rest."

After a brief silence, Lu Fen asked, "How is she doing?"

"All is well."

"Thank you," Lu Fen's voice softened slightly as he said, "Please convey my greetings to her."

Their conversation ended there, and with the door closing once more, the room fell silent.

The weather report announced that the strong winds would persist, and temperatures would drop.

The voice ceased abruptly, likely indicating that Lu Fen had turned off the television. Footsteps followed, drawing closer as Lu Fen returned to the bedroom and sat down at his desk. After a few rustling sounds of paper, the room was still, save for Lu Fen's breathing.

An Zhe yearned to extend a few mycelial threads from under the bed to observe what the colonel was doing, but he dared not. Eventually, he retraced his path back through the vent.

At the crossroads, he chose the direction from which the wind blew, dragging the slender thread that marked his path as he proceeded.

The cold, iron-scented breeze brushed against his thread, and it was connected to other pipe openings on the walls, each leading to an intricate network of pipes. Along the way, another intersection appeared – such a short stretch had already given An Zhe a sense of the system's complexity. Without a blueprint, knowing only the approximate direction of the lighthouse, he could imagine the challenge of navigating through the pipes to reach it.

But he could keep searching; he was no impatient mushroom.

After several turns, An Zhe lost all sense of direction. He couldn't perceive the passing of time, only that as he moved with the wind, the pipe openings widened, and the wind grew stronger. He inferred that he was nearing the main ventilation trunk. Occasionally, he worried about his thread snapping, but he couldn't reinforce or add more without risk. The mycelium was like blood to a mushroom; excessive loss could lead to death, and he couldn't afford to exhaust it.

At times, metal grids or sharp turbines that seemed capable of slicing through flesh and bone would appear ahead. Then, he would cautiously slide along their edges to avoid severing his thread.

An Zhe had no idea how long he had been traveling, accompanied only by the whisper of the wind and the faint scraping sound of his thread gliding over rusted pipe walls.

Before him stretched an endless expanse of black pipes, and the same lay behind him. This sensation transported him back to the days when he had aimlessly wandered the depths, hoping to find his spore tomorrow, or perhaps never.

When the diameter of the pipe became as wide as two people standing side by side, An Zhe sensed a faint red glow ahead. He proceeded cautiously, navigating around a massive turbine – only to unexpectedly tumble out of the pipe's opening.

He landed with a thud on the hard, rough metal floor, bathed in the dim red light. Looking around, An Zhe realized that he was no longer inside a pipe. Instead, he found himself in a vast, cylindrical chamber, as spacious as the hall in Eden, through which both wind and the red light streamed from above. It was so high up that An Zhe couldn't perceive its exact location.

His snowy mass elongated on the ground, and the mycelium contracted into a human form and skin. Feeling the cold, the mycelium spread across his body, weaving a loose white robe to shield him from the biting chill.

With bare feet on the metal floor, An Zhe lifted his gaze upward.

At the very apex of the vast expanse, an enormous turbine was positioned askew, dominating his field of view. A dim red laser barrier encircled it, akin to those on the Outer City's walls; An Zhe knew this to be one of humanity's defensive measures. Should any creature attempt to forcibly breach it, an immediate alarm would sound.

Through the whirling metal teeth of the turbine, An Zhe glimpsed the sky outside, where the aurora still shimmered. He realized that this place was connected to the outside world – it was the intake for the ventilation system. Once the turbine kicked in, it would draw in an unceasing supply of air from without, funneling it into the pipes that branched out in all directions.

An Zhe withdrew his gaze and looked ahead. In the center of this cylindrical space stood a rectangular metal workbench — possibly the console for the entire system. He approached it, only to find that it wasn't what he'd expected.

Upon this metallic platform, three rectangular boxes were soldered in place. By the light, one could discern faint, scattered inscriptions beside them, as if they had been electroplated onto the surface.

An Zhe leaned forward slightly, brushing away the surface dust and rust, revealing the multitude of intricate characters beneath.

It is a letter.

"To Those Who Follow:

I am Kang Jinglan, the project lead for the construction of the Northern Base's underground ventilation system. The design took a year, the construction nine, at a cost of 110 million yuan per kilometer.

There were those who advocated for delaying the project due to the immense difficulty and human resources required for the base's construction. However, after deliberation, we believed that should the weakening of the geomagnetic field persist and worsen, the human economy would collapse within a decade, and within fifty years, the surviving humans would utterly lose the capacity for heavy industrial research and production. All resources and scientific focus would shift solely to healthcare. Time is not on our side.

Fortunately, this year, both the underground ventilation system and the surface base were completed successfully. From now on, our fellow humans can live under the secure shelter of the base – this is the one solace I have. Despite the rigorous protection against cosmic radiation, I still suffer from multiple forms of cancer and immune diseases. I have requested that my ashes be interred at the core of the ventilation system, so that with each new generation of engineers entering for maintenance, I will know that the base remains secure, and that humanity, this magnificent species, endures.

May you have a bright future.

Sincerely,

June 2030."

These are the ashes.

Thus, within this box lies the vestige of a human form, a tomb in itself, with these inscriptions serving as a message, perhaps more accurately, an epitaph, to those who follow.

An Zhe looked to his right, where another identical box stood, its base welded firmly to the platform. Beside it, more inscribed words, written in the same tone as before.

"To Mr. Kang Jinglan, and to those who come after:

I am Liao Pingan, the supervisor of the Northern Base's underground ventilation system maintenance. The system undergoes inspection every six months and comprehensive maintenance every two years; at present, it operates flawlessly.

As Mr. Kang predicted, the weakening of Earth's magnetic field did not improve but vanished entirely in December 2030. Fortunately, the artificial magnetic pole project was a success, and the Earth was once again shielded by a magnetic field, sparing humans from radiation-induced illnesses. Unfortunately, cosmic radiation led to mutations in bacteria, fungi, and viruses, bringing upon humanity an unprecedented calamity. As a witness to this disaster, I observed the contraction of our living domain, the collapse of economic systems, and the gradual loss of industrial capabilities. The Base devoted all remaining resources to military production, construction of military bases, and expansion of the Base itself. Endless streams of firearms, ammunition, nuclear weapons, aircraft, armor, and tanks were manufactured. I am unaware of the Base's intentions or if such actions hastened the depletion of resources, but I can only hope there is a deeper purpose.

During this calamity, I fell victim to a fatal bacterial infection. As my life neared its end, I remained gripped by endless fear for the Base's future. Thus, I chose to be interred here alongside Mr. Kang, awaiting the report of the next generation of engineers.

May you have a bright future."

Sincerely,

November 2052."

Here lies the third urn and its epitaph.

"To Mr. Kang Jinglan and Ms. Liao Pingan, for those who come after:

I am Yang Ye, the supervisor of the Northern Base's underground ventilation system maintenance. The system undergoes inspection every six months and comprehensive maintenance every two years, currently functioning flawlessly.

I must inform you both that in this era, the ventilation system no longer exists merely as one of the base's numerous infrastructures; instead, it has played an immensely vital role in safeguarding human security. In 2053, global biological mutations began, and human bases, with the military as the main force and civilian mercenaries as support, engaged in a grand defensive war. Amidst resource scarcity and limited industrial capabilities, the solid military bases and powerful weapons left by the previous generation served an unimaginable purpose, ensuring the safety of the surviving humans. The ventilation system, after being modified, became one of the fortifications of the main city, shielding people from insectoid monsters.

Currently, the Northern Base remains secure. The military and mercenary teams continually bring back monster samples and recover scientific equipment, cultural artifacts, and other essential supplies from abandoned human cities. The base's research efforts focus on understanding the infection mechanism and human reproduction. While the former remains elusive, progress has been made in the latter, leading to a surge in new life and a recovery in population. Although the environment is still harsh, I believe all will improve.

I passed away in my old age, content and happy, under the protection of the base.

May your future be illuminated.

Sincerely,

Salute,

January 2104."

Having finished reading it carefully, An Zhe looked around to find emptiness. There were no more boxes. The year 2104 was now a distant memory. Perhaps the next generation of engineers would soon lie here too, with their tombstones narrating recent tales, such as the fall of the Outer City or some other event.

At that moment, a mournful wailing echoed from all directions. A mighty gust of wind blew in through the entrance, causing An Zhe to shiver. The strong wind was like an irresistible flood, nearly blinding him—He propped his elbows in front of his eyes to shield himself from the gale and lowered his head slightly.

Just then, he felt a sudden sharp pain.

A strand of white mycelium, barely visible in his peripheral vision, floated in the wind. It shimmered faintly before disappearing without a trace.

An Zhe whipped his head around. The white mycelium he had left behind as a trail only stretched a short distance across the ground, swaying in the wind. The gust had snapped it, and the severed part was carried away by the wind, nowhere to be seen.

His pupils constricted as he gazed back at the way he came. Six identical black entrances were lined up in a row.

The author has something to say: A lost mushroom.