She knew exactly where the platforms and rest stops were because she'd scouted Mount Tai in advance—arriving early to meet me at the station.
We'd hiked up the descent route—less steep—going in reverse, which was why we kept passing downward hikers.
She had the rickshaw take us to the trailhead, not the midpoint, specifically to drain my stamina.
I suddenly recalled her words:
"I didn't expect you to refuse. We've had no money all these years, and what we needed most was a chance to get better."
In the darkness, Chloe looked back at me one last time, eyes flashing with fierce determination:
"I always thought that no matter what—whether you were sick or anything else—I'd find a way to take you with me."
---
When I next awoke from that deep dream, I found myself lying in a sleep pod.
It was like the entry plug from Evangelion—surrounded by blue fluid, yet I could breathe underwater, as naturally as if my ancestors had come from the sea.
"Captain Marcus has awakened. Transfer all piloting data? Activate captain mode?"
I confirmed smoothly. A massive stream of data flooded my mind like rivers flowing into the sea.
Stepping out of the pod, a squat little robot came puttering toward me on clanking treads across the metal floor.
I don't know which sadistic designer was responsible, but considering both captains were Chinese, the robot played an endless loop of "Beijing Welcomes You" as its BGM.
"Eaten yet, Captain? The usual—Rick & Morty limited-edition Sichuan pepper sauce fried chicken? Or a well-done black pepper filet mignon, no sides?" That excessively fluent Beijing-accented Mandarin was the designer's second little joke.
I had no appetite, so I gestured for an ice-cold cola, brewed from pure Earth ingredients.
The first sip hit my throat like that afternoon in apartment 803, Dawanglu, Xingfuli—the one without air conditioning. Everything came flooding back.
I opened my eyes. Beyond the window stretched the eternal night of deep space. No Earth. No moon. Only distant starlight, like the sky I used to gaze up at as a child.
Three hundred years since we left Earth.
All ship systems nominal. No alien attacks on our trajectory. The only incidents had been a few power system malfunctions. This interstellar journey was profoundly empty and interminable.
I was beginning to understand why the lunar people needed captains. If ordinary people lived through such frozen-time imprisonment, the crew would descend into madness and mutual slaughter.
Behind me stretched one million sleep pods. They'd remain in this stasis until we reached our new home. From this distance, they looked like Jerusalem's white cemetery.
Right on cue, my brainwaves triggered the central system, which played "Jerusalem of Gold" from Schindler's List:
The scent of mountain forest, fresh as wine
Bells and pine fragrance drifting in the wind
Sleeping groves and stone walls
And the sprawling ramparts
Sending this lonely city
Into slumber
We sit beside the dry well
Watching the bustling market slowly empty
No one ascends the Temple Mount
To bow before the Wailing Wall
Wind howls through cracks in stone
No one walks the Jericho road
To gaze upon the Dead Sea's waves
Today I sing for you with joy
The ages award you the highest prize
Your humblest poet is greater than I
Your youngest son is stronger than I
Your name is upon my lips
—"Jerusalem of Gold"
"Beautiful. But reading my brainwaves directly feels a bit invasive. What if I'm thinking about—never mind."
Marveling at the system's thoughtfulness, I found myself aching for Earth.
Missing the feeling of walking down the street in a T-shirt on a scorching day, the sky like a mirror, holding the hand of a girl named Chloe Chen, striding along like I owned the world. She'd say, "Slow down, what's gotten into you? Did you win the lottery?" And I'd say, "No—seeing you every day makes me happy. I just usually pretend to be calm because I didn't want you to think I'm some bumpkin who gets excited over nothing. But this—this is my true form."
And yet, three hundred years had passed in the blink of an eye.
I walked to the captain's sleep pod area and activated the co-captain's life support system without hesitation.
"Warning! Hibernation period not complete. Cannot open pod! WARNING!!"
"Calm down! I'm not opening it. Just disperse the freeze fog—I want to check on her condition."
"Captain, you know the rules. One hundred years per shift. Captains may never meet during active duty. This is your 337,825th check on the co-captain in three hundred years. Our hibernation system is extremely stable. Please rest assured."
"You broken system want to argue? We Chinese have a saying—"
"Sight confirms truth, right? You've said that too many times. No need to explain—dispersing now."
The fog cleared. I gazed at that sleeping face like a man staring into the farthest reaches of the universe.
"Look at this idiot. Sleeping like a little pig."
Tears fell silently onto the sleep pod, like the meteor shower—bright as daylight—crashing into our abandoned Earth tens of thousands of light years away.
---
Twenty-Two
After everything ended, I met the liaison—the lunar citizen who had orchestrated it all.
He congratulated me on passing the trial and becoming captain, but I couldn't feel any joy.
"As the victor, we can grant you one wish."
"Whether you want endless wealth, countless companions, or to become ruler of the Earth—we can make it happen. For us, it's just a moment's work." The liaison was a chatterbox. He'd clearly been cooped up on a long saucer flight and was now unleashing a torrent of words, practically foaming at the mouth.
I looked up. "Can you bring back the dead?"
The lunar citizen hadn't expected such an unglamorous request. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Resurrection of the dead violates the Fourth Law of Temporal Mechanics. Our technology cannot achieve it."
"Then can you turn back time to three days ago?" I thought for a moment.
"That... is theoretically possible, of course. But everything would have to start over. You might die. Is it worth it?"
I nodded. "It's worth it."
"Since your mind is made up, I won't say more. The rules remain the same. Best of luck. She asked me to pass this letter to you—please keep it safe." The lunar citizen stood at attention and gave me a surprisingly endearing salute.
After I vanished into the corridor of time, he muttered under his breath, barely audible:
"It's been a long time since we had such a manly captain..."
---
I landed flat on the bed in that rented room that hadn't been cleaned in fourteen days and was overflowing with takeout boxes.
I unfolded the letter from Chloe crumpled in my palm. It was a poem by Rilke, its chapters rearranged.
Faintly suspended on the ceiling were these words:
Renunciation Option (Random): Never see the moon for the rest of your life
Initial Amount (Fixed): 60 million RMB
Yes or No?
Right now, someone is laughing somewhere in the night,
Laughing without reason in the night.
Laughing at me.
I opened my phone and tapped on Chloe's profile picture.
I thought for a while, then typed a single line:
I love you.
Right now, someone is crying somewhere in this world.
Crying without reason in this world.
Crying for me.
I pushed open the door, punched open the fire hydrant, and pulled out the fire extinguisher.
That shut-in is already dead. What you're facing now
Is the captain of the lunar warship, Marcus Chen.
Right now, someone is dying in this world.
Dying without reason in this world.
Looking at me.
I kicked open Auntie Mae's door next door.
She and her husband were on their phones cheering and celebrating. They stared at me in bewilderment.
I crooked my left arm and held the fire extinguisher in my right hand, posing in the classic Sailor Moon stance:
"In the name of the moon, I will punish you!"
Right now, someone is walking somewhere in this world.
Walking without reason in this world,
Walking toward me.