Through the cracked corner of the old television, Ruan Mobei finished watching the entire documentary.

Faced with the crisis of extinction, humanity chose three methods to preserve the hope of their species.

First, a fleet of 47 massive ships known as the Ark Group carried artificial biospheres, genetic samples, and 790,000 humans into the depths of space. Hundreds of capsule spacecraft were launched in all directions as “probes” for the Ark Group, searching for potential habitable locations.

Second, 19,330 shelters were constructed worldwide. The rest of the qualified humans entered hibernation pods, sleeping in the deepest layers of these shelters. Following preset AI protocols, a mechanical engineer would awaken every 100 years to perform maintenance on the shelters and protective barriers, determining whether conditions were suitable to wake humanity and restart civilization.

Lastly, space stations from Russia (Korolev), the USA (Skylab), China (Tiangong series), and the EU (Galileo) joined forces to form the colossal international space station “Eden.” It served as a repository for the backup of human civilization and housed 3,277 astronauts. Orbiting along a distant trajectory, it was humanity’s final spark of hope.

At the end of the film, a lone capsule spacecraft streaked through the vast unknown like a meteor. A young explorer slept within the hibernation pod. As the pod passed near planets, he would briefly awaken to relay information back to the Ark Group about whether the planet was suitable for habitation.

His life would be spent alternating between brief awakenings and long hibernations, eventually succumbing to death within the cold pod, turning into space debris.

That hatch would never open again.

The screen went black.

Ruan Mobei remained silent for a long time. This was an epic crafted by humanity itself. In their final moments, humans united as never before, forming a true community of shared destiny, celebrating sacrifice and dedication with their lives.

Individual fates were as insignificant as specks of dust, swallowed by the tide of destiny.

He Songming glanced at Ruan Mobei’s expression but didn’t seem to share such profound feelings. The first time he had seen this film was back in school. The classroom had been noisy with chaotic chatter, and the teacher was busy maintaining order. The constant noise had left He Songming irritated and distracted.

This time, halfway through, he was already yawning, some parts even making him roll his eyes.

“I don’t really get it,” He Songming whispered in the dark. “Didn’t those people know they’d definitely die when they left?”

“They knew.”

He Songming was incredulous. “Then why would they still go?”

“Because of belief. People always have something they want to protect.”

“Even if it means dying for it?”

“Even if it means dying for it.”

He Songming furrowed his brows. For years, he had always been the one sacrificed, enduring unspeakable pain and struggles. He couldn’t comprehend why anyone would willingly let themselves be used under the banner of ‘sacrifice.’

“For example,” Ruan Mobei began, “if there were someone very special to you, someone in great pain, would you be willing to give up something of yourself to heal them?”

He Songming stared at Ruan Mobei for a few seconds, pressed his lips together, then lowered his eyes and quietly said, “There’s no such person.”

Ruan Mobei laughed and ruffled He Songming’s hair. “Alright, maybe you’ll understand when you’re older.”

He Songming allowed Ruan Mobei to mess up his hair, gazing thoughtfully at his own toes.

Sacrifice…?

It was getting late, and that deep fatigue from within the soul began to creep in. Ruan Mobei adjusted his mood, stood up, and said, “Let’s go rest. Don’t you have to gather herbs tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” He Songming yawned. “But I haven’t finished reading my book.”

“You can finish it tomorrow. Sleep is more important.”

Humanity had only been awake from their hibernation for about 50–60 years. They were still living in scattered, ungoverned communities around their respective shelters. Advanced industrial technologies like drug manufacturing hadn’t yet been restarted.

The medicines used in the shelters were all stockpiles from before the disaster. Although the current supplies were sufficient, no one could predict when the production of new medicines would begin.

For sustainability, doctors resorted to older methods, venturing into nearby forests twice a month to gather medicinal herbs.

This time, as a student, He Songming joined them.

He Songming wasn’t the only medical student at the shelter, but he was the youngest, standing out among the ten-year-olds like a sore thumb.

Wrapped in the winter jacket Chen Rui had prepared for him, He Songming carried a medicine basket and walked in the middle of the group. He wore wool gloves, making his movements clumsy. He didn’t like gloves, and if Ruan Mobei hadn’t scolded him earlier, he wouldn’t have worn them.

“Your hands are already frozen like that, and you still dare not wear gloves,” Ruan Mobei, dressed in a short-sleeved shirt, walked beside He Songming in the snow-covered forest. His presence in the freezing landscape was oddly surreal.

“They’ll heal soon anyway,” He Songming said nonchalantly.

“That’s no excuse for not taking care of yourself,” Ruan Mobei replied sternly.

“…Got it.”

Over the past month, He Songming had attended classes with the other students. They had grown familiar with him and took care of their small, frail younger “brother.” Whenever they encountered difficult paths, they would lend him a hand. Slowly, He Songming began to accept this help.

But that didn’t mean he forgave those who had hurt him in the past—or might hurt him in the future. Instead of isolating himself, he chose to act smart, wearing a mask of gentleness to make use of others. After all, if people treated him like a tool, why couldn’t he do the same?

True feelings, after all, were insignificant in the face of interests.

This was the philosophy he had recently developed.

The doctor brought He Songming, the first-timer, to his side to closely guide him.

“Look at this,” the doctor said, stopping to carefully brush away the thick snow. He revealed a piece of decayed wood, where a cluster of dark red umbrella-shaped fungi grew.

“Reishi,” He Songming identified the herb that matched the illustrations in his books.

“Correct.” The doctor gently extracted the reishi and sniffed it. “It’s a good specimen.”

He handed it to He Songming, who examined it carefully. The underside of the reishi’s fruiting body had a tiny wormhole, and a few blades of grass were tangled around it.

“My first time seeing wild reishi.” Ruan Mobei leaned over to touch it in He Songming’s hand. The crimson-black fungi felt hard and cold. “Once called ‘meat of immortals,’ it was worth a fortune.”

“This place feels a lot like northeastern China,” Ruan Mobei observed. “There should be plenty of medicinal wild plants here.”

“Northeastern China?”

“Before the catastrophe, it referred to three provinces in the northeast of the country.”

“What’s a country? Or a province?”

Ruan Mobei paused. The first generation of humans who had awakened from the hibernation pods might remember the countries they once belonged to, but He Songming, born into the third generation after Earth’s reboot, had no concept of nations. People now identified with their respective shelters.

“It’s… well, a group of people who share the same language, culture, and history, living on a specific piece of land. That’s a country.”

“Like a shelter? That sounds boring.”

Ruan Mobei couldn’t help but laugh. He thought for a moment and added, “A country is a place that gives you a sense of belonging.”

He Songming’s eyes lit up. “My bed?”

Ruan Mobei burst out laughing. “That’s one way to think about it.”

“Then I’m the king because it’s my bed.”

“Sure.”

“You’re my subject because you sleep on my bed.”

“Why not?”

Ruan Mobei’s playful answers made the boy beam with joy. He carefully placed the reishi into his basket and declared, “Got it. That wasn’t so hard to understand.”

Just as Ruan Mobei suspected, the snow-covered forest, much like the Lesser Khingan Range, was abundant in wild medicinal resources. Before long, He Songming’s basket was half-filled with herbs like burnet, schisandra, monkshood, and thalictrum.

The students dispersed to forage for herbs on their own. He Songming stuck close to the doctor, who explained the medicinal properties and uses of each plant as they ventured deeper into the forest.

Ruan Mobei wandered nearby, taking in the scenery. It was his first time in a snow-covered forest, and free from concerns about the cold, he took the opportunity to appreciate its beauty.

He passed two massive trees, each thick enough to need three people to embrace. Through the branches splitting the sky into fragments, he caught sight of birds gliding past. Occasionally, the wind shook snow from the treetops, falling like a soft veil, resembling a dreamlike fog.

Ruan Mobei took a deep breath and continued forward.

That’s when he saw it—a patch of trees snapped cleanly in the snow, and in the center of the fallen trunks, a massive, terrifying footprint.