Chapter 43: Dan Heng, I Hear the Voices of the Stars...
"Dan Heng, I'm here."
Rekka shuffled into the dimly lit Data Bank, a thick quilt bundled tightly in his arms.
"Mm." Dan Heng offered a quiet grunt, shifting slightly to make room.
Instead of a proper mattress, Dan Heng's bed was a simple, single-layer futon laid directly over the metal floorboards. Despite its spartan appearance, the neat folds and crisp sheets made it look surprisingly inviting.
Rekka shook out his quilt, letting the heavy fabric billow before smoothing it down right next to Dan Heng's makeshift sleeping area. The ambient temperature inside the Data Bank was noticeably cooler than the rest of the Astral Express, kept strictly regulated for the servers. It carried a crisp, comfortable chill.
As Rekka moved, the small, vibrant green tuft of grass sprouting from the top of his head bobbed cheerfully.
"Sorry to trouble you, Dan Heng," Rekka said, his voice unusually soft.
"It is no trouble," Dan Heng replied. He leaned back against the towering bookshelf, crossing his arms. "Everyone was worried about you sleeping alone in your current state."
Dan Heng's gaze sharpened slightly. "Tonight, no matter what noises you hear, or if you think you hear someone talking outside the door... ignore it. That is my suggestion."
"Okay, I'll listen to you." Rekka nodded with absolute, uncharacteristic obedience. He immediately dove under his covers, wiggling around until he was tightly swaddled like a caterpillar. Only his face and that single, swaying blade of grass peeked out from the fabric.
Dan Heng reached over and flicked off the main overhead lights. The Data Bank plunged into shadows, illuminated only by the soft, amber glow of a small night lamp and the blinking LEDs of the server racks. He lay down on his own futon, folding his hands neatly over his abdomen, the very picture of disciplined rest.
A long stretch of silence settled over the room.
"Dan Heng... are you asleep?" Rekka's voice drifted over, kept to a breathy, cautious whisper.
"I am not. What is wrong?"
"The floor is a bit hard. Can I turn over?"
Dan Heng opened his eyes. He turned his head. In the dim amber light, he saw Rekka lying flat on his back, his arms pinned stiffly to his sides like a wooden mannequin.
A helpless sigh escaped Dan Heng's lips. "Turn over if you want to. You do not need to ask my permission to sleep. That is also my suggestion."
"Oh, okay." Rekka instantly deflated, the tension leaving his shoulders as he rolled onto his side to face his companion. "I was just afraid moving around would disturb you. You have to organize so much data every day. You must be exhausted. You need a good rest."
Dan Heng blinked. The sheer, unadulterated sincerity in those words felt entirely alien. Usually, Rekka was a whirlwind of chaotic enthusiasm, a mischievous gremlin actively looking for ways to derail the universe. This version of him—overflowing with boundless empathy and agonizing over someone else's minor inconvenience—felt like a complete stranger.
"I am not tired," Dan Heng said softly. "Go to sleep. Your Path will switch tomorrow morning. Then you will not have to struggle so hard to restrain yourself."
"Actually, it isn't a struggle." Rekka let his eyelids flutter shut, his voice dropping to a peaceful murmur. "I think it's quite nice like this. My heart feels so quiet. No worries, no anger... I just want everyone to be well..."
Rekka kept his eyes closed, his breathing evening out.
"Dan Heng... I think I hear something..."
"No. You must have misheard."
"I hear the voices of the stars."
"Mm." Dan Heng kept his eyes shut, dismissing the sleepy rambling.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
Dan Heng's eyes snapped open.
Wait. That wasn't right.
Wait, that is not right!
"What did you hear?!" Dan Heng bolted upright, the blankets falling away.
"I hear the suns speaking to me," Rekka murmured dreamily from his cocoon. "The planets are whispering to me."
He paused, sensing the sudden spike in tension. "Oh. Sorry, Dan Heng. I must have misheard."
Dan Heng let out a slow, shaky breath, his racing heart beginning to settle.
"There are just so many people in my head making requests right now," Rekka added casually.
Dan Heng froze.
"Who is making requests of you?!"
"An old man says his legs hurt, and he wants me to heal him," Rekka listed off, his brow furrowing in deep empathy. "A little girl says she wants to buy medicine for her sick mother, but she can't find any. Someone else is begging to strike it rich. Oh, right... and someone says they want immortality. They never want to experience birth, old age, sickness, or death ever again."
Rekka's voice trembled slightly, heavy with a deep, overwhelming distress.
"There are too many, Dan Heng. Thousands... no, millions of voices. They are all mixed together, making my head spin. And they all sound so pitiful."
No. This absolutely will not do.
A layer of cold sweat instantly drenched Dan Heng's back. He lunged forward, his hand clamping down hard on Rekka's shoulder.
"Rekka, listen to me," Dan Heng commanded, his voice tight with barely suppressed panic. "You must not respond to those voices right now. Not a single one!"
"But Dan Heng, they really need help." Rekka opened his eyes, looking up with agonizing innocence. "With just a flick of my finger, I could end their suffering."
"Because some wishes simply should not be granted!" Dan Heng inhaled sharply, his grip tightening. "Remember what you are right now. You cannot—you must not do that, or you will become Yaoshi."
If Rekka's chaotic cheat could turn him into an avatar of Nanook, then fully embracing this state and ascending as a new Aeon of Abundance was entirely within the world of terrifying possibility.
"But..."
"Listen carefully, Rekka." Dan Heng lowered his voice to a deadly, severe pitch. "You cannot use the power of Abundance to heal them. I do not know the extent of your current abilities. You might cure their illness, or you might turn them into a mass of ever-expanding, undying flesh. There are countless people suffering in this universe every single second—but at the very least, you cannot save them this way."
"...Dan Heng."
Rekka suddenly stopped talking.
"What?"
"...Many of the voices have disappeared," Rekka whispered.
"Disappeared? You mean the voices praying to you are suddenly gone?"
The vibrant little blade of grass on Rekka's head visibly wilted, drooping sadly against his hair. Deep within his mind, the overwhelming instinct of the Abundance was singing to him: The voices of suffering have vanished. This is a good thing. This is as it should be. This is right.
But beneath that divine empathy, the cold, calculating remnants of his Erudition Path flared to life, filling his chest with a sickening dread.
"This isn't a good sign, is it, Dan Heng?"
"That is... the worst possible outcome." Dan Heng slowly pulled his hand back, rubbing his temples. "Someone else responded to them in your place."
"You mean the Aeon of Abundance?"
"They are now..."
"I do not know," Dan Heng cut him off sharply. "And do not think about it."
Rekka fell completely silent.
He lay flat on his back, staring blankly up at the dark ceiling of the Data Bank. His Erudition-enhanced brain refused to shut down, ruthlessly deducing the current state of those desperate supplicants who had just received their 'miracle'. He pictured human cells proliferating infinitely, physical forms mutating and distorting under the weight of eternal life, consciousness diluting into shattered fragments until nothing remained but a mindless, immortal mass of flesh expanding forever into the void.
A violent shudder wracked his body.
The most terrifying part wasn't the mental image. It was the fact that his Abundance instinct was still gently whispering in his ear: This is also good. At least they are no longer suffering.
"Dan Heng."
"Mm."
"Thank you for stopping me."
"You do not need to thank me," Dan Heng replied from the shadows, his voice steady once more. "You are a companion of the Express. Naturally, I will stop you from walking down the wrong Path."
"But those voices... they were really pitiful."
"There are too many pitiful people in this universe." Dan Heng closed his eyes, leaning back against his pillow. "Yaoshi responds to all prayers equally. What you heard today is but a billionth of what the Aeon of Abundance deals with every single day."
Another heavy silence blanketed the room.
Rekka rolled over again, facing Dan Heng. In the dim amber glow, he traced the sharp silhouette of the guard's profile. Dan Heng's eyes were shut tight, his breathing slow, mimicking the rhythm of deep sleep. But Rekka knew he was wide awake.
"Dan Heng."
"...What."
"Tell me... how can we eliminate all the suffering in the galaxy?"
"I do not know."
Dan Heng kept his eyes closed, his expression unreadable in the gloom.
...
Out in the corridor, Welt Yang, having woken up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, strolled quietly past the Data Bank.
"Exactly! If we do not take absolute measures, the galaxy will never achieve true peace!"
Welt paused, his hand hovering over his mug....?
Mr. Welt, despite his vast experience, probably didn't realize a universal truth about young men: when boys sleep in the same room, deprived of their phones and left to their own devices, their late-night whispers inevitably escalate. What starts as a simple complaint about a hard floor rapidly expands into grandiose debates about the fate of the world.
Give them an hour, and they might start drafting manifestos, plotting the overthrow of the Interastral Peace Corporation, or casually discussing extreme galactic cleansing for the 'greater good'.
What made it truly alarming was that the radical statement just now hadn't come from the chaotic Rekka. It had come from Dan Heng—the calmest, most rational member of the crew.
Welt stood outside the sliding door, his face twisting into a deeply complex expression.
These two—one fiercely rational, the other currently overflowing with divine gentleness—had huddled together under the covers to discuss how to eliminate universal suffering. It sounded like a noble, philosophical debate on paper. But standing out in the cold hallway, Welt felt a distinct chill creep down his spine.
He had a terrible, sinking feeling... that something catastrophic was about to happen.
He raised his knuckles, fully intending to knock on the door and shut down this highly dangerous pillow talk before they accidentally founded a new extremist faction.
But his hand stopped in mid-air.
Forget it, Welt thought, lowering his arm. They are young. It is perfectly normal to entertain wild, edgy ideas when you cannot sleep at night.
Shaking his head with a quiet sigh, the senior Trailblazer turned on his heel and walked back toward his room, sipping his water.
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