The Deep Diver hovered in the serene starry expanse of the Original Universe. Outside the viewport stretched an uninterrupted ribbon of the Milky Way, its starlight woven like intricate brocade, each thread carrying an ancient, desolate beauty. Deshui stood at the center of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back, a posture that accentuated his already tall frame, like a pine rooted on the edge of a cliff—anchored in stone, yet reaching for the stars.
His military jacket lay casually draped over the command chair, and the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his forearms, revealing a sleek line of skin. His fingers were long and well-defined, unconsciously tracing an almost imperceptible scar on his wrist—a relic from a control panel accident during an emergency jump years ago.
"Zhou Ming, start analyzing the crystal's resonance frequency," Deshui said softly. Though quiet, his voice rippled across every corner of the bridge like a stone tossed into a still lake. It possessed a texture unlike any ordinary commander's tone—less authoritarian, more subtly warm, like jade polished by time.
Because of this quality, some of the younger crew secretly referred to him as "Madam Deshui"—though no one would dare mention it aloud. The nickname was not derogatory but captured his near-obsessive attention to detail, his meticulous nature, and the calm, composed poise he maintained even in the face of adversity.
Zhang Yifan emerged from the armor maintenance compartment, wiping grease from his face. "Commander, are we really going to activate that crystal? What if it triggers an uncontrollable chain reaction?"
Deshui turned, his face cast in shadows and light, features strikingly sharp: eyebrows like distant mountains, eyes cold as a deep pool, a straight nose, and well-defined lips. In period clothing, he could almost be a figure lifted from an ancient painting. Yet beneath the elegance lay an unwavering resolve and a depth that no one would ever confuse with fragility.
"Zhuangzi: 'When the Peng bird migrates to the Southern Ocean, water strikes three thousand li, and riding the wind it ascends ninety thousand li.'" Deshui's voice was calm, flowing like water. "We are not here to destroy, but like the great Peng, to stir waves vast enough to expose the fragility of the Void Energy monopoly."
He tilted his head slightly, a habitual gesture that revealed the elegant curve of his neck—from jawline to collarbone, precise and sculpted. Lu Xiao had once whispered to Li Yuan that if Deshui had lived in ancient times, he would have been immortalized in some "noble family chronicles."
Deshui approached the tactical board, pointing at the projection of the crystal with his fingers. His nails were neatly trimmed, the tips a healthy pale pink.
"Why did the Grey Falcon commander say we are fighting 'Definition'?" he continued, his tone carrying the patience of a teacher. "Because Void Energy redefines the universe through commerce—they label free travel as 'illegal crossing,' exploration as 'unauthorized development,' and even human emotions as 'tradeable resources.'"
Xiao Tang lifted his head from the comms console. "Commander, the elder sent more information about the crystal. He says… it requires 'pure intent' to activate, or it will backfire on the user."
A faint smile curved Deshui's lips—a rare expression. His lips, neither full nor thin, naturally pale red, suddenly gave his usually austere face a touch of life.
"Pure intent," he repeated softly, as if afraid to disturb the fragile silence. "In the Advertising Universe, all intent is twisted into consumer desire. But before the Broken Corridor existed, before merchants monopolized the routes, how did travelers discern direction in the universe?"
Li Yuan pondered: "Star charts? Navigational instruments?"
"Curiosity," Deshui said, his voice echoing through the bridge. When he spoke that word, a sharp glint appeared in his eyes, fleeting yet enough to unsettle everyone who met his gaze.
He moved to the viewport, back to the crew, staring toward the direction of the altar. From Li Yuan's perspective, his silhouette outlined by starlight resembled a jade statue—shoulders straight, waist narrow, posture like bamboo, upright and dignified. His military pants hugged long legs, tucked precisely into boots.
"The elder said, 'Merchants fear the Echo,'" Deshui continued, his voice carrying an ethereal resonance from the viewport. "Why? Because the Echo awakens forgotten memories. Imagine someone who has lived three generations in the Advertising Universe suddenly hearing the universe's original sound—they remember that the stars are not display cases, constellations are not price tags, and the Milky Way is not an advertising backdrop."
Zhou Ming paused at the keyboard. "Commander, I've retrieved the last communication log of the Grey Falcon fleet. Before being surrounded, they tried to broadcast a message on all frequencies—not a distress call, but an ancient seafaring chant."
"Play it," Deshui said without turning around.
A hoarse, damaged melody filled the bridge. Though the audio was distorted, the tune was recognizable—a ship song about seeking home: "The star sea has no gates, the traveler opens the way; routes are endless, the heart is the helm."
Silence followed once the song ended. Deshui finally turned, Li Yuan noticing the long eyelashes casting delicate shadows over his eyelids. He closed his eyes briefly, digesting something within, his Adam's apple moving ever so slightly—a subtle reflection of his emotions.
When he opened them, a new light glimmered in his gaze—not the sharpness of combat, nor the clarity of analysis, but a gentle, unshakable certainty. The look reminded Li Yuan of the ancient earthly legends of a serene Bodhisattva—strong in compassion, not weakness.
"This is what we will bring back to the Broken Corridor," Deshui said, voice soft yet precise. "Not weapons, not technology, but a song. A song that reminds people that the path has always belonged to them."
Lu Xiao marked a point on the map. "If we jump from here back to the Broken Corridor, we'll appear directly behind Void Energy's patrol fleet. But the reverse nature of the Star Sea Crossing means our arrival will be completely unexpected."
"Strike unexpectedly, attack where unprepared," Deshui nodded. He returned to the tactical board, movements elegant, boots silent on the deck—a habit forged to avoid disturbing sensitive equipment.
Zhang Yifan frowned. "Storming headquarters directly? Isn't that suicide?"
Deshui stepped close, their eyes meeting. For the first time, Zhang Yifan noticed the depth of Deshui's dark eyes—almost black, yet flecked with star-like glimmers, as if the entire cosmos were reflected within.
"Do you know why I named this ship Deep Diver?" Deshui asked, his voice close, soft, and warm.
Zhang Yifan shook his head.
"In ancient Earth's maritime era, a deep diver descended to the ocean's depths—not to confront known enemies, but to face unknown pressures. Each meter down added more pressure, more darkness. Yet they pressed on, knowing the greatest pearls lay in the blackest depths."
He scanned the bridge, each crew member feeling the weight of his gaze—not judgmental, but profoundly attentive, like a healer examining a pulse or a master evaluating unfinished craft.
"We are the Deep Divers," Deshui continued calmly, each word tempered with gravity. "The Broken Corridor is the ocean trench; Void Energy, the invisible pressure. We dive deepest, not for glory, but to retrieve something that can raise the entire sea level—an idea, a memory, a song."
Over the next seventy-two hours, the Deep Diver worked in an unprecedented rhythm. Unlike typical military operations, this preparation carried a ceremonial calm.
Zhou Ming and the tech team huddled over the crystal's scan data, discussing hometown starlore rather than frequencies and wavelengths. Lu Xiao charted three backup routes, marking "non-tactical key points"—especially beautiful nebulae, bright stars he called "poetic nodes of navigation."
Zhang Yifan retrofitted his armor while playing ancient seafaring chants instead of battle music. Li Yuan maintained logs of "Consciousness Purity," tracking the crew's physiological responses during memory exercises.
Deshui spent an hour daily alone in the observation deck. No one knew what he did, only that each time he returned, the light in his eyes brightened, and his presence became more translucent—like jade refined by clear water.
On the third evening, Deshui gathered the crew on the bridge. Sitting casually on a step, he gestured for them to circle around, appearing younger, more approachable.
He wore only his white shirt, the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the forearms. The old scar on his wrist faintly visible.
"I'll tell you a story," he began, hands resting on his knees. "Not a tactical brief, just a story."
He looked up at the simulated stars above. Pale, almost cold jade skin, veins faintly visible, a hint of ethereal glow in his eyes.
"When I was a simple navigator, I accompanied a research vessel to a dying star system. The star had swollen into a red giant, devouring its planets, leaving only one small rocky planet in orbit."
"By protocol, we only needed to gather data and leave. But an astronomer insisted on landing, hoping to find the last traces of life."
Zhang Yifan interjected: "That breaks safety regulations, right?"
Deshui nodded. A lock of black hair slipped over his forehead; he brushed it aside casually—a natural gesture that caught the crew off guard, seeing this human side of their commander.
"It was serious violation. Yet the captain approved. We landed and found the planet's surface crystallized, atmosphere nearly nonexistent. No signs of life at the sampling points. But in a shaded canyon, the astronomer found something—a drawing etched in heat-resistant pigments, over a billion years old."
Li Yuan leaned forward: "A drawing?"
"Dots circling a larger dot," Deshui said, his voice quivering subtly. "Simple, almost childlike. Yet the astronomer wept. It was the final record of a civilization: no distress, no warning—just a simple proof they existed: our sun, our planets, our home."
Silence fell, broken only by the hum of the life-support system. The crew watched him, noting subtle movements—eyelashes, pursed lips, clasped hands, knuckles pale from suppressed emotion.
"They could not escape their planet, yet they chose to record, not flee. To document the stars, their place in the universe, their existence."
He stood, gazing out the viewport, slender and upright like bamboo in starlight.
"Void Energy wants us to believe the universe is all commerce, everything priced, everything for sale," Deshui said, turning with eyes ablaze. "But the deepest parts of the cosmos—the evidence of civilizations, the curiosity to know, the impulse to record—cannot be bought."
"Because these things are not commodities," he said deliberately, each word pressed from his chest, "they are echoes. The universe speaking, across time and space, telling those who come after: the path has always been here—you just have to hear it."
Zhou Ming was the first to clap, followed by Lu Xiao, Zhang Yifan, Li Yuan, and Xiao Tang. Soon the entire bridge resonated—not in obedience, but in awakened recognition.
Deshui raised a hand to silence them, tracing an elegant arc in the air.
"At dawn, we set course back to the Broken Corridor," he said, calm yet luminous. "This may be the Deep Diver's last voyage, or the beginning of a new journey. But whatever happens—"
He paused, each word echoing like a bell:
"We will make the universe hear: travelers remain, curiosity remains, the path remains."
The meeting dispersed. Deshui stayed on the bridge, viewing the last Grey Falcon commander's footage. "We are fighting Definition," the message had said. He watched silently, no tactical analysis, only reflection.
"I understand your meaning," he whispered, gentle as if to not disturb the dead. "Definition. Whoever defines the universe controls it. But true definition belongs to everyone who looks up at the stars."
He closed the footage, opened his personal log, and typed:
"My father taught me to read Zhuangzi, saying: 'The heavens and earth have great beauty but do not speak.' Now I understand. They do not speak, but they echo. Starlight is an echo; gravitational waves are echoes; traces of civilizations are echoes. Void Energy tries to drown them in advertising, but they forget—silence is stronger than noise, because silence waits to be heard."
"Tomorrow, we become a voice within that silence."
He leaned back, eyes closed, imagining the Broken Corridors restored, starships freely traversing, no tolls, no advertisements—only starlight lighting the way.
And at each beginning and end of every route, someone would say:
"The path has always been yours."
At dawn, the Deep Diver powered its jump engines. Deshui stood at the command console, last checks complete. Straight as a pine, clear-eyed, his slightly worn uniform seemingly glittering with starlight.
Morning light gilded his profile; pale skin almost translucent, fine hairs visible, a flicker of unextinguishable fire in his eyes.
"All crew, ready stations," his voice echoed shipwide, warm as jade yet hard as steel. "Initiate reverse jump protocol. Destination: Broken Corridor core, near Void Energy HQ."
"Zhou Ming, crystal resonator status?"
"Preheated, pure intent index achieved, Commander." Zhou Ming replied, glancing at Deshui—hair meticulously combed, forehead exposed, sharper demeanor, yet striking.
"Lu Xiao, route confirmation?"
"Three backups loaded. Star Sea Crossing coordinates locked."
"Zhang Yifan, defenses?"
"Consciousness shield at full power. Fists ready, sir."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at Deshui's lips, subtle yet animating his face, like a frozen lake cracking to reveal spring water beneath.
"Li Yuan, crew status?"
"All consciousness purity indices above safe threshold; some exceed baseline—recalling their first telescope view of the moon." Li Yuan noted, glimpsing the quiet strength behind his calm demeanor.
"Excellent." Deshui inhaled deeply; his chest rose slightly, collarbone and neck exposed.
"Xiao Tang, open shipwide comms."
The indicator lit; his voice carried a rare ethereal resonance:
"This is Commander Deshui. This mission is unlike any before. We carry not weapons, but memories; not destruction, but awakening; not tactics, but echoes."
He paused, eyelashes casting shadows.
"In ancient Earth tales, deep divers face not darkness or pressure, but forgetting why they dive. We will face interference, obstacles, even self-doubt. Remember—we each hold a memory, a vision, a song. They are our anchors in the commercial tide."
"No matter what, remember why we set out—not to be heroes, but to prove that the star sea can still be freely traversed."
He pressed the activation button. A slight tremor in his hand—physiological response to excitement—then steady.
"Now, Deep Diver, commence the dive."
Jump engines rumbled; space warped around the ship. Original Universe starlight stretched into threads, then shattered into points. The reverse jump sensation was tenfold stronger than normal—but no one felt discomfort, anchored by memories.
Deshui gripped the controls, amid spatial tearing, seeing not darkness, but his father's worn Zhuangzi, first navigation charts, the Grey Falcon commander's unyielding eyes.
The ship vibrated violently, yet his face remained serene, sweat forming at the temples, knuckles whitening under pressure.
Then, the Broken Corridor's shattered fragments reappeared outside.
But this time, Deshui saw not scars, but gaps waiting to be mended. A flicker of pain passed through his eyes—not for himself, but for the fragmented star sea.
The Deep Diver shot forward like an arrow from the depths of time, piercing the false splendor of the Advertising Universe toward Void Energy's heart.
Onboard, a crystal began to glow faintly, purely—like the first light piercing the ancient darkness of the star sea.
Deshui released the controls, wiping sweat from his brow. Fingers lingered briefly, as if confirming something, then lowered slowly.
"Course stable," he said calmly, betraying none of the exhaustion from the reverse jump. "Now, let's see how the merchants have defined the path."