Antarctica Main City.

"They're here!" a soldier shouted, "General Lance!"

Lance responded with sharp precision, "Report to General Wei immediately!"

The biting cold, at forty-five degrees below zero, turned everything into ice. The sky remained perpetually dark, the sunlight brief, and the polar night endless. As the last sliver of twilight slipped below the horizon, Lance removed his snow-reflective goggles. Thick gloves covered his hands, and a hood encased his head. The soldiers clutched their guns, trembling beneath the flickering light of the Tesla coils.

Lance spoke into his communicator, "Radar online! A massive wave of metal killers has landed on the Amundsen Coast! All forces, prepare for battle!"

A thousand nuclear magnetic cannons rose from the towers, aimed toward the vast, white expanse of the ice-bound coast. Nothing could be seen, but the radar was filled with countless blips.

Lance held his breath as he awkwardly pulled a photograph from his thick coat pocket. In it, Zheng Feng cradled Zheng Rong, who flashed a bright smile and gave a "peace" sign. Lance remembered that day vividly—ten minutes before the picture was taken, Zheng Rong had been in tears.

"You better give me back my brother!" a furious Zheng Rong, resembling a wild child, furiously grabbed at Lance.

Lance cursed in German, kicking Zheng Rong into a corner. Zheng Rong, undeterred, switched to English, loudly swearing back. Lance was momentarily stunned before bursting into laughter.

"You speak English too?" Lance asked.

Zheng Rong panted heavily, his head bleeding from the impact.

Lance swung a whip across Zheng Rong's neck, splitting the skin open. Zheng Rong let out a sharp cry, tears flowing down his face, while Li Ying, in the adjacent cell, violently shook the iron bars, shouting, "Let him go! Let him go!"

Suddenly, Lance felt a tight grip around his collar as he was slammed against the bars. His head smashed into the metal with a loud clang, and his vision went black. A strong arm constricted his throat, choking him. It was Li Ying, like a raging tiger, his arm wrapped around Lance’s neck. Zheng Rong then grabbed Lance’s pistol and pointed it at his temple.

Lance froze. He had come to torment Zheng Rong but was instead subdued by two Chinese boys—one of them only six years old—holding a gun to his head.

All three remained still. The prison guard laughed hysterically, taunting, "Shoot him! Don’t be afraid, Chinese kid! You know kung fu!"

Lance's chest heaved as he struggled for air and passed out.

Finally, Zheng Rong holstered the gun. "We can't kill him," he muttered.

Li Ying let out a simple "Oh," releasing his grip, and Lance crumpled to the floor.

"What now?" Li Ying asked.

Zheng Rong replied, "Nothing."

Li Ying didn’t understand but didn’t question it further. Zheng Rong then struggled to drag Lance to the edge of the cell, sat down against the wall, and soon broke into sobs.

"Don't cry, Zheng Rong," Li Ying said from the other side of the bars. "Come here."

Zheng Rong ignored him.

"Zheng Rong," Li Ying continued, "men don't cry. You need to be cold. Like this, look at them—look at the bad guys."

Zheng Rong remained silent.

Lance, who had been pretending to be unconscious, finally couldn’t hold back and opened his eyes. In English, he asked, "Why are you crying?"

In broken English, Zheng Rong replied, "Dad, mom, they're gone. And my brother was taken away too."

Lance frowned. "Your accent... It's strange."

Li Ying snapped, "Zheng Rong, don’t talk to him! Stop talking!"

Zheng Rong fell silent and pressed the gun harder against Lance's head.

"Did you learn English from a Black guy?" Lance asked.

Zheng Rong nodded.

"Give me back my gun. Be good. Listen to me," Lance said cautiously, slipping his thumb through the trigger guard and deftly removing the gun from Zheng Rong’s hand.

"You forgot to disengage the safety," Lance chuckled.

Zheng Rong blinked. "I forgot."

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Lance sighed. "..."

"What did he say?" Li Ying asked.

"He said I forgot to disengage the safety," Zheng Rong replied in Chinese, "but I did it on purpose."

Li Ying, puzzled, asked, "What safety?"

Zheng Rong explained, "I was scared my hands would shake, and the gun would go off."

Li Ying didn’t get it.

Lance understood Chinese but couldn’t speak it. He quickly got up, pushed Zheng Rong aside, holstered his gun, and ran off without looking back.

"Remember," Li Ying instructed, "you have to look at them coldly."

Zheng Rong nodded, signaling he understood.

The next time Lance came around, both boys stared at him with intense hostility.

"Zheng Feng has posted bail," Lance announced.

Zheng Rong was dumbfounded but maintained the "cold" expression Li Ying had taught him. He coolly said, "Thank you."

"What are you thanking him for?" Li Ying asked.

"You two can leave now," Lance continued, taking out a set of keys to unlock the cell.

Li Ying took Zheng Rong’s hand, and they followed Lance out. Zheng Feng was waiting for them outside the children’s shelter. The moment Zheng Rong saw his brother, he broke into tears again, throwing himself into Zheng Feng’s arms. Li Ying let out a sigh of relief.

"Come on, crybaby," Zheng Feng teased, "can’t you stop crying?"

"He didn’t cry while inside," Li Ying remarked.

Zheng Rong wiped his tears away as Zheng Feng took his hand. Turning to Lance, Zheng Feng said, "Thank you."

"You’re welcome," Lance mumbled, his face flushing red like a monkey’s bottom. Thankfully, neither Li Ying nor Zheng Rong mentioned the earlier incident. Li Ying kept his "cold" demeanor, while Zheng Rong had already forgotten.

Zheng Feng smiled, "Let’s take a picture. We’re Irish citizens now. This man is a journalist covering our story."

"Stop crying, Zheng Rong. You need to grow up. If you cry again, I’ll really have to leave."

Zheng Feng lifted Zheng Rong in his arms while Li Ying stood beside them. "Come on, join us," Zheng Feng beckoned Lance.

Lance approached, and a photographer clicked the shutter. The moment was immortalized in front of the fountain garden in Northern Ireland. The next day, the newspaper’s headline read: "Orphaned Scientists Settle in Northern Ireland: United Nations Grants Green Cards and Funding for Their Care."

That year, Zheng Feng was sixteen, Lance was fourteen, Li Ying was nine, and Zheng Rong was six.

"Brother, where are we going?" Zheng Rong asked.

"We have a place to live now. I’ll go earn money to take care of you, all of you, until the world is at peace."

Northern Ireland, Scientists’ Apartment.

Xiang Yu had returned, looking at Zheng Rong. Zheng Rong frowned, "What are you staring at?"

With a gentle smile, Xiang Yu said, "You can call me brother from now on."

Zheng Rong shrugged, heading to the coffee maker. "Watch closely. Put the water and coffee grounds in here, press this button, place it on this base..."

Xiang Yu carefully observed his every move, then glanced at Zheng Rong. "You really like this stuff?"

Zheng Rong, slightly surprised, asked, "How did you know?"

Xiang Yu replied, "It’s the first thing you taught me how to use."

Zheng Rong chuckled, somewhat self-deprecating, "You know me well."

Xiang Yu nodded in agreement, then followed Zheng Rong’s instructions, brewing the coffee. Zheng Rong sat at his computer, while Xiang Yu watched him intently. Zheng Rong suddenly turned, "You can’t use this yet. Learn Chinese first, then I’ll teach you."

"Understood," Xiang Yu said, standing to find two cups, pouring coffee into each, and handing one to Zheng Rong.

"Wow, you catch on quick," Zheng Rong remarked, unable to hide his amusement. "Lance is so hopeless with survival skills, he might as well die."

Xiang Yu took a sip of the black coffee and immediately spat it out, his face contorted in disgust.

Zheng Rong burst into laughter. "I like my coffee black, but you probably can’t handle it. Try adding some sugar and creamer—it’ll taste better."

Xiang Yu nodded and accepted the revised cup of coffee. Then he asked, "What now?"

"You should laugh more," Xiang Yu observed, "you always look so serious."

Zheng Rong replied nonchalantly, "That’s just my personality. If you don’t like it, find someone else."

Xiang Yu knew Zheng Rong was just being defensive and smiled knowingly.

A few days later, while helping Zheng Rong clean the apartment, Xiang Yu found a box under the bed. He opened it, finding a dog-shaped keychain and an old notebook. It was a gift from Zheng Feng, given to Zheng Rong while he was still a student.

Xiang Yu flipped through the pages, which were filled with a strange mix of handwriting styles. The notebook had been passed around between Li Ying, Zheng Rong, and Lance. They had written back and forth during class, talking about what they ate for lunch, where they planned to hang out after school, or nearly getting caught while climbing over walls. Zheng Feng had occasionally caught sight of it in Zheng Rong’s school bag but only ever corrected Lance’s grammatical mistakes.

A photograph fell from between the pages. It was the group photo from the day Zheng Feng was released on bail.

Xiang Yu put the photo into the wallet Zheng Rong had given him. The wallet contained only his ID, so he tucked the picture inside, photo side down.

When Zheng Rong returned, he saw the box and snapped, "What are you doing with my stuff? I told you not to touch it!"

Xiang Yu, caught off guard, tried to explain, "It was under your bed..."

But Zheng Rong, without even glancing at the contents, slammed the lid shut and kicked the box back under the bed. He sat silently on the edge for a long time, muttering, "I can’t cry. If I cry again, brother will really leave."

"Zheng Rong..." Xiang Yu started.

But Zheng Rong grabbed the box again and stormed out of the room.

"Zheng Rong!" Xiang Yu shouted, running after him, shirtless, down the stairs.

Zheng Rong crouched in the stairwell, setting the contents of the box on fire.

It was his darkest, most sorrowful moment. Zheng Feng was dead, Li Ying had been missing for three years, and Lance, wracked with guilt, barely dared to visit him. When he did, his eyes were always red with tears.

Xiang Yu knelt beside Zheng Rong, his voice low. "Why burn it?"

"The past is dead," Zheng Rong said.

Xiang Yu placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, lifting him into his arms and carrying him back home. Behind them, the flames in the stairwell flickered and consumed the last of the memories.

Antarctica:

"Positions!" Lance yelled. "Prepare for combat!"

The first wave of ground attacks began. Tanks rumbled out from the defensive positions, and the main city’s countless turret guns unleashed a barrage, lighting up the dark Antarctic sky. Electromagnetic projectiles streaked through the night, as explosions erupted across the continent, and more mechanized killers swarmed forward.

Armored vehicles and bombers followed the missiles, the bombers dropping sonic bombs into the fray.

Explosions filled the battlefield as mechanical spiders fired blue lasers, creating a crisscrossing web of destruction. Bombers fell from the sky, one after another, while armored vehicles were torn apart. Lance shouted, "Retreat into the defensive fortifications!"

Tesla coils sparked, flooding the battlefield with blinding light. The electric arcs spread out, disintegrating the mechanical killers on the icy plains.

Mothership:

Xiang Yu: "The dead have entrusted me with their memories, but their will and desires conflict. I’ve pondered long and hard, unsure what to do."

Xiang Yu: "Yes, if I stay, I can care for Zheng Rong, but I can’t protect him. I can’t give him a safe world or fertile ground to live in. But if I die to protect him, I’ll leave him forever. If it were you, what would you do?"

Xiang Yu: "Zheng Rong is right. If one lives a life without achieving their heart’s desires, then perhaps it’s better to die at the most romantic moment."

Maya lay on the central control panel, eyes dull.

Maya: [Tell me about yourself. Those memories I saw—they’re just fragments.]

Xiang Yu: [There’s nothing much to say. I’m not even truly myself. All the feelings I have for Zheng Rong are tied to Zheng Feng’s memories.]

Maya: [Then you are merely a fragment of a soul drifting through time.]

Xiang Yu closed his eyes and released his sword, letting it fall to the ground. He reached out with his left hand, his finger hovering over the device on his right wrist.

Maya’s eyes snapped open, growing tenfold in size, filling nearly half its face. Symbols spun in its enlarged pupils, glowing with energy.

Maya: [What are you doing?]

Xiang Yu: [Ending this.]

Suddenly, it was as if Xiang Yu had been struck by a hammer. His mind buzzed, and his hand trembled, freezing in midair as countless memories shattered and reformed. Echoing screams and agonizing cries flooded his consciousness.

On the plains of Mesopotamia, beneath a setting sun.

Xiang Yu leaned against a dead tree by the riverbank, casting a fishing line into the water. Zheng Rong crept up behind him, wrapping his arms around Xiang Yu’s neck and resting his head on his shoulder.

"Shh," Xiang Yu smiled gently, "you’ll scare away the fish, Zheng Rong."

"Brother," Zheng Rong mumbled sleepily, "you’ve been sitting here fishing all day. Aren’t you bored? Let me tell you a story."

"Alright," Xiang Yu agreed.

He gently pulled Zheng Rong into his lap, letting him lie down on the deadwood. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the wind blew softly. Zheng Rong felt comfortable, his eyes slowly closing as sleep overtook him.

He forgot to tell his story, and Xiang Yu didn’t remind him.

Moments later, Zheng Rong was fast asleep. Xiang Yu glanced down at his peaceful face, reaching out to gently ruffle his hair.

"Brother," Zheng Rong’s voice echoed in Xiang Yu’s mind, a buried memory resurfacing, drifting away like fragments in the wind.

Xiang Yu whispered softly, "I hear you, Zheng Rong."

With that, Xiang Yu pressed the self-destruct button.