Light and Hope
The metal surface of the ventilation duct was icy cold, and Du Siling crawled forward with her palms pressed against it.
The sounds of pursuers behind him gradually faded into the distance, but the feeling of being watched lingered. Suddenly, Han Beimo stopped and turned at a fork in the road, almost entirely covered in rust.
"Next," he whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the narrow pipe.
Han Beimo kicked open the loose outer cover and landed lightly. Du Siling followed closely behind, finding herself standing in an underground facility even older than the laboratory upstairs. The damp air was filled with the smell of some kind of chemical agent, mixed with a faint metallic odor.
Under the dim emergency lights, two rows of large culture chambers stood side by side, most of them broken, with shards of glass scattered all over the floor. However, the two innermost chambers were intact, labeled "Alpha" and "Beta" respectively.
A sudden, sharp pain shot through Du Siling's temple, and a blurry image flashed through her mind—a transparent canopy, blinding lights, and a pair of gentle woman's hands...
"Did you see that?" Han Beimo's voice seemed to come from a very far place.
Du Siling shook her head to dispel the hallucination: "What did you see?"
"Those images. When you looked at the incubation chamber," Han Beimo's eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light, "I saw them too. A woman... possibly your mother."
Du Siling's heart pounded. They had shared the same hallucination. The connection in the RH-0 gene was deeper than they had imagined.
At the far end of the lab stood an instrument covered with a dust cloth. Du Siling walked over and lifted the cloth, revealing an old-fashioned gene sequencer. The machine's surface was covered in dust, but the control panel appeared intact.
On a whim, Du Siling pressed the start button. The machine emitted a low hum, and the screen flickered a few times before lighting up. A line of green text appeared:
Welcome back, Beta. Last login: May 12, 2003.
Du Siling's fingers froze in mid-air. Beta—the code name in the logbook that matched his footprint. How could a machine recognize him?
"Try your fingerprint," Han Beimo suggested.
Du Siling pressed her thumb on the scanning area. The screen flashed, displaying "Identity Confirmed: Beta-Du," and then automatically loaded a series of gene maps and experimental records.
The topmost document is titled "Twin Project Phase Report," dated December 24, 1995:
"Alpha (Han Beimo) and Beta (Du Siling) exhibit perfect gene complementarity. Alpha's RH-0 gene purity reaches 99.7%, while Beta, although only expressing 42.3% of its genes, displays rare stability. When the two come into contact, Alpha's gene activity increases by 300%, and Beta's dormant genes are activated..."
The contents of the file were encrypted. Du Siling tried several passwords, but none of them worked. Han Beimo suddenly reached out and typed "Linghua Du Zhiyuan 0509".
The password is correct.
"How did you come up with that?" Du Siling asked in surprise.
Han Beimo looked somewhat dazed: "I don't know. It just... suddenly popped into my head."
The files were unlocked, revealing even more astonishing content. Not only were there detailed experimental records, but also numerous photos—two infants interacting under various monitoring instruments, video screenshots of them playing together as toddlers, and even surveillance footage of them in the orphanage.
"We were not only born on the same day, month, and year..." Du Siling's voice was hoarse, "we were placed together for observation from a young age."
Han Beimo's finger traced a photo on the screen of two five-year-old boys sitting side by side: "That's why the orphanage took me in. It wasn't a coincidence; it was part of a plan."
Du Siling suddenly felt a sharp dizziness, and more images that weren't part of her memory flooded her mind—a sun-drenched garden, two little boys crouching among azaleas, a woman's gentle voice: "Xiao Bei, Siling, it's time to go home..."
"Ah!" Han Beimo suddenly clutched his head and knelt on one knee. His eyes turned completely golden in the darkness, and the blue lines beneath his skin were clearly visible. "Too many...too many memories..."
Du Siling also felt a splitting headache, as if countless fragments were being forcibly shoved into his brain. He slumped down next to Han Beimo, their shoulders touching. In an instant, a warm current flowed through the point of contact, and the headache miraculously lessened.
"We need to control this connection," Du Siling said breathlessly, "otherwise we'll be overwhelmed by information."
Han Beimo nodded, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. Once they had recovered slightly, they continued reviewing the documents. The last few pages made the air freeze:
"Emergency Notice, May 2003: The plan has been exposed and risks have been identified. Immediately separate Alpha and Beta, and erase all related memories. Alpha will be placed under the supervision of Han Zhenyue, and Beta will be protected by Du Zhiyuan. Awaiting further instructions. —LC"
"LC..." Du Siling read out the abbreviation, "Chen Yan?"
Han Beimo shook his head: "The handwriting doesn't look like it. Look at this curve, it looks more like..." His voice stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on the signature on the screen, his expression becoming extremely complicated.
"Like what?"
"It looks like your mother's handwriting," Han Beimo said softly. "I've seen a comparison in Ling Hua's notes."
Du Siling was struck dumb. His mother? The gentle woman who died in a car accident when he was seven years old—could she be a participant in this experiment?
Suddenly, Han Beimo looked up sharply at the ceiling: "Someone's here. More than one."
Du Siling focused his attention and, sure enough, heard faint footsteps coming from above. Strangely, he felt that the sound didn't come through his ears, but rather appeared directly in his mind—as if Han Beimo had heard it first and then transmitted the information to him.
"The back door." Han Beimo pointed to the other side of the laboratory. "There should be an emergency exit there."
They quickly gathered several key documents and moved towards the exit. Just as Han Beimo pushed open the emergency door, a danger signal flashed through Du Siling's mind—there was an ambush outside.
"Wait!" He grabbed Han Beimo.
Almost simultaneously, three bullets pierced the metal door and struck the spot where Han Beimo had just been standing.
"How did you know?" Han Beimo asked in surprise.
Du Siling shook her head: "I just... I felt it."
The two retreated back to the lab, searching for another way out. The footsteps of their pursuers grew closer, and Du Siling could clearly sense at least six people, divided into two groups, flanking them from the front and rear. This supernatural ability to sense things was both unsettling and strangely natural, as if he had been born with it.
"The ventilation system," Han Beimo pointed to the ceiling, "but this time they'll definitely be on guard."
Du Siling looked around and noticed the drain in the corner: "A sewer. A research institute like this must have a large drainage system."
They pried open the drain cover, revealing a dark, vertical passageway that reeked of mold and chemicals. Han Beimo went down first to scout the way, followed closely by Du Siling. After descending about five meters, the passageway leveled out, wide enough for an adult to walk through while bending over.
In the darkness, Du Siling discovered that he could see everything clearly—every detail of the pipe's inner wall, Han Beimo's silhouette in front of him, even the small creatures swimming in the water. Even stranger, he could sense Han Beimo's presence even without looking, as if he had a precise navigation system within him.
"Turn left." Han Beimo's voice echoed through the pipes. "There's a fork in the road ahead."
Du Siling was surprised to find that she had also seen the fork in the road at the same moment—not with her eyes, but through some kind of perception shared with Han Beimo.
"Can you...see what I see?" Du Siling asked.
Han Beimo stopped and turned to face him. In the absolute darkness, his eyes shone like two golden lamps: "It wasn't just seeing. When the bullet came, I felt your warning as if it were my own thought."
This connection transcends the physical realm, directly touching the core of thought. Du Siling was both shocked and inexplicably reassured—in this world full of betrayal, there was at least one person who was completely connected with him.
The sewers were winding and meandering, but they moved through them with remarkable ease, as if they had traversed this path countless times before.
An hour later, a maintenance well appeared above. Han Beimo pushed open the heavy well cover, and the two climbed out to find themselves in a pine forest, with the outline of the research institute visible in the distance.
"At least ten kilometers," Du Siling estimated. "How come we're not tired after walking so far?"
Han Beimo stretched his shoulder; the gunshot wound there had healed to just a shallow scar. "RH-0 gene. Physical strength, endurance, and recovery speed are several times that of an ordinary person."
They decided to head into the mountains, where it would be easier to hide. They stopped to wash themselves at a stream. Du Siling took off her blood-stained shirt and found that the wound on her waist had completely healed, leaving only a patch of pinkish new flesh.
"Incredible." He touched the mark. "These kinds of injuries usually take weeks to heal."
Han Beimo squatted by the stream, cupping water in his hands to wash his face, droplets dripping down his jawline. In the sunlight, his pupils contracted to thin slits, adapting to the bright light like a feline.
"Look," he suddenly pointed to the water.
A rusty key lay at the bottom of the stream, almost blending into the stone. Du Siling wouldn't have noticed it at all, but Han Beimo spotted it precisely. He retrieved the key and handed it to Du Siling.
Why give it to me?
Han Beimo's expression was somewhat dazed: "I don't know. I just feel... it belongs to you."
Du Siling took the key, a strange sense of familiarity washing over her. A small "D" was engraved on the key handle, almost invisible due to the erosion of time.
"I think I've seen this key before..." he murmured.
Han Beimo suddenly pressed his temple, his expression pained: "The image...a small box...red..."
Du Siling also saw it—in the blurry fragments of memory, a red lacquered wooden box with azalea patterns painted on it. But when he tried to grasp more details, the image vanished again.
"Memory recovery is gradual," Han Beimo said breathlessly. "After the RH-0 gene is activated, the memories suppressed by the drugs begin to flow back."
"drug?"
"The vitamin pills from the orphanage," Han Beimo sneered. "Remember? The pink pills every morning."
Du Siling did remember. Li's mother always watched them swallow before leaving. It turned out it wasn't vitamins, but memory suppressants.
As evening fell, they found a hunter's hut to rest in. The hut was simple but dry, with basic cooking utensils and a narrow bed. Han Beimo set up a makeshift alarm system around the hut—empty cans connected by thin strings that would sound if anyone approached.
"We'll take turns sleeping," he said, taking some dry rations from his backpack and giving them to Du Siling. "You rest first."
Du Siling shook her head: "You need more rest. You barely slept last night."
In fact, he could sense Han Beimo's fatigue through that strange connection—it was as if he had an extra sensory system inside his body, specifically monitoring the state of another person.
Han Beimo didn't insist and lay down on the narrow bed. The bed was too small, so he could only lie on his side, with his back to the room. Du Siling sat by the window keeping watch, moonlight casting dappled shadows on the floor through the dirty glass.
A few hours later, Han Beimo suddenly convulsed in his sleep, cold sweat beading on his forehead, his lips moving silently. Du Siling immediately went over, hesitated for a moment, and then gently pressed down on his shoulder.
"Wake up, you're dreaming."
Han Beimo suddenly opened his eyes, his golden pupils dilating in the darkness. He grabbed Du Siling's wrist with enough force to crush bones, but released it the next second.
"I'm sorry." He sat up, panting. "I dreamt about my childhood... my father..."
Du Siling didn't know what to say. Through their brief contact, he had already sensed fragments of Han Beimo's dream—the dark basement, the man's roar, and the piercing pain. These fragments made his chest tighten.
"The bed is too narrow," Han Beimo suddenly said, his voice unusually hoarse, "but if we... squeeze in... we can both get some rest."
Du Siling should have refused. Maintaining distance would have been the rational choice. But a deeper impulse, more profound than reason, made him nod.
On the narrow bed, the two lay back to back, deliberately keeping a little distance between them. But the cabin was cold at night, and without realizing it, they drew closer and closer. When Du Siling's back finally pressed against Han Beimo's back, a warm current instantly flowed through her body.
The feeling was both strange and familiar, like returning to a long-forgotten place of peace.
"This feeling..." Han Beimo whispered in the darkness, "When I was a child in the orphanage, we slept huddled together like this in the winter."
Du Siling suddenly remembered—those cold nights when two little boys huddled together in the same bed, keeping each other warm. The memory was so vivid, as if it had just happened yesterday.
"I remember," he answered softly, "you always gave me a little more blanket."
Han Beimo's body stiffened slightly, then slowly relaxed: "You finally remembered."
And so, the two "twins" created by genetic engineering, separated for twenty years, once again fell asleep back to back. Outside the window, a full moon hung high, like a silent witness.
Just as dawn was breaking, the alarm suddenly went off. The two instantly snapped to attention, their movements synchronized as if they were one. Du Siling peeked through the crack in the window and saw three fully armed men approaching the cabin; the one leading them was none other than Yang Zhiming.
"The back window," Han Beimo said softly, having already packed his backpack.
They silently climbed out the window and slipped into the misty woods. But this time, the pursuers seemed prepared. Du Siling had only run a few dozen meters when she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her thigh—a tranquilizer dart was embedded there.
"Run!" he shouted to Han Beimo, "Don't worry about me!"
Han Beimo turned back, pulled out the tranquilizer dart, and threw it aside. When his hand touched Du Siling, that strange connection strengthened once more. Du Siling felt the effects of the anesthetic being neutralized by some force, and her mind cleared again.
"Twins can't be separated." Han Beimo pulled him along, his voice tense. "Yang Zhiming is right—they'd rather have a corpse than let us be together. Do you know why?"
Du Siling suddenly understood: "Because we are a complete weapon system when we are together."
A furious roar came from behind: "Capture the Alpha alive! The Betas can be dealt with on the spot!"
A bullet grazed Du Siling's ear, and another struck near Han Beimo's feet. They ran into the denser woods, using the terrain for cover. Strangely, Du Siling could predict the trajectory of each bullet, as if he shared the same combat instincts as Han Beimo.
"There's a cliff ahead," Han Beimo suddenly said. "The stream is below."
Du Siling immediately understood his plan. As the pursuers closed in, the two leaped off the cliff simultaneously, plunging into the rushing stream below. The instant the cold water submerged their heads, Du Siling felt Han Beimo's hand tightly grip his wrist, a connection that remained unbroken even in the water.
Sweeped downstream by the rapids, they shook off their pursuers. But the real danger was just beginning—as the RH-0 gene was fully activated, the connection between the two grew stronger, and the truth about the "twin system" in the experimental records was far darker than they had imagined...
I once found a ray of light, and returned it to the sun at sunset, knowing it wasn't my sun.
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