Chapter 25
Wen Ling had spent the entire afternoon in Lao Lin's workshop, his hands stained with black engine oil. He had just finished helping Lao Lin replace a complex set of cooling pipes when the old technician, for the first time ever, handed him a thick energy drink.
"Steady hands." Old Lin commented concisely, pointing with his oily thumb at the interface that Wen Ling had just tightened.
It wasn't exactly a compliment, but it warmed Wen Ling's heart. He took the cup, the coolness of the metal penetrating his palm. Just then, Luo Yan appeared at the workshop door, her mechanical prosthetic eye scanning Wen Ling.
"The Minister needs the parts list from last time. You have it."
Wen Ling then remembered that Lao Lin had asked him to check it before handing it directly to Miao Weizhen. He wiped his hands and retrieved the file from his portable terminal: "I'm just about to go there."
Miao Weizhen's workshop was deep within the base, with strict access control. Wen Ling walked to the door and found it heavy, alloy, ajar. There was no light inside, only the faint glow of instruments on standby. He knocked, but there was no response.
"Miu Bu?" he called out tentatively, but there was still silence.
He gently pushed the door open. The workroom was filled with the cold smell of metal and ozone, but it wasn't cluttered. Just as he was about to place the list on the table and leave, his eyes were drawn to the workbench in the corner.
There were several small, handcrafted metal models scattered around—a bird ready to take flight, a rose with delicate petals, and a humanoid mecha with delicate joints. They were polished to a smooth finish, standing out from the cold, precision instruments around them.
Next to the model, there is a simple alloy photo frame turned upside down.
For some unknown reason, Wen Ling walked over.
His fingertips touched the cool edge of the frame and he gently turned it over.
The photo was a bit yellowed. The boy in it was undoubtedly Miao Weizhen, about fifteen or sixteen years old, wearing greasy work clothes, his forehead damp with sweat. He wasn't looking at the camera, but rather at the girl beside him. The smile on his face was brighter and more carefree than Wen Ling had ever seen. The girl, with her hair tied in a ponytail, was making faces at the camera, clutching a circuit board in her arms. Her eyes were startlingly bright, brimming with lively vitality.
There is a line of beautiful small words in the lower right corner of the photo:
[To my brother: I wish 'Star Shuttle' a successful first trial! — Xinglan]
"Xinglan..."
Like a pebble dropped into a still lake, the name rippled through Wen Ling's heart. He vaguely remembered glimpsing it in an old, encrypted report, related to an early neural interface project...
At this moment, there were very light footsteps outside the door. Wen Ling suddenly came back to his senses and quickly put the photo frame back in its place.
Miao Weizhen stood at the door, his figure blurred against the light from the corridor. His eyes swept across Wen Ling, then fell on the moved photo frame, his gaze suddenly sharp.
Wen Ling felt her throat tighten and prepared for a storm.
But Miao Weizhen said nothing. He walked in, bypassing Wen Ling and going straight to the workbench. He picked up the picture frame, his fingertips slowly grazing the cold alloy frame, his movements so gentle it felt like touching a fragile dream. Then he opened the drawer and carefully placed the picture inside.
"List."
He spoke, his voice low and steady, without any emotion.
Wen Ling handed over the data tablet. At the moment of handing it over, he noticed that Miao Weizhen's finger joints were very tense, and his nails were slightly white from the force.
"go out."
Wen Ling turned silently. As the door closed, he glanced back. Miao Weizhen stood with his back to him, one hand resting on the operating table, head slightly lowered. The light outlined his thin spine, the wrist exposed from his rolled-up sleeves, the bones clearly defined, the skin so pale it was almost blinding in the cold light. This silent figure was more suffocating than any rebuke.
That night, Wen Ling tossed and turned in bed. The girl's radiant smile in the photo and Miao Weizhen's subdued expression as he closed the frame kept replaying in his mind.
He stood up and tried to go to the pantry. As he passed the medical area, he heard Dr. Case's hushed voice coming from inside.
"...Your neuralgia has recurred. That kind of deep diving is cumulatively taxing on the brain. If you continue like this..."
"We're almost there, Case," Mou Weizhen interrupted him hoarsely, with an air of exhaustion bordering on paranoia. "I can feel it... it's almost there."
Wen Ling leaned against the cold wall and closed his eyes. The fragments gradually came together—a brilliant sister, a research project that had failed or gone awry, and Miao Weizhen's now almost self-destructive obsession. He repeatedly plunged into the abyss of consciousness, not just for information, but more like a desperate attempt to salvage something.
The next morning, Wen Ling saw Miao Weizhen in the dining area. He sat in his usual seat, his prepared meal before him, but he didn't move. He tilted his head slightly, gazing out the porthole at the eternal starry sky. The morning light cast a faint shadow on his sharply defined profile. His lashes drooped, casting a small, tired, bluish-gray tint on his lower lids.
Wen Ling silently pushed the fresh berries specially provided by Ayuan on her plate in front of the other party.
Miao Weizhen regained consciousness, his gaze fixed on the water-stained dark purple fruits, then raised his eyes to look at Wen Ling. His eyes, a deep brown in the morning light, like amber soaked in the night, held a hint of astonishment that he could not conceal.
Wen Ling didn't avoid his gaze and said softly, "Ayuan said... this is somewhat helpful in relieving nervous fatigue."
Miao Weizhen didn't move or speak. After a moment, he moved his fingertips ever so slightly and picked up a berry. The deep purple juice stained his pale fingertips with a hint of bright color. He lowered his head and quietly began to eat.
A silent understanding flowed between the two of them. Wen Ling did not ask about the photo, nor did he reveal the conversation in the medical room. He just told the other party in this way:
I see your pain.
I see.
And Miao Weizhen accepted this clumsy approach with his silence.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
