Chapter Sixty-Three: The Everlasting Stars

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The dust had settled.

When the smoke of "Zero Hour," along with Anderson and the shadowy "Ghost" network behind him, were sealed away for the time being in the depths of top-secret archives, the city that had just survived a catastrophe resumed its usual bustling vitality, alive with traffic and noise.

As if nothing had ever happened.

Three days later.

National Cybersecurity Martyrs' Cemetery.

A fine, sorrowful drizzle fell from the sky, washing the silent black tombstones, making them appear all the more solemn and austere.

Lin Feng, having changed out of the combat uniform soaked in smoke and sweat, wore only a simple black trench coat as he walked alone, slowly, across this land where countless nameless heroes rested.

He carried no umbrella.

He allowed the cold rain, tinged with the scent of earth, to soak his hair and seep into his face, as if in this most primal way he could cleanse the fatigue and dust that had weighed on his soul for five long years.

At last, he stopped before a tombstone he knew by heart.

[Tomb of Lu Hongsheng, First-Class Combat Hero of National Cybersecurity]

In the photo, the man—forever young, his smile as radiant as midsummer sunlight—gazed quietly at him.

Lin Feng slowly crouched down.

From the innermost pocket of his trench coat, closest to his heart, he carefully drew out a medal, deformed and fused by fire, long since warmed by his own body heat.

With his sleeve, he gently wiped away the few cold raindrops that had clung to the medal, as delicately as if he were handling a precious treasure.

“...Teacher.”

Lin Feng’s voice was soft, so soft it was nearly swallowed by the steady sound of rain, as if he were chatting with an old friend he hadn’t seen for years.

“‘Ouroboros.’ Anderson. We got him.”

“Those vermin who hid in the shadows and fired from cover back then—they’ve all been found and dealt with, every last one.”

He looked at his mentor's smiling face, and his own lips tugged into a smile more painful than tears.

“Your vengeance... I suppose it’s done, isn’t it?”

The rain seemed to fall harder.

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But Lin Feng’s eyes did not reflect the pleasure of revenge fulfilled; instead, there flickered in them a confusion deeper than he had ever felt before.

“...But, Teacher... why am I not as happy as I thought I’d be?”

“I sent them all to hell, but I... it’s as if I’m still standing right where I began, alone.”

He murmured to himself, as though he had finally unraveled the puzzle that had haunted him for five years.

“...I think I’m starting to understand the last words you left me.”

“‘To protect’... its true meaning wasn’t about vengeance, was it?”

“It’s about safeguarding more people like you—those with talent and ideals, those willing to burn for our country, the madmen and fools—so they never have to follow your path.”

“It’s about letting every spark of talent and every dream, all the persistence and struggle on this land, flourish proudly and freely beneath the sun...”

“...to burn.”

...

Not far away, beneath the sprawling camphor tree.

Director Wang, his superior, stood quietly for a long time beneath a black umbrella.

He watched the young man’s back, his eyes full of pride, but tinged with a compassion not easily discerned.

Slowly, he walked over—without a word, simply standing silently behind Lin Feng.

Lin Feng seemed to sense his familiar presence, yet he did not turn around.

At last, he looked deeply at the medal in his hand—a medal that had accompanied him through eighteen hundred days and nights, the symbol of all his torment and obsession.

In those eyes, once cold and full of fury, there flickered a trace of reluctance, but even more, a peaceful relief as if a great burden had finally been lifted.

He extended his hand.

He placed the burned, battered token—laden with too many memories—gently and reverently upon the cold marble base of Lu Hongsheng’s tomb.

“...Teacher.”

He spoke softly.

“It’s returned to its rightful owner.”

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Having said this, he slowly stood, turned, and faced Director Wang behind him.

By some miracle, the rain had stopped, though neither could say when.

A golden ray of sunlight pierced the heavy clouds, like a spotlight on a stage, falling gently upon the wet flagstones between the two men.

Director Wang looked at the young man before him, who in that instant seemed to have undergone a profound transformation, his eyes full of hope and expectation.

“...Have you made your decision?”

Lin Feng glanced at the rare sunlight, then back at the tombstone, at his mentor’s face, which seemed warmer than ever in the sun.

At last, he gave a smile—a smile of genuine relief, light and unburdened, from the depths of his heart.

“Yes.”

A single word, worth more than a thousand.

Director Wang nodded with satisfaction. He closed his umbrella and, with great solemnity, extended his right hand to Lin Feng.

His tone was no longer the polite courtesy reserved for a consultant, nor the tentative probing used for “Zhurong,” but the true welcome and recognition of a comrade.

“Then—welcome back to the team...”

“Comrade Lin Feng.”

Lin Feng took the offered hand, gripping Director Wang’s warm, steady grasp tightly.

Beyond the silent stones of the cemetery, beyond those two figures shaking hands in the sunlight, the view stretched toward the distant city—a city that had just survived an invisible disaster, yet now, beneath the radiant sun, bustled with life and hope.

A great city.

The stars of heroes never set.

The mission to protect never ends.