Pillar of Yita

Many voices merged into a torrent that swept into Huang Bingkun’s mind, making him recall many things about the past. It was like many fragments flowing into a vast river, where countless faces floated and sank, with different appearances, clothing, accents, and looks. Like fragments of a film, they blinked in the depths of his memory and then vanished, speaking different words in different times and scenes, some he could remember, while others were as if they were strangers.

A final white light pierced his eyes, causing his pupils to contract slightly, and then the light gradually receded, revealing the vague shadows behind it. The shadows overlapped with each other, forming three people standing in front of him, one of them holding a light source, and his blurred vision gradually became clear in this process.

”What’s your name?”

”Huang... Bingkun.”

”That’s not what you said last time.”

”No, that’s my name.”

”Really?”

Huang Bingkun felt his mind operating like an ancient clock, moving awkwardly and slowly, with its rusty springs occasionally getting stuck, as if stepping into a blank space, creating a break.

He was like a walking corpse, taking an unreasonably long time to think of the simplest answer. The next moment, like a stiff stone statue, he gave a barely perceptible nod.

”Yes...”

”Do you remember what you did a year ago?”

”...”

”Do you remember?”

”I remember.”

”What was it?”

”...”

”...According to the covenant, I brought someone to this place.”

”What covenant?”

”...This covenant.”

”This place?”

”...Yes, Stargate Port.”

”Why?”

”For money...”

”How much?”

”Ten... two hundred seventy thousand.”

The wheel of memory froze on a face, a big boy, visibly simple, with a good family background, well-mannered, slightly amusing, but not annoying.

Then there was another person, but the latter memory became confused, with heavy shadows fading into chaos.

The person’s voice in front was becoming stern, with an undeniable tone:

”Huang Bingkun, think again, how much was it?”

”It was two hundred seventy thousand.”

The person’s face showed a slight contemptuous smile.

He took out a small object and pressed a button, which immediately emitted a voice:

”How much was it?”

”...one hundred seventy thousand.”

Or perhaps another voice, another number.

”Huang Bingkun,” the person sneered, ”I see you’re determined to stick to your story, not intending to tell us the truth. Do you know what your consequence will be? If this continues, you can take any problems you have to the military court.”

Huang Bingkun sat there woodenly.

Several different numbers were tumbling in his mind.

Sometimes it was seventeen, sometimes it was twenty-seven, or it became another number, while the severe reprimand at his ear also turned into buzzing noise, seemingly truly receding, yet lingering in his mind, merging into hundreds and thousands of voices. This sound caused him to recall his youthful days, a long train passing through his hometown, the rumbling wails emitted on railway tracks...

In that era, such trains had long become antiques, with only a few still running, most having become a choice for tourists due to cost or other factors.

But that sound reminded him of the distant past, like his childhood days, his parents’ old home, pulling on his heartstrings. He felt like he was going home, truly wanting to have a good sleep.

But someone quickly shook him awake.

”Huang Bingkun,” the person asked again, ”do you know his parents?”

”...”

”...I don’t know them.”

”Really don’t know them?”

The sluggishness of thought returned.

After a long time, he slowly shook his head.

The questioning officer stood up from his chair, not because the questioning ended, but because the surroundings dimmed—the lights in the space station went out, switching to a dark red hue. An alarm emitted a beeping sound, and in the next moment, a monotonous synthesized voice spoke above everyone’s heads:

”Emergency situation, notifying all department personnel to gather immediately at area A-4.”

”Repeat, emergency situation, notifying all department personnel to gather immediately at area A-4.”

The hatch behind them hissed open, and someone walked over: ”Emergency situation, everyone, the higher-ups want us to go over there immediately.”

The officer pulled up the collar of his black trench coat, turning back to ask:

”What’s going on?”

”The first test has begun—”

”Did the person arrive?”

The blinking red light illuminated the face of the newcomer, who nodded.

Hearing this, the officer fell silent, glanced back at Huang Bingkun who had already slumped down, and gently nodded. ”We had already gotten some information.” He muttered but didn’t say more, immediately telling others to pack up and leave.

”Everyone check the things left behind, exit in order.”

”I’ll be the last to leave.”

”No tools can be left in this room.”

”Any items brought must be registered, whoever is missing something will be held accountable.”

Soldiers and staff filed out in succession.

The officer took one last look around, then pulled down the switch, watching as the hatch slowly closed and walked out briskly—the ID card was only on him, with the only external method to open it locked down, ensuring everything was foolproof.