Chapter 2: Search and Rescue

The sound of ongoing explosions from the ships and the commotion of the crowd filled the air, but to Wang Keyue, it was as if someone had pressed the mute button on the world. Her eyes were wide with terror, her heart pounding like thunder. She saw, strewn across the barren earth, the wreckage of ships, vast patches of blood among the debris, and, here and there, the faint outlines of severed limbs.

"Report, sir! Rescue personnel have begun administering aid to the wounded. The investigation team will arrive at the accident site in two minutes," a soldier in uniform quickly approached an elderly man at the scene, saluted, and reported with grave seriousness.

"At all costs, save the survivors as quickly as possible!" The old man's voice was deep and resonant, commanding and authoritative.

"Yes, sir!" The young soldier snapped to attention, saluting once more.

Though Wang Keyue was kept outside the cordon, she could still hear the old man's voice. She knew that he was Old Minister Du, currently head of the Defense Department of the Ancient Nation.

Originally planning to retire, Old Minister Du took up the burdens of protecting the country once again in the aftermath of the apocalypse. At the age of sixty-nine, he was still active on the front lines of disaster relief, even refusing the government's offer of a place on the space migration program, determined to remain on Blue Star and live or die with the people.

As he once put it: "I've lived long enough; let the young ones have their chance. Besides, if I am to die, let me fall where my roots are."

That day, the Ancient Nation suffered a grievous blow. That day, the Wang family experienced the most harrowing ordeal since the apocalypse began. Like so many other families, they lingered at the crash site of the Rising Sun, unable to bear leaving.

Every time the rescue team carried out another body, panic and distress rippled through the crowd.

They were torn by conflicting emotions—dreading that the body might be their loved one, yet even more afraid that it wasn’t. For if it wasn’t, then their family member was either missing, fate unknown, or had been obliterated by the explosion, leaving no trace behind.

Of course, many still held onto a sliver of hope that their loved ones had survived by some miracle. But as of now, not a single person had made it out alive.

Night fell under a heavy, suffocating pall of grief. Though it was summertime, the temperature difference between day and night in the post-apocalyptic world was severe. At night, the mercury could plunge to three or four degrees. Staying outside at night would leave a person shivering with cold.

Old Minister Du ordered the logistics team to erect dozens of large tents for the people, and had sweet, piping-hot ginger syrup prepared on the spot, worried that any further mishaps might befall these grieving families.

That night, the cold wind howled. The Wang family barely slept, taking turns keeping vigil outside the cordon, desperate to receive any news of their loved ones.

As the sun rose, its rays blazed across the sky. Yet, compared to the fallen ship before them, the blood-red morning sun seemed only to wrench at the hearts of those who watched.

"My son! My son!" Suddenly, chaos erupted in the crowd once more as bodies were carried past to be identified.

"Zhengtong! That’s Zhengtong! No! No, not Zhengtong!" An aunt, sharp-eyed, instantly recognized one of the bodies by the red string bracelet she herself had woven for him, still hanging from his limp wrist.

Wang Keyue held her aunt, who nearly fainted, and helped her forward. The bodies had been laid carefully on the ground, covered with white sheets.

The family still clung to a shred of hope that it was a mistake, but as her aunt lifted the corner of the shroud, all hope was dashed, replaced by a pain that cut to the core.

Wang Zhengtong, just seventeen and in the bloom of youth, now lay lifeless before them. Even more devastating, the explosion had left his body incomplete—his legs gone.

"Ah! Ah—my son! My son…!" Her aunt clung to Zhengtong’s body, weeping uncontrollably.

Wang Keyue’s eyes were red and brimming with silent tears. The entire Wang family seemed drained of strength, kneeling by Zhengtong’s side.

Aunt Three, who had already lost her own child in these end times, could not bear it any longer, collapsing against Uncle Three in convulsive sobs.

Even the usually stern father’s eyes were long since red and swollen.

As the family remained steeped in grief, the alarm sounded throughout the base. It was the warning for an impending earthquake, a sound that had become all too familiar in these apocalyptic days, blaring every three or five days.