The song *Onconno* reached his ears again days later at the concert. And there she was—the girl from his dreams, the one with the implant.
Instinct made him spot her instantly, half her figure draped in chiaroscuro shadows. The soft lines of her face eased the tension in Ge Tianci's nerves for just a moment.
*It's really her.*
Without hesitation, he brushed past her amid the crowd's entry, soon reappearing at the very back of the venue. Standing, he shouted, *"Who lost their phone here?!"* The front rows were sparsely filled, and he wanted to avoid awkward seat clashes later.
At that charged word, nearly everyone looked up—even those glued to their screens.
Ge Tianci's gaze locked onto two people: a middle-aged man beside the girl, and the girl herself. Her eyes, like polished glass, glimmered in the uneven light. When their eyes met, he froze.
The man stood, urgency driving him toward the back.
Ge Tianci exchanged forced pleasantries. With the "found phone" ruse, the man reluctantly agreed, and Ge Tianci slid into the seat beside the girl.
Her long hair left him momentarily dazed. After so long adrift in cosmic cold, human warmth was an unfamiliar solace.
But he hadn't forgotten his mission. A few words of small talk, and he learned her name and contact:
**Liu Yun.**
She lived near X University.
The girl was immersed in the music, hands clasped, her words tinged with reverence.
Ge Tianci studied her serene, closed-eyed expression. Something about her devotion unsettled him; the word *"piety"* circled uncomfortably in his mind.
*I don't think this is some gentle, sentimental melody.*
With Liu Yun beside him, his spirit settled. *"Kindred"* had become a rarity in his life—human comfort nearly drained. Physically, he could still share space with others, but his soul had fought alone for too long.
Her name reminded him of ever-shifting clouds—soft, yet somehow grounding.
Before the song began, exhaustion pulled him under. He dozed off in his seat.
He woke near the finale. First meetings weren't for discussing implants, so he steered the talk to the music. Liu Yun marveled at its grandeur. *"It's powerful,"* she said, eyes bright. *"Like the vastness of the cosmos."*
After the concert, they parted with a wave.
Sunset clouds streaked the sky, cosmic dust softened by warmth. So what if it was fleeting?
---
The next time he saw "Smiley Face," it was playing chess in his dreams.
Black and white pieces, no opponent—just the entity moving them telekinetically. Ge Tianci observed silently as the game deadlocked.
Closer now, the pieces began to glow, fractaling infinitely: each contained multitudes, splitting into smaller and smaller replicas. The true players, it seemed, were the microscopic ones.
Every move was cosmically precise, overwhelming in its complexity. Ge Tianci's mind reeled.
As he tried to call out, "Smiley Face" transmitted:
*"In the sixth dimension, a civilization perished on the Shepherd's Arm."*
*What does that mean?*
"Smiley Face" shook its head. *"It means fate is an illusion. Ten thousand Earth years are but a blink."*
It shoved the board toward him. The intricate pieces collapsed into simplicity—just wood and clear-cut roles. A human game.
*Sixty-four squares to decide victory,* Ge Tianci mused.
*"Interstellar games are far more complex. But for your kind, sixty-four suffices."* A chill ran through him; he reflexively conjured a cloud.
"Smiley Face" didn't answer. Its mantis shell molted, revealing a teenage boy's form.
*"What is this?"*
*My new avatar.* Another telepathic jab.
Before Ge Tianci could ask further, it added: *"To calm you. Finish the game. Use human rules."*
Ge Tianci complied. Each white move triggered an automatic black counter. Dream-time accelerated; a mere thought repositioned pieces, strategies editable ad infinitum.
He lost himself in it, mental noise sharpening into laser-precise strikes.
Yet when he finally resurfaced—how long had it been?—he was drenched in sweat.
*Fear follows unearned relief.*
He felt like a lab rat. No, *all* human civilization was cosmic dust, trapped in an inescapable game.
Victory, defeat—just turns in an endless loop.
Then, lightning-strike clarity: he understood *Overcome the Impossible*.
Every piece, every outcome—as humans, we're bound to this board. Finite. Forever. Ge Tianci was both player and pawn. The song's crescendo was written in blood; its grandeur, a graveyard of hope.
**Humanity: rats in a maze, running without exit.**
> *"Look, it begins again.
> Who pauses? Light and shadow entwine.
> Who exits? Life is surrendered.
> Rush, rush,
> Footsteps hasten."*
One side can never win. The other has no choice but survival. *Not choosing is still a choice.*
*Remember this.* A stranger's voice faded as quickly as it came.
*What Ge Tianci and I share is this: we'll witness the game's cruelty firsthand.*
He woke gasping, pillow soaked. Something vital—raw, unspoken *aliveness*—had been ripped from his soul, leaving him exposed like a child beneath eons of dying stars.
He couldn't steady himself. At dawn, he ran until collapse, sprawled on the field's grass.
Above, only the indifferent dance of clouds and constellations remained.
Fragile, ever-changing—yet they'd outlasted countless storms.
With that thought, he opened his chat and messaged Liu Yun.