Chapter Five: Homesickness City (Part Two)

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The two of them walked slowly to the bank of the lava river that cut across the entire underground world.

On either side of this river, a fiery red plant grew in profusion, each one standing about two meters tall with a girth as thick as a man’s waist. Upon these plants, an abundance of bright red fruit grew, each about the size and shape of an ear of corn.

Old Tor noticed Wild-Eater staring hungrily at the fruit and spoke up, “These are our staple food now. We call them berries. They only grow along the lava riverbanks.”

He paused, plucked one of the fruits, and handed it to Wild-Eater. “Try it. See how it compares to the legendary rice and wheat.”

Wild-Eater peeled off the outer fiery-red skin, revealing a fruit of milky white, exuding a faint, delicate fragrance. It looked for all the world like a mutated grain of giant rice.

He took a small bite, and his mouth was immediately filled with a sweet, soft flavor far surpassing anything he’d ever tasted.

After devouring several mouthfuls, Wild-Eater sighed in admiration, “This is much tastier than rice or wheat.”

Old Tor burst into hearty laughter and led Wild-Eater onto the stone bridge that spanned the lava river.

No sooner had they set foot on the bridge than a shout rang out from the opposite end, “Who goes there? Halt!”

Old Tor grunted in apparent annoyance, “Are you blind? Can’t even recognize me?”

Upon hearing this, the voice hastened to reply with deference, “Ah, it’s you, Old Tor. I truly must be blind. Please forgive my rudeness.”

Old Tor merely grunted in response and said nothing more.

After crossing the bridge, Wild-Eater noticed at last that on the far side stood a small underground stone fortress, as if sculpted by nature itself. At its entrance, a dozen or so figures stood in neat formation—clearly the bridge’s guards. Every one of them was covered in several inches of white fur, clad in black, ancient-style armor. Wild-Eater could not discern any difference among them, not even in height or build.

Old Tor didn’t spare these guards a glance and, accompanied by Wild-Eater, strode serenely toward the distant city gate under their astonished gazes.

Standing before the city gate, Wild-Eater sighed again. The walls, tens of meters high, were lined with black-armored soldiers stationed every dozen meters. Each stood motionless, exuding a powerful, awe-inspiring presence.

This form of defense, obsolete for tens of millennia, had found new purpose on the Forgotten Star, with its gravity nearly ten times the norm. Here, Wild-Eater witnessed what it meant to live in the ancient way.

Only after he’d observed for some time did Old Tor speak. “Young man, there’s something I must tell you. Don’t let anyone know about the ant crystal you possess—for now. In a few days, I’ll arrange a residence for you, and send a few dozen of my family’s experts to help you. Let them assist you in recruiting people within Homesick City. Once everything is settled, have them return. How does that sound?”

Wild-Eater pondered a moment before replying, “Then let me thank you in advance.”

Old Tor laughed heartily again. “No need for thanks. From now on, we’re family—your business is my business, isn’t that so?”

Wild-Eater realized Old Tor was once more alluding to his beloved granddaughter, and could only smile wryly in helplessness.

Seeing Wild-Eater’s bitter smile, Old Tor laughed yet again. “Be careful in the city—don’t cause trouble. But if anyone tries to pick a fight with you, don’t hold back; teach them a lesson. If some old fool tries to bully you, I’ll settle accounts with him myself. In Homesick City, if you want to live with dignity, you’ll have to rely on your own fists. The Forgotten Star isn’t a place ruled by reason. If you’re strong enough, you don’t even have to show respect to the city lord. Do you understand?”

From all Old Tor had said along the way, it was clear the Forgotten Star was a world where might made right. Wild-Eater had understood this long ago, but Old Tor’s constant reminders left him both amused and exasperated, nodding in response.

Afterward, Old Tor muttered, as if to himself, “If you don’t have some presence, my granddaughter won’t agree to marry you, and then we’ll have a real problem.”

With that, Old Tor grabbed Wild-Eater by the hand and leapt straight onto the city wall. Upon landing, he smiled, “The gates of Homesick City remain closed except for major festivals or significant events. Of course, if you have the skill to get up and down the walls as you please, and you’re a resident, the guards won’t stop you.”

Atop the wall, which was seven or eight meters wide—enough to park two or three airships—Wild-Eater could already hear the sounds coming from the other side.

He walked to the inner edge, and the sight within the city—a sea of humanity—filled him with excitement.

He had wandered for more than ten days through the mountain ranges, searching in vain for a human settlement. Li Yi had once suspected this planet to be devoid of humans, given how inhospitable it was. Wild-Eater had spent several anxious, fretful days, fearing that if there were no humans at all, even if he managed to survive here, life would be unbearably harsh.

But now, seeing the endless throngs before him, Li Yi finally let go of his worries. Within the city, not all were mutants covered in fur like Old Tor; there was a small portion who looked like normal people, just like Wild-Eater. Yet even they were somewhat shorter than true Earth humans—likely a result of the planet’s immense gravity.

Looking at these almost-normal people, Wild-Eater asked Old Tor curiously, “Old Tor, how did you know at a glance that I was an exile sent to this planet?”

Old Tor gazed into the city before answering, “People like you, without body hair, we call ‘primals.’ On the Forgotten Star, about one in ten newborns is a primal—a kind of atavism. They lack the evolved genes to adapt to our environment, so their chances of survival are very low. Only about one in ten primals will live. Even those who survive are weaker and sicker than us, and their cultivation is much slower. In over ten thousand years, fewer than ten primals have ever managed to reach the surface.”

He paused, tugged at Wild-Eater’s clothing, and added, “And besides, your dress is nothing like ours. Even the best tailors here couldn’t make clothes like that.”