The End

Seeing that Lu Heng didn't press further and just stood there silently, Little Star continued speaking.

"In your earliest myths— Fuxi, Nüwa, the Yellow Emperor, Shennong —don't they all possess certain characteristics?"

Ancient names flashed through Lu Heng's mind: Fuxi Nüwa, with human heads and snake bodies; Shennong, with Shennong body and an ox head; the Yellow Emperor... The Yellow Emperor's legends also mention a dragon-faced man with sun-shaped horns. To modern people, those images are mythological exaggerations, made up by the ancients.

"That means something," Little Star's voice was calm. "And as your features diminished, doesn't that perfectly correspond to the dilution of your bloodline?"

Lu Heng listened without saying a word.

His mind began to replay those ancient legends. The Yellow Emperor and the Yan Emperor, Chiyou —their appearances in ancient times were all different, and the further back in time they went, the fewer inhuman features they had. By the time of the later emperors and generals, they all looked just like ordinary people.

He used to think this was just a mythological evolution, that the ancients were making their ancestors' images more and more "normal." But now, after hearing what Little Star said, he suddenly felt that another explanation made more sense—

It's not made up. It really happened. And then it stopped.

The bloodline has been diluted.

After the usurpation, more and more people became ape-like, and the bloodline of the Five-Colored Human Race was diluted generation after generation. Those inhuman features—snake bodies, bull heads, and dragon faces—were not mythological; they were the natural appearance of the body when the bloodline concentration was high. The lower the concentration, the more one resembled an "ordinary person."

In the end, nothing was left.

Only the soul remains.

Lu Heng stood in the darkness, silent for a long time.

The Little Star didn't urge him; it simply floated quietly, its blue halo slowly flickering.

After a long while, Lu Heng finally spoke, his voice slightly hoarse. "So those myths... weren't made up?"

Little Star's memories, altered and distorted, are still memories nonetheless.

Lu Heng lowered his head and looked at his hands.

He was exactly like an ordinary person. There was no trace of a snake's body, a bull's head, or a dragon's face. But his soul—the soul created by the gods, favored by the gods, and finally exiled to various worlds—was still here.

No dilution.

Nothing has changed.

He looked up at the tiny, Earth-like star. "So you're telling me this now because... the time has come?"

The Little Star slowly began to rotate.

"Yes." Its voice was calm. "We have confirmed your identity. Your soul belongs to the Five-Colored Human Race."

Lu Heng remained silent for a few seconds. He didn't press for details about who "we" were, nor did he ask what the Forest Will was—he vaguely felt that the Forest Will was probably just one of "us," or at least, an entity guided by it.

"Next," Little Star continued, "I'd like to ask for your opinion, to help me make a choice."

Lu Heng frowned. "A choice?"

"Two," Little Star said. "First, like the Goblin you encountered before, become the Lord of the World Fragment. Slowly level up, slowly accumulate experience, and walk a path you already know well."

Lu Heng remembered the Goblin. He had found it strange at the time that a Goblin would have such abilities. Now he understood—that guy had taken the first path.

"And the second one?" he asked.

"Be reborn," said the Little Star. "Become Star God. Your soul is of the Five-Colored Human Race, naturally qualified to become a star. You can relinquish your current body, relinquish everything you have now, and slumber here, to be reborn as a new star."

Lu Heng fell silent.

"How long will it take?" he asked.

"A thousand years. Ten thousand years. Uncertain," the Little Star said. "The formation of stars has no fixed time. When you are truly formed, you will become an independent star, possessing your own will and power."

It paused.

"But the price is, you will no longer be Lu Heng. You will be a new star, Star God. Everything in the past—your memories, your experiences, the people you knew—will become a distant backdrop, fading away like a dream."

In the darkness, the stars twinkled silently.

Lu Heng stood still, without saying a word.

To become a star. For a thousand years, for ten thousand years. No longer a human, no longer Lu Heng.

Lu Heng remained silent for a long time.

He stood in the darkness, watching the Little Star slowly rotating before him, his mind not wandering for long.

Being alone is fine.

He dislikes crowds, noise, and being expected of, relied upon, or pushed forward.

In his original world, he went to work, came home, squeezed onto the subway, dealt with colleagues, and paid off his mortgage every day, like a screw driven into a track, turning for over a decade without stopping. After coming to this world, he continued to struggle for survival, fight, level up, dodge monsters, and find food—still without stopping.

tired.

I'm really tired.

And now, someone is telling him that he can sleep. Sleep for a long time. A thousand years, ten thousand years. He doesn't have to care about anyone, doesn't have to respond to any expectations, doesn't have to make any choices anymore.

He hardly hesitated.

"I choose the second one," he said.

The Little Star's rotation stopped for a moment.

"Have you thought it through?" There was a hint of surprise in his voice. "Once you've chosen this path, there's no turning back."

"I've made up my mind." Lu Heng's voice was calm. "I don't want to leave anymore."

The Little Star looked at him quietly, remaining silent for a few seconds.

Then, it slowly nodded.

"Okay."

There was no dissuasion, no questioning, no unnecessary ceremony. The Little Star simply turned gently once, and the surrounding stars began to emit a soft light, each point of light lighting up as if making room for its new companion.

"Sleep well," said the Little Star. "When you wake up, you will be a new star."

Lu Heng took one last look at the Little Star that resembled Earth, then closed his eyes.

My consciousness began to sink.

It wasn't falling, it was floating. Like lying in warm water, surrounded by endless darkness and starlight. His body was disappearing, his memories were becoming lighter, and all the weariness, anxiety, loneliness—everything that weighed on him—was gradually dissipating.

He no longer has to walk.

He can finally rest.

A long, long time from now, a new star will appear in this sky.

But right now, all he wants to do is sleep.

The stars lit up at the same time.

It wasn't the gentle, welcoming light of before, but a dazzling brilliance, like countless stars opening their eyes at the same moment. The light surged from the depths of darkness, filling the entire space, carrying an ancient and solemn blessing—a blessing for Lu Heng, a blessing for a brand new being about to be born.

The Moonview Valley is beginning to disappear.

It wasn't a collapse, nor was it destruction; rather, it was like morning mist meeting sunlight, inch by inch merging into the light. Mountains, streams, forests—every inch of land he had ever trod—became transparent in the light, then turned into tiny specks of light, drifting into the depths of darkness. They didn't dissipate, but rather converged—in some distant place, slowly coalescing into the outline of a planet in the making.

The planet was still blurry, like a nascent fog, but you could see it was growing. Everything in Moonview Valley —the land, the water, the wind, the memories—was absorbed into it, becoming a part of it.

It is waiting.

Waiting for a completely new Lu Heng.

Shelter, all the plants froze at the same moment. Vines hung suspended in mid-air, leaves ceased trembling, and even the wind held its breath. Then, they began to shrink, curl, and fade—not withering, but returning to their original state. Every leaf, every branch, every flower transformed into a seed in the light. Tiny, quiet seeds, like sleeping embryos.

They drifted with the light stream toward the birthing planet, merging one by one into it, becoming the soil, forests, and grasslands of the new world.

The Little Star watched all this quietly, without saying a word.

The light gradually dimmed.

The stars resumed their calm twinkling, but the outline of the new planet had become clearer. It was still small and distant, like a speck of dust just ignited in the night sky. But it was growing, breathing, and waiting.

The Little Star slowly rotated once, its blue halo gently sweeping across the distant darkness.

"Sleep well," it whispered, "We'll wait for you."

Then it continued to turn, just as it had done for millions of years, quietly guarding this starry sky, guarding the new star that was being conceived, guarding a long dream that would eventually end.

[end]