Chapter Three: Soaring Toward the Stars

In fact, it is entirely normal for many things to be deemed impossible under the current state of the world and our existing understanding, just as no one two thousand years ago could have imagined that cars would drive themselves, that airplanes would soar through the skies, that televisions could broadcast pre-recorded images, or that telephones could connect voices across thousands of miles. If you had told people of that era these things, they surely would have dismissed them as mere legends, entirely impossible. Because he had to return immediately to carry out a new mission, he had no further time to continue searching for the old man or to unravel the mysteries surrounding him. He swiftly gathered his belongings, mounted his horse, and hurried back. Yet, the mnemonic left in the old man’s message and his growing sense of the old man's enigmatic nature prevented him from discarding the items the old man had given him. Strangely, the blank sheet of paper spontaneously ignited and burned away while he was still staring at it in a daze.

Later, after carefully examining the ashes and the odor released during combustion, he realized, relying on his extensive knowledge of chemistry, that the effect was simply due to a special chemical coating on the paper, which would ignite spontaneously after exposure to air for some time. Upon his return to the space center, he meticulously studied the ring and the piece of animal hide. All he could discern about the ring was its ancient origin; nothing else could be gleaned. As for the hide, beyond its evident age, he suspected it, too, contained some kind of mnemonics or incantations. The pouch holding both items turned out to be an ordinary cowhide bag, probably just a few decades old—likely the old man’s own handiwork, he mused. As for the mnemonic he had committed to memory, he had not yet attempted to study or, more precisely, practice it—he wasn’t even sure what the right word should be, so for now, he chose to call this process cultivation.

The shrill beeping interrupted Li Xingyu’s thoughts. He understood this was the final one-minute warning before launch; it was time for his last preparations. He began by relaxing his entire body, letting every muscle loosen. This way, just before launch, he could tense every muscle, bracing his body against the tremendous gravitational acceleration at liftoff. Meanwhile, in the ground control center, the situation was quite the opposite: everyone was taut with tension, fists clenched, and some even holding their breath, save for the ignition officer, who, after taking a deep breath, flipped open the ignition button’s safety cover and poised his finger above the button, awaiting the command.

Simultaneously, the final ten-second countdown sounded inside both the spacecraft and the launch hall. At the call of five seconds, Li Xingyu drew a deep breath and readied himself for launch. “…Three, two, one—Ignition!” At the commander’s order, the ignition officer decisively pressed the button. Flames roared from the rocket’s base, the entire vehicle shuddered, then began to accelerate rapidly, soaring from the launch pad.

A burst of applause and cheers erupted in the launch hall; everyone was elated, celebrating the successful ignition. Although successful ignition did not guarantee a successful launch, in rocketry, it was a moment of immense significance—the most critical juncture of the operation. Rockets are intensely complex structures, composed of countless parts and systems. Before ignition, the integrity and coordination of these systems could only be theorized or simulated; no one could guarantee they would all function perfectly and in concert until the very moment. Moreover, the purpose of this mission endowed it with extraordinary importance, making the excitement all the more justified.

There were two main objectives for this mission: first, to reach the orbit of Mount Tai Star, dock with a previously abandoned spacecraft, and retrieve its data and samples—this would be the farthest and fastest orbital docking in history, as Mount Tai Star circled the sun at an astonishing speed, nearly the third cosmic velocity. Second, after completing the first goal, the spacecraft would use Mount Tai Star’s gravity and orbital velocity to accelerate, pushing its speed beyond the third cosmic velocity and thus escaping the sun’s gravitational pull—leaving the solar system. This would mark the first manned departure from the solar system in the history of human spaceflight, an event of monumental significance. After the cheers had subsided, everyone swiftly returned to their posts, receiving data from the rocket and telemetry from ground stations.

The spacecraft had separated from the rocket and was now beyond Earth’s gravitational grasp, speeding through the vastness of space. Though its speed would be considered phenomenal by terrestrial standards, in the near-infinite expanse of the universe, it was almost sluggish, nearly at a standstill. Li Xingyu was finally free from the crushing acceleration; for a long stretch ahead, the vessel would cruise at its present speed until entering Neptune’s orbit. He was now weightless, and if not for the harness securing him in his seat, a gentle push would have sent him floating freely within the cabin.

After a period of adaptation, Li Xingyu released the restraints. He stretched, contacted ground control, and checked the spacecraft’s systems. Once he confirmed all was normal, he doffed his spacesuit and began a series of tasks. As an experienced astronaut, he was well-practiced—even in weightlessness, with his body prone to float, he efficiently completed his schedule before entering a special container. There, a bed tailored to his physique awaited; he would recline and slip into hibernation for the more than five-year journey ahead.

For the greatest enemy of space travel is solitude. Even his extraordinary endurance could not withstand years spent in a cramped, silent environment. Thus, extended hibernation was the best solution. Once he lay down, the system automatically closed the capsule, plunging him into perfect silence—no light, no sound, only utter darkness and stillness. Having swallowed the prescribed medication, Li Xingyu lay peacefully, feeling his consciousness gradually fade.

When he regained awareness, he found himself in a gray, misty expanse. Whichever way he looked, it was the same featureless gray, as if the entire world consisted only of this color, and he floated within it. In this unfamiliar environment, he dared not move recklessly, choosing instead to carefully observe his surroundings. Suddenly, as he tried to look about, he froze, sensing something was amiss, though he could not at first identify what. But it took only a moment for clarity. When he “looked” around, he realized he could see everything in the space surrounding him without turning his body.

A person’s eyes are on the front of their head; without turning, one cannot see behind, above, or below. He marveled at this, and, acting on instinct, tried to look at his own body—only to discover it was invisible. No matter how he willed his “body” in his mind to turn, raise a hand, bend, or lift a leg, he could not see any part of himself. Moreover, he felt no physical presence at all while making these motions. Puzzled and bewildered, he stood “still” in that strange space, pondering the bizarre discovery.