Moon base

A parallel world.

“Good evening, dear viewers. I’m your host, Du Dan. The current time is 18:26, September 21st, 2028, Summer Capital Standard Time. In just one hour, the White Rabbit IX manned spacecraft will make its historic descent onto the far side of the Moon…”

“Our three astronauts have completed all pre-landing preparations. This marks the first time our great nation, Daxia, will carry out a manned lunar landing. Stay tuned to this live broadcast, and let us, together, bear witness to this monumental moment in history.”

The manned moon landing—an epoch-defining event—had captivated the attention of the entire nation.

The elderly sat still before their televisions, their gazes fixed, unwavering.

The younger generation clutched their phones, following the live broadcast online while enthusiastically commenting in real time.

“What if they land and don’t find the Meiyinbang flag?”

“Well, the Meiyinbang mission landed on the Moon’s near side. Ours is descending upon the far side—a region upon which no human has ever set foot.”

Daxia’s manned lunar landing signified far more than a national achievement—it marked another giant leap for humankind into the cosmos. The world watched with bated breath.

Even in Meiyinbang, the internet was abuzz with chatter.

“Daxia’s mission is doomed to fail. We didn’t succeed four years ago—how could they possibly pull it off?”

“If you ask me, that so-called ‘live feed’ is probably being filmed in a studio…”

An hour slipped by like a fleeting shadow.

Under the gaze of the global audience, White Rabbit IX, bearing its lunar module, touched down smoothly upon the Moon’s desolate surface.

“They did it!!!”

“Let us etch this moment into memory—19:29:33 on September 21st, 2028.”

The entire nation erupted in jubilant celebration.

Even foreign onlookers were moved by the sight.

“Did you see that? The lander left an impression in the regolith—a crater right beneath the support struts. That didn’t happen during Meiyinbang’s landing…”

“I’ve always said it—Meiyinbang faked theirs in a film studio.”

“So tell me now—who’s the faker and who’s the pioneer?”

Online discussions boiled over with excitement.

The host’s voice trembled with emotion: “Dear viewers, our valiant astronauts… they are about to descend from the spacecraft…”

On the screen, the three astronauts, clad in full suits, stood at the hatchway. They waved gently toward the camera, then began to slowly rotate the handle of the hatch.

Click~

The hatch opened. Just as the world widened its eyes, straining to glimpse the Moon’s surface through the astronauts’ lens—

The livestream abruptly cut off.

“What happened to the feed?!”

“What’s going on?!”

The internet exploded. At such a critical juncture, the transmission had vanished—an intolerable offense to countless viewers.

After a few agonizing seconds, the feed resumed. Host Du Dan appeared, seated and composed, delivering the news: “Dear viewers, due to interference from cosmic electromagnetic waves, our live transmission was momentarily disrupted…”

“For now, let us revisit that stirring moment when White Rabbit I first entered lunar orbit many years ago…”

The host’s tone remained fervent and impassioned, but the footage on screen had clearly shifted—to archival video from over a decade ago, capturing White Rabbit I’s initial approach to the Moon.

“There’s a delay of several seconds between Moon and Earth. Do you think they saw something we weren’t meant to see?”

“No way… did they actually encounter aliens?!”

Speculation ran rampant online. Something was clearly amiss. Perhaps the astronauts had stumbled upon classified anomalies, and the authorities had cut the feed on purpose.

At the Daxia Space Agency, however, tension crackled in the air like static.

“White Rabbit IX, this is Earth. Do you read? Please respond!”

Repeated calls yielded only the hiss of static—no reply came through.

“Chief Engineer Yang, we’ve got nothing!” a communications officer reported, voice edged with anxiety.

Engineer Yang furrowed his brow. “Switch to the X-band and send the signal!”

“Yes, sir!”

The technical team sprang into action, initiating a switch in transmission frequency.

Beep—beep—beep— Multiple pulses of radio waves were launched into the void, but the monitors remained silent—no voice, no acknowledgement.

“There’s no response from White Rabbit IX.”

A cold sense of dread crept into Engineer Yang’s heart. “Could it be a temperature drop? Use 64QAM modulation—send a low bit-rate signal.”

This was a contingency communication protocol for extreme lunar night temperatures. Though the data rate was severely limited, it allowed for basic signal exchange.

The team carried out the adjustment, hands moving swiftly across panels.

Beep—beep—beep—

“Still no response…”

Engineer Yang’s frown deepened into a grim expression. Never had they encountered a situation like this.

Beside him, an assistant, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, suddenly spoke up, “Chief Yang, should we attempt to connect through Moon–Magpie Bridge III?”

“Do it. Switch to Satellite Three!”

Since the landing site was on the Moon’s far side, direct communication from Earth was impossible. All contact had to be relayed via lunar satellites.

In preparation for this mission, the agency had carefully selected the date to ensure at least two communication satellites would be within transmission range of White Rabbit IX at all times.

Magpie Bridge III was a backup, farther from the landing site. The team executed another sequence of commands.

Beep—beep—beep—

A steady signal echoed back, tightening every chest in the control room.

“What in the world is going on?” Yang demanded, turning to the senior engineers.

“There could be many causes for signal disruption,” one responded. “But we modeled for every possibility. No known neutron star interference exists near the landing zone…”

“If the astronauts didn’t shut the system down themselves, then the module might’ve encountered a serious incident.”

Yang narrowed his eyes, the realization weighing heavily. “Use UHF. Transmit at 415 MHz.”

Beep—beep—beep—

Once again, the same unchanging signal tone echoed back—but this time, the control room fell into utter silence.

Stunned disbelief was etched into every face.

After a long pause, Yang looked toward the operators, his voice sharp. “Didn’t I say to use UHF?!”

One technician double-checked the instruments before stammering, “Chief Yang… we did. That signal was UHF…”

White Rabbit IX’s UHF antenna had a 5dBi gain and only supported uplink—not suitable for routine communication, but invaluable as a diagnostic check to verify system integrity.

“What happened to the lander?”

“Could it have exploded?!”

With no signal returning, no one could say what fate had befallen the module.

Yang drew a deep breath. He hadn’t forgotten—not for one second—that this mission was being watched not only by a nation, but by the entire world.

“How soon until the nearest reconnaissance satellite passes over the landing site?”

“Thirty minutes. That was originally the segment where the astronauts were going to look up and wave to the world…”

“That was supposed to be a profoundly symbolic gesture—from Earth, through a satellite, down to White Rabbit IX, and up to the astronauts. The coordinates would’ve formed a perfect pentagram. But now… all we can do is hope they’re still alive.”

Star Date, Year Five, September Third — a day worthy of celebration.

On this very day, Zhao Yu had finally completed the construction of his planetary annihilation cannon.

Five years ago, Zhao Yu had been but an ordinary young man—recently graduated, and freshly heartbroken, having been unceremoniously dumped by his girlfriend less than six months after leaving university. That night, drowning his sorrows in alcohol, he became hopelessly inebriated.

He could only vaguely recall being carried into a hotel by his friends. When he awoke, however, he found himself not in a familiar bed, but seated within a mysterious vehicle.

Outside the window stretched a barren alien world: the heavens above were a tapestry of eternal night, bereft of azure skies or verdant flora. The ground was cloaked in shades of soot and ash.

As Zhao Yu sat bewildered and disoriented, a voice—the System—manifested.

It informed him that he now stood upon an unknown world, deep wi