I am flying in one direction through the vast, boundless universe, with an uncertain future, but I know that as long as I keep flying, I will encounter the past and the future.

“Call attempt 324 failed, no response from Earth.

Would you like to call again?” the computer’s intelligent voice announced.

The nuclear engine detonates small atomic bombs at intervals, and the shockwave from the explosions accelerates the disk, propelling the spaceship forward.

But everything is quiet; outside the window is a dense, flowing darkness, wrapping the spaceship like liquid mercury, drowning out every scream of the nuclear engine.

If such an explosion is repeated every three seconds, the spaceship’s speed will increase to 7% of the speed of light within ten days.

So I’ve been flying alone in the spaceship at 7% of the speed of light in the same direction for 800 years.

I have no destination and no way back.

Opening the communication records with Earth headquarters, the records of the past few hundred years are quite monotonous:

Call attempt 321 failed, no response from Earth.

Would you like to call again?

Call attempt 322 failed, no response from Earth.

Would you like to call again?

Call attempt 323 failed, no response from Earth.

Would you like to call again?

Call attempt 324 failed, no response from Earth.

Would you like to call again?

Turning off the communication records, I let out a small sigh; it was time to face a fact: I probably won’t be able to contact Earth again in this lifetime.

I have been away from Earth for 800 years; Peach must have died by now.

If it weren’t for the interstellar exile law, I would have died too.

But before I die, I want to live a full life with Peach.

In the years just after leaving Earth, I communicated smoothly with headquarters.

However, as the distance increased, it became impossible to maintain real-time communication, and gradually there was a delay in communication from a few hours to several days.

Correspondingly, the messages from Earth became harder and harder to understand.

The difficulty in understanding didn’t stem from language; the computer has a universal translation program that updates with the times, converting any human language into sentences I can understand.

The difficulty I faced in understanding came from cognitive barriers.

In the first 100 years of my voyage, I could easily grasp the major news and technological changes from Earth.

But slowly, unfamiliar country names appeared in the information, and technological developments began to seem like tales from a far-off land, while the changes in the economy and society left me confused.

Just as it would be difficult for someone from the stone age to understand what a computer is or what an online friend is, the complexities of future relationships were beyond my understanding.

I also tried to understand advanced concepts by reading materials, but soon gave up.

It wasn’t because I was lazy or dull-witted (I was a scientist on Earth).

I realized that all of this was in vain— even if I exerted every effort to learn the knowledge I had missed during my last hibernation, once I entered hibernation again and awoke, all that knowledge would be outdated and useless.

A completely new and distant society that I could not comprehend would once again present itself to me.

It seemed that the Earth headquarters also sensed this; the messages they sent had noticeably shortened.

What began as an encyclopedia-like information package gradually transformed into brief responses to my inquiries.

The farther I flew, the longer the intervals between communications grew, while the content continued to diminish.

This made me feel like a hopeless kite, watching as a blunt knife on the ground severed the kite string; the entire process was long and painful until one day, 200 years ago, I could no longer receive any replies from headquarters.

After my routine call ended, the screen displayed a prompt indicating the call had failed, followed by a dead silence.

Even so, every few decades when I woke from hibernation, the first thing I did was to send and receive messages.

I gradually began to understand the story of Robinson Crusoe; his regular routine was the only difference between him and the surrounding wilderness.

Just as my only difference from the surrounding darkness was my bond with Earth, my calls would ultimately remain unanswered.

As for the reason for the communication breakdown…

I had also speculated: it might be due to the signal being interfered with by cosmic rays during the long transmission process, significantly weakening it to the point where effective communication between Earth and me was no longer possible.

It could also be that after I left Earth, aviation technology had made significant advancements, and new space exploration projects were more efficient.

In comparison, the cost of contacting me had outweighed the value of the data I could provide, so headquarters no longer responded to my calls, and I, as an exile, had been strategically abandoned.

Of course, there was also the most unsettling possibility: during my time in slumber, a significant event occurred on Earth, and headquarters lost the ability to contact me…

Just as I was lost in thought, the computer’s synthetic female voice chimed in again: “Call 325 successful, response received, call object confirmed…”

Could it be that, after 200 years, I had reestablished contact with Earth?

I stumbled towards the flashing screen: “This is Lone Star 4, please respond to the signal!” “This is Lone Star 4, please respond to the signal!” “This is Lone Star 4, please respond to the signal!!”

The last time I almost shouted it out with a trembling voice.

I felt like a drowning person grasping at a straw, fearing that a few seconds of delay would cause the signal to fizzle out.

But my worries were unfounded; the signal I received actually grew stronger over time, and a full message appeared on the screen.

“Hello, Lonely Star 4, I am spaceship sf290, which took off from Earth in 2662.”

This wasn’t a signal from Earth! It was another spaceship that had just entered my signal range! Indeed… only a nearby spaceship could respond so quickly.

I replied, “Lonely Star 4 received, according to the ‘International Space Information Security Regulations,’ please provide your detailed navigation information.”

The subtitles on the screen continued to flash: “The ‘International Space Information Security Regulations’ from back then have long been abolished in our era. All data of Lonely Star 4 is in our database. Max, you are one of our most respected academic predecessors and a hero who fought for the truth.

Please allow me to pay tribute to you on behalf of the 20 crew members of sf290.”

“The most respected academic predecessor? A hero who fought for the truth?”

I sneered, “You must have mistaken me for someone else. I am the first person sentenced to interstellar exile. I am a sinner that Earth cannot tolerate!”

Then there was a long silence, but I knew this hesitation was not caused by distance; the person on the other end was desperately thinking about how to respond.

For these years, I had been talking to the computer and had long forgotten how interesting it was to talk to humans!

After a while, the text on the screen began to grow downwards again: “In our era, you are a prophet written in textbooks, a hero with a tragic color.

We owe you an apology—I’m sorry, the human enhancement project was the most foolish decision ever! Although this apology comes too late, we still hope you can accept it!”

That sentence lingered in my mind for a long time.

My dry eyes filled with tears for the first time, all my emotions and thoughts surged at that moment, flowing warmly down my cheeks… 800 years… they finally acknowledged their mistake…

The human enhancement project—gene replacement technology was first widely applied during my time on Earth.

Targeted gene modification became possible.

As a result, gene sequences linked to short stature, low intelligence, unattractiveness, and violent temper were regarded as undesirable genes in need of modification.

The plan aimed to replace all undesirable genes in human embryos with pure, advantageous genes, making everyone in the world gentle, beautiful, intelligent, and strong.

This was the genetic enhancement program.

While it sounded like a wonderful idea, everything has its downsides.

If all of humanity’s undesirable genes were replaced with superior genes, individual differences among humans would diminish significantly, and as a species, humanity would lose the ability to adapt to disasters.

Any virus targeting the uniform traits of these modified humans could quickly infect all of humanity.

A complete enhancement of humanity would undoubtedly result in a grave mistake! I, along with a group of young scholars, were among the first to realize this.

We cried out, hoping to stop people before genes were universally rewritten.

Unfortunately, I underestimated humanity’s yearning for “perfection.” As the leader of the opposition, I was arrested and sentenced for “inciting anti-scientific rhetoric.” The vested interests sought to silence me permanently, but they could not kill me, as the death penalty had long been abolished.

Life imprisonment was also unreliable—I would become a spiritual leader for supporters, who would continue to voice opposition in my name and try every means to get me out of prison.

They wanted to ensure I could never appear on Earth again while not being able to kill me directly.

To find a “win-win” solution, they specifically passed the interstellar exile law for me.

After nuclear engines replaced chemical fuels, the maximum speed of spaceships significantly increased, while the cost of transporting fuel drastically decreased.

Large spaceships were built one after another, making long-distance interstellar travel possible.

However, there was still a problem on the path of deep space exploration—there were not many astronauts willing to embark on the journey.

Human lifespans are too short, and to travel far, one must hibernate for a long time.

Who would be willing to spend hundreds or thousands of years on the road? Even if one day they returned safely, a thousand years would have passed, loved ones would have died, and circumstances would have changed—what would be the meaning of coming back?

They wanted me, as a scientist, to go deep into the universe as a convict, maintaining the spaceship and collecting data along the way, without having to consider returning (this was simply a cost-saving measure), truly a win-win deal.

The spaceship is equipped with a suspended animation system, an ecological recycling system, and an artificial gravity control chamber.

Long-term hibernation stops the aging process, the ecological recycling system ensures a supply of food and water, and the artificial gravity control chamber provides a livable environment.

Under these three conditions, my lifespan could ideally be maximized.

Shortly after the sentence was handed down, this spaceship, which lacked braking devices, was launched into space.

From then on, apart from making minor adjustments to avoid asteroids, I could only fly straight into the depths of the universe, never to return.

Faced with this judgment reminiscent of martyrdom, I initially felt it was glorious.

Not only was I the first person to be exiled into space, but I would also become the farthest-traveling scientist.

As the saying goes, “to gain wisdom in the morning is worth dying in the evening”; being able to glimpse the wonders of deep space during long-distance travel, even dying would be without regret.

However, things did not go as planned.

Although the universe seemed to be filled with brilliant stars, the distances between stars were much greater than I had imagined.