Embers of fire help us get through the cold winter

In the last three seconds of his life, Lin Rui finally understood the weight of those five blood-red slogans: "Safety is no small matter"—they really could be deadly.

Lin Rui, a master of materials science and engineering, is now a proud equipment safety inspector at Xinglong Chemical Plant. His daily work involves being surrounded by these silent steel behemoths and winding jungles of pipes, using his eyes and instruments to try to detect even the slightest possible risk.

He walked along the familiar inspection route, his feet on anti-slip steel plates, his head above a network of crisscrossing pipes painted in various colors, each signifying a different danger: brown for flammable and explosive, red for high temperature and pressure, and blue for suffocation risk. The air was thick with a complex chemical odor, the pungent smell of ammonia mixed with the sweetness of hydrocarbons, and a lingering, dull smell of metal and anti-corrosion paint.

Lin Rui's gaze swept over the forest of pipes overhead, and he habitually began to check them in his mind: "Red is steam, green is water, brown is oil... I can recite the national standards by heart, but this factory has been around for over ten years, and the paint has faded beyond recognition. This pipe is supposed to be a steam pipe, but the insulation is worn out and they haven't replaced it; that yellow and black ring marks it as a hazardous material, but the lettering on the sign below it is all worn away—the safety department manages 'color schemes' all the time, which makes it easy to fool people."

"Tsk, the P-307B pump's vibration level is critical again." He stopped, recording on his handheld terminal, his brow furrowed slightly. Not far away, a crack had appeared in the insulation of the high-temperature steam pipe, wisps of white steam escaping and quickly condensing into tiny water droplets in the cold air. "Old Zhang's team's maintenance... I've said it three times already," he muttered, snapping a photo and adding the note: "Insulation damaged, posing a risk of burns and energy waste. Replacement recommended this week."

He couldn't help but recall last week's safety meeting. The bald safety chief, spittle flying, repeated the same case he'd told countless times: "...all because of a gasket! A gasket worth less than ten yuan aged and failed, three lives lost, the entire workshop was scrapped! Comrades, safety is no small matter!"

Below the stage, most people, including Lin Rui, had somewhat unfocused eyes. They were tired of hearing this. The safety regulations were as thick as bricks; daily inspections, recording, and reporting were repetitive tasks that seemed to require no technical skill. Some of his classmates who graduated at the same time went to research institutes to work on cutting-edge nanomaterials, while others went to car companies to research new energy batteries, their social media posts filled with pictures of high-end forums or project bonuses. Only he, day after day, faced these greasy valves and roaring pumps, checking whether the bolts were loose and whether the flanges were leaking.

"A dead-end major, truly deserving of its reputation." Lin Rui chuckled self-deprecatingly and continued walking. His parents were honest, hardworking laborers who supported him through his master's degree, hoping he would land a comfortable, easy office job. Who knew that graduating with a master's degree would be his peak, followed by a steady decline? Big tech companies couldn't afford R&D positions for PhDs from prestigious universities, and small companies were either unstable or offered poor pay. In the end, he relied on his "materials" background to get a job at this sizable chemical plant, taking on the seemingly relevant but ultimately haphazard and menial task of inspection.

The pay is low, the responsibility is high, and the future is predictable. The only advantage is perhaps the stability and the ever-emphasized "safety"—as long as procedures are followed, the risks are theoretically manageable.

He turned a corner and arrived at the raw material pretreatment area, which was on the relatively edge of the factory. His gaze habitually swept over a row of pressure vessels and the connecting network of pipes.

Then it stopped.

His gaze fell upon the pressurized pipeline transporting the catalyst, a thick stainless steel structure, its label reading "Working Pressure: 4.0 MPa, Medium: Catalyst-containing slurry." Lin Rui's eyes lingered on a barely noticeable flange connection on the pipeline. There was a small, slightly darker stain there, like traces of dried slurry. This was actually nothing to worry about; a small leak was normal… right?

"wrong."

Lin Rui moved closer, almost pressing his face against the cold pipe wall. He carried a powerful flashlight and a small inspection hammer with him. He shone the flashlight on it, and the metal surface of the stained area seemed to show fine, spiderweb-like textures, unlike ordinary dirt.

His heart skipped a beat for no apparent reason. He took out the testing hammer and carefully, lightly tapped the normal pipe wall next to the stain with the rounded end.

"Clang." A crisp metallic sound echoed.

He then moved the hammer directly above the stain and struck it with the same force.

"Crack." The sound changed, as if it had struck something with a different kind of resilience.

He switched on the powerful flashlight again, the beam sweeping across the metal surface at a very small angle. In the sidelight, the metal beneath the stain revealed a texture resembling ice crystals spreading across a winter windowpane. These were traces of grain boundaries being corroded and torn apart under stress.

Stress corrosion cracking.

The word pierced Lin Rui's brain like an icicle. When such cracks appear on the surface, the metal underneath has probably already been hollowed out, leaving only a thin layer of "skin" that bears forty times the atmospheric pressure.

A cold sweat instantly broke out on his back.

"Report this immediately! Emergency stop! Isolate this pipeline!" He reacted instantly, his hand trembling slightly as he reached for the walkie-talkie at his waist.

The instant his finger pressed the call button.

"Click."

A soft sound.

That was the last words of the material as it completely gave up resistance and the crystal lattice broke.

"Oh ho."

When an accident occurs, the human brain speeds up, creating the illusion that "time has slowed down".

—But the time was too short; there was only enough time for the two words to float into his mind.

He didn't even hear the loud bang of the explosion.

The excruciating physical pain lasted only a fraction of a second. Lin Rui's physical existence in this world was erased.

"Holy crap, that hurts... How the hell could I make such a basic mistake... Huh?"

After the pain subsided, he was not greeted by the eternal darkness or tranquility he had imagined.

His consciousness seemed to be suspended in some kind of space. He had no body, no senses, only the most essential point of "existence" remained, drifting in a strange, neither black nor white chaos. Here, he could not sense any concepts of time, space, or anything else, only fragments of sensation, like bioluminescent jellyfish in the deep sea, drifting by quietly.

Suddenly, his perspective began to shift uncontrollably.

He felt as if he were being pulled by some force, heading in a certain direction. Like iron filings sensing a magnet, like water droplets eventually returning to the sea. His existence began to "slide" in a certain direction.

As he moved, "feeling" slowly came into his consciousness.

cold.

A vast, boundless cold that seeps into the depths of the soul, carrying a salty, fishy smell.

It's as if you're standing in an icy sea under an eternal night, able to "feel" the deep blue of the abyss beneath your feet, and the huge icebergs floating on the surface of the sea.

odor.

A hazy scent gradually emerged from the chaos: the heavy, fishy smell of aged wood soaked in seawater, and a faint mingled aroma of rust and leather. These unfamiliar scents grew stronger and more real as they were drawn in.

sound.

In the far distance, a long, low horn seemed to be sobbing, piercing through the thick fog. Closer by, there was a rhythm full of primal power.

"Ho—ya!"

"Ho—ya!"

Dozens, even hundreds, of short, powerful syllables squeezed from deep throats, accompanied by the sounds of the oars plunging deep into the sea and then struggling to rise again, a monotonous, resilient, and endless thud. One stroke after another, pulling his consciousness forward.

picture.

He seemed to "see" the silhouette of a long, narrow wooden boat on the gloomy sea. The oars rose and fell like the legs of a centipede, and the shouting oarsmen exhaled white steam from their mouths and noses, blending into the cold sea mist.

In this chaotic drift, occasionally some flashback-like fragments pierce in more sharply.

He seemed to "see" his unsubmitted report, its characters twisted, melted, and reassembled into a few simple yet grotesque symbols made of straight lines and angles. They didn't belong to any language he knew, yet they gave him a sense of "warning."

He "felt" that his professional knowledge—the crystal structures, stress curves, phase diagrams—was collapsing like a sandcastle, but the dust after the collapse was being reassembled under the pull, dissolving into that cold, regular, tidal-like pulse.

The traction grew stronger, the cold and salty smell became dominant, and the rowing chants grew louder, as if right next to his ears. He began to "feel" the turbulence, a monotonous yet powerful undulation from below, perfectly synchronized with the chants—he was lying on the keel of this "ship," being carried by this collective force, sailing towards the other side of fate.

Finally, all the sensations—cold, salty, fishy, ​​shouting, jolting—contracted, coalesced, accelerated, and surged toward a definite destination. That destination brought an irresistible pressure and warmth, as well as a primal, suffocating feeling of life.

Followed by.

"Wow--!"

The cries of life, full of vitality, pierced the night sky above the aurora borealis in Leosvik Fjord.

At the same time, a deep, rough, and ecstatic male voice exploded on the edge of his newly regained, hazy hearing in a powerful, guttural, and explosive unfamiliar language:

"Thetta er sonr mín! Haraldr kveðja!"

(This is my son! Harald sends his greetings!)

The cold, fresh air rushed into his newborn lungs for the first time, bringing a stinging pain and a sharp, clear-headed feeling.

A variety of real, concrete, and noisy sounds flooded in: the crackling of wood in the fire, the woman's weak breaths and joyful sobs, the faint sound of waves and seabirds outside the door, and the man's continuous, excited voice.

Lin Rui, or rather, the one who was once Lin Rui, struggled and opened his eyes to this world amidst this chaotic sensory bombardment.