The world fell into a strange silence.
On the surface, there were still people on the internet clamoring for the Eastern Great Power to publicize the Rejuvenation Potion formula, and some politicians were still spouting nonsense on TV programs, threatening to give the "Eastern threat" a taste of its own medicine.
However, the governments, mainstream media, and Librarian institutions of various countries, which truly held the power of speech, all unsettlingly remained silent.
During the routine meeting of the UN Security Council, the usual verbal sparring was nowhere to be seen; at the White House press conference, the spokesperson uncharacteristically avoided all sensitive topics involving the Eastern Great Power.
Even the usually boisterous Western mainstream media suddenly learned what "speaking and acting cautiously" meant—all provocative headlines and comments vanished without a trace.
This silence was not surrender, but an unspoken understanding.
It was like the calm before a storm, or the solemn quiet as officials held their breath, awaiting the new king's ascension.
Political leaders of various countries were cautiously observing and waiting, waiting for that Eastern Queen, who already possessed absolute power but had not yet officially declared her hegemony, to issue her first "royal decree."
'When spring comes, if I don't open my mouth first, which insect dares to chirp?'
This jest, circulated on Eastern networks, now became the truest reflection of international politics.
Facing a military force capable of deploying paratroopers from low-Earth orbit at any time, and deploying to any corner of the globe within two hours using aerospace fighters, any rational politician knew that rash actions would only bring humiliation.
The former world hegemon, America, was now caught in an unprecedented strategic dilemma.
Its once-proud aircraft carrier fleet could now barely assemble a complete formation for combat readiness missions.
The superpower that used to casually display five or six aircraft carriers at others' doorsteps now struggled to maintain its presence even in its own backyard.
Meanwhile, in the Pentagon's top-secret conference room, staff members stared blankly at the silver-white aerospace fighter in the satellite images.
They knew better than anyone that when the Eastern Great Power's fighter jets could reach any target globally within two hours, the so-called "global rapid strike system" had become a joke.
Even more terrifying, they couldn't even determine how many similar "black technologies" the other side still had hidden.
The wheels of history thus rolled silently forward.
There was no declaration of war, no manifesto, not even a formal ceremony of power transfer.
But when that aerospace fighter completed its global flight and landed steadily on the runway, everyone knew—an old era had ended, and a new one had begun.
The world at this moment was like the silence in a theater when the lights dim.
The audience held their breath, waiting for the new protagonist's first line after taking the stage.
Yet, the figure standing center stage remained in meaningful silence, as if savoring the most poignant tranquility of this power transition.
—
The afternoon sunlight filtered through the gaps in the sycamore leaves, scattering dappled light and shadow across the small courtyard of the sanatorium.
Alex squinted, leaning back in a wicker chair, idly playing with a fallen leaf, bathed entirely in the warm sunshine.
"You are a young man, so you probably understand the thoughts of young people better." The old man beside him took a small sip of tea, then spat out a few tea leaves that had stuck to his lips before asking Alex, "I'd like to hear what you would do, if it were you, facing the current international situation?"
Alex stretched languidly, the sunlight dancing on his young face.
A half-smile played on his lips: "Don't the higher-ups already have a direction? Why ask a humble citizen like me?"
"Hey, you rascal!" The old man laughed, scolding him with a Sichuan-Chongqing accent: "Our country is a people's democratic dictatorship; the will of the people is the will of the nation. Besides, we're just chatting and bragging, it's not that serious!"
The wrinkles around his eyes smoothed out, making him look just like those old tea drinkers in his hometown's teahouses who loved to gossip.
Alex did not answer immediately.
He tilted his head back, his gaze passing through the gaps in the leaves, towards the vast blue sky.
The sunlight gilded his face, and a gentle breeze carried the faint scent of osmanthus from afar.
"Old man," he finally spoke, his voice as soft as if he were talking to himself: "You said half a century ago, when humanity had just ended the golden age of the Cold War, what was people's most beautiful vision for the 21st century when they looked up at the sky?"
The old man put down his teacup, his gaze also becoming distant.
He seemed to see that hopeful era, with Star Trek playing on televisions, Apollo program feats published in newspapers, and every child dreaming of becoming an astronaut.
"It should have been that humanity could colonize outer space in the 21st century, right?" The old man said softly, his expression revealing a hint of nostalgia and yearning: "In your young people's words, it's… heading towards the Stars and the Sea?"
Alex suddenly smiled.
He stood up, patting away non-existent dust from his backside.
"Since the goal is the Stars and the Sea," he said, as he turned, the sunlight outlining a golden silhouette behind him: "Why not go? The key has already been given to you, hasn't it?"
With that, he casually waved his hand, said "See you around," and walked with light steps towards the courtyard gate.
His back quickly disappeared through the ivy-covered archway, leaving the old man sitting thoughtfully in place.
The sun was still warm, the breeze still gentle.
Only, on the wicker chair where Alex had just sat, an inconspicuous plastic bag had appeared at some point.
—
"Chatting with old men like him is really stressful. Pretending to be profound is more tiring than commanding a war." Alex rolled his eyes at himself in the rearview mirror as he turned the steering wheel.
He rubbed the steering wheel, muttering to himself: "You've got the STCs for the Avelus Shuttle and the Thunderhawk Transport. If you still can't reach the Stars and the Sea, then I'll really have to summon a Sword-Class for orbital bombardment, that would be too damn embarrassing."
However, Alex knew in his heart that he wouldn't actually summon a Sword-Class frigate to perform orbital bombardment—not out of concern for international impact or moral constraints, but purely because the Sword-Class's orbital bombardment efficiency was simply too low.
The Sword-Class was merely a frigate; although it could do orbital bombardment, compared to a Moon-class or larger warships, it inevitably seemed inefficient.
When the Rostov Expeditionary Force conducted orbital bombardments, Alex usually used a Moon-class, or multiple light cruisers to compensate for insufficient firepower with sheer numbers.
The car drove into the underground garage. After turning off the engine, Alex leaned back in his seat, recalling their conversation.
He clearly saw the expectation and ambition in the old man's eyes. Now humanity finally had the technological key to reach the stars, the rest was up to their own choices.
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