Chapter 2 (Dreamer 2): A Letter from the Little Girl

June 2028, Hudson River Park, Neon City, Liang Country

At dusk, Daphne Braun arrived early at Hudson River Park for her first date with the man she admired most, Michael Max.

Daphne lounged on a bench, gazing up at the enormous steel-framed architectural sculpture known as VESSEL.

Hudson River was situated on the western side of Central Island, the heart of Neon City and a microcosm of Liang Country’s prosperity. For a century, skyscrapers and grid-like numbered streets had made the east side a hub of bustle and noise, while the west side, where Hudson River lay, lagged behind.

In 2019, the unveiling of VESSEL as a new landmark sparked the largest urban renewal project in Liang Country’s history. With an investment exceeding $25 billion, the Hudson River New District rose swiftly, infusing this century-old metropolis with fresh vitality—technology and art intermingling.

Michael approached Daphne, his powerful build and broad shoulders giving him a brisk, wind-swept gait.

Daphne stood, facing him with a gentle smile, scanning her idol like a device taking in every detail.

Michael had deep brown hair, hazel eyes, a straight nose, and a well-shaped mouth. The skin on his face and neck glowed with a reddish hue.

It was not the rosy flush of health, common to many, but a red that seemed rooted in his genes, reminiscent of ancient European fishing and hunting tribes.

That complexion conjured images of Plymouth’s thick fog, Amsterdam’s rushing tides, and the thunderous waves of the Cape of Good Hope.

It was a color shaped by sun and salt, washed by sudden rain—a complexion that belonged to sailors, captains, and explorers driven by restless adventure.

This man was none other than the world-famous billionaire, founder and CEO of AceBay Space Technologies:

Michael Max.

“Hi, are you Daphne?” Michael spoke first.

“Yes, I am. Are you Michael?” Daphne replied with humor, facing this celebrity’s unmistakable face.

No sooner had they settled on the bench than Michael startled her with his words:

“My brain-machine fusion project has made some progress. My external brain, VESSEL, searched for links between us—found something interesting.”

Daphne looked at him, curious and puzzled. Wasn’t VESSEL the building right before them? How had it become his “external brain”?

Michael’s next words were even more direct, and left Daphne stunned.

“Forgive my boldness, but VESSEL tells me Daphne Braun is very likely my girlfriend.”

“What?!” Daphne’s eyes widened. How was she supposed to manage her expression now? This was their first meeting and he had gone straight to the point—it was almost too much.

Michael seemed to sense her thoughts. He sent Daphne a message and said, “Why don’t you read this letter first?”

Daphne opened the message on her pad. It was a letter:

“To Mr. Michael Max and his girlfriend,

My name is Li Xiaoxuan, an ordinary girl from Qingliang Valley, Wutai Mountain, Shanxi, China. I’m sorry to write to you out of the blue.

I was born on December 23, 1999. Today is my 13th birthday. Last night, December 22, 2012, I had a very strange dream.

I was floating in space, directly beneath the North Star, looking down at the Solar System. It was the winter solstice on Earth, positioned at six o’clock on the celestial sphere.

Venus and Mars were each 120 degrees from Earth, forming a large equilateral triangle, while Mercury, Venus, and Saturn lined up with the Sun.

Before my eyes appeared a set of numbers: the synodic periods of Mercury, Venus, Mars, and Saturn with respect to Earth—117, 584, 780, and 378 days.

I fell rapidly, the Earth growing clearer. I saw a man facing two dials: one with 365 marks, the other with 260. He tied a knot in a piece of rope, symbolizing 18,980 days, or 52 years, and then inscribed an equation on a stone tablet: 19.19.19.0.0.19.0.0=1.0.0.T.0.1.T.0.0.

A voice told me these numbers represented days and were linked to the Mayan short and long count calendars. Only Michael Max and his girlfriend who studies Mars fragmentation could decipher them.

Suddenly, Mars turned into a huge fireball, and so did Earth and Venus. I woke up, terrified.

That’s all. No need to reply.”

As Daphne read, she pondered, then asked Michael, “This letter was sent to you more than ten years ago, and you’re only seeing it now?”

Michael replied, “It was sent to my work email, but I have so many messages that I never saw it. After setting our date, VESSEL brought it to my attention. You told me you’ve been researching Mars fragmentation, right?”

Daphne Braun, twenty-nine, was much like other women in longing for love and idolizing her hero, but when it came to serious astronomical discussion, she was a dedicated scientist.

She had just completed her doctorate and joined the Space Agency’s Psyche mission team. Ever since she began studying astronomy, the asteroid belt had fascinated her. After much study, she proposed a bold hypothesis and shared it with Michael via chat.

Her idea was that the asteroid belt is made up of fragments from an exploded Mars.

It wasn’t mere fancy. How did the asteroid belt form? There are several theories. One posits that the belt’s material originated outside the Solar System, but this fails to explain why half a million asteroids could cross into the system and almost all remain between Jupiter and Mars.

Another theory suggests the asteroid belt is debris from an ancient planetary explosion, but this, too, has flaws:

First, the mass is insufficient: the belt’s total mass is only one percent of Earth’s. If a planet exploded, where did the rest go?

Second, after a planet forms, the rapid rotation of the protoplanetary disk and its own gravity would create immense inward aggregation. Under current physics, there’s no reasonable mechanism for such an explosion.

So Daphne wondered: what if the asteroid belt is not the remains of a whole planet, but just the shattered crust of Mars? The missing mass would then make sense.

Moreover, the Mars fragmentation theory could explain another phenomenon.

Among the eight major planets, the four closest to the Sun are rocky, the other four gaseous giants. Mercury, Venus, Earth—moving outward, the planets increase in size until Mars, which is suddenly much smaller.

Mars’s radius is 3,389 kilometers, just over half that of Earth.

In the protoplanetary disk, rocky planets farther from the Sun should be larger, as they sweep up more material. But Mars bucks the trend.

Asteroids are categorized as carbonaceous (C-type), silicate (S-type), and metallic (M-type). M-types are extremely rare—only Psyche has been found, likely formed from Mars’s volcanic core metal lava. The other 99.9% are C and S-types.

If S-types are crustal rocks from Mars, and C-types are surface ice and dust, then during a fragmentation event, the water ice at the surface would be ejected first, traveling farther than the deeper rocks. Thus, S-types would cluster closer to Mars and the Sun, C-types farther away—matching the observed distribution.

Michael listened eagerly, then added, “Olympus Mons, the tallest volcano on Mars, is about 21 kilometers high—equal to the combined depth of the Mariana Trench and the height of the Himalayas on Earth. If Mars once shattered, losing its oceans and leaving the seabed as its baseline, then Olympus Mons’s height wouldn’t be surprising.”

Daphne nodded excitedly, “What’s unique about Olympus Mons is its gentle slope—just five degrees, almost flat. But at the edge of this vast plain, there’s a sheer 10-kilometer drop, like a cracked walnut shell. Part of the crust broke away and flew off. Olympus Mons is the relic of Mars’s old surface, while what we now see as the Martian surface is really the original ocean floor.”

Michael agreed, “Exactly—so all those signs of water flow on Mars’s surface are no longer a mystery.”

Daphne’s gaze lingered on the series of numbers at the end of the little girl’s letter. She asked Michael, “19.19.19.0.0.19.0.0—this must be related to the Mayan calendar, right? It stands for a number of days?”

Michael answered, “The numbers are separated by dots to indicate place value. We usually write numbers in decimal without separators, but the Mayans used a vigesimal (base-20) system, so the dots prevent confusion.”

Michael looked at the numbers, then at Daphne, and said mysteriously, “VESSEL calculated that, according to the Mayan Long Count, this number equals over 23 billion days.”

“What? What kind of calendar is that? How many years is 23 billion days?”

“Over sixty-three million years!” Michael replied.

&

Collected verse:

The ends of earth and sky have their limits. — Song Dynasty, Yan Shu
Through the ages, spirits connect in ways unknown to the world. — Song Dynasty, Huang Tingjian
Yet never have they wearied of our presence. — Song Dynasty, Fang Yue
Clearly, this contract is meant to be passed on. — Song Dynasty, Monk Dingxu