The discovery of the distant digital pulse had consumed Li Feng's focus, redefining his priorities. The thought of Julian Vance, pushing recklessly towards this unknown signal, spurred Li Feng into a new, complex undertaking: building his own interface. This wouldn't be for communication, not yet. This would be a system for pure observation, a highly refined ear pointed at the void, designed to understand the pulse without inadvertently inviting a response. It was a race against Julian, but also a race against the vastness of the unknown.
The first challenge was the signal's extreme faintness and unusual complexity. Standard radio astronomy equipment was too cumbersome and detectable, and his current sensors were barely sufficient. Li Feng needed a custom solution, a blend of cutting-edge theoretical concepts and practical, unconventional engineering. He began by designing a quantum-phase correlator, a highly sensitive device intended to detect minute, synchronized fluctuations in electromagnetic fields, even at extreme distances. He cobbled together components from various sources – salvaged parts from defunct university lab equipment, specialized high-frequency crystals ordered online under vague research purposes, and even a discarded satellite dish he found in a junkyard on the outskirts of Eastbridge, painstakingly refurbished.
His apartment transformed further. What was once minimalist became a compact, highly functional lab. Wires snaked across the floor, connecting an array of repurposed antennae to custom-built circuit boards that glowed with diagnostic LEDs. Multiple screens displayed intricate schematics, oscillating waveforms, and endless lines of code. He pushed his own coding skills into new frontiers, developing highly optimized signal processing algorithms that could filter out cosmic background radiation and terrestrial interference, isolating the faint, distinct hum of the pulse. He was essentially designing a digital microscope for sound.
The process demanded relentless, unbroken focus. He found himself working through the night, sustained by coffee and the sheer intellectual compulsion. Sleep became short, fragmented intervals of rest, his dreams often filled with abstract equations and shimmering wavelengths. His carefully constructed routines, once his unwavering anchors, now flexed to the demands of the pulse. His physical training became more intense, a necessary outlet for the coiled energy of his mind. His Forex bot, usually a source of satisfaction, now ran mostly autonomously, a backdrop to the more profound challenge.
He also heightened his personal security. He installed robust firewalls on his own network, encrypted all communication regarding Julian's project, and even rigged subtle sensors at his apartment door to detect any unauthorized access. Julian's ability to detect his previous probe made it clear that caution was paramount. If Julian, or anyone else, discovered what Li Feng was doing, the consequences were entirely unpredictable.
Meanwhile, Chloe's reports became more alarming. Julian was barely recognizable. His eyes were perpetually bloodshot, his skin pale. He mumbled constantly, words like "harmonic resonance" and "data singularity" echoing through the house. Chloe had found him slumped over his computer several times, seemingly exhausted, only for him to spring awake, convinced he was "on the cusp." She described bursts of light and strange electrical smells emanating from the basement, short but intense, followed by periods of eerie quiet. Julian, Chloe claimed, was convinced he was "breaking the veil."
One evening, as Li Feng was calibrating a particularly sensitive antenna, Maya knocked softly. She carried a thermos of tea and a plate of homemade cookies. She took in the sight of his transformed apartment, a soft smile on her face.
"Still trying to talk to the stars?" she asked gently, navigating the maze of wires to set the tray down on a clear space.
Li Feng straightened up, his movements stiff. "I am building a receiver. To analyze a distant signal." He felt a strange urge to explain it all to her, the complexity, the implications. But the words felt inadequate, too abstract for casual conversation.
Maya sat beside him on a cleared stack of books. "You've got that look again. The one where your brain is a million miles away." She poured him a cup of tea. "You should take a break, Li Feng. Even the best machines need to cool down." She looked at the intricate setup. "This looks... intense. What exactly is this 'signal'?"
Li Feng hesitated. He trusted Maya, but the implications of the pulse were immense. "It is... a non-terrestrial waveform. Its characteristics suggest high complexity. Julian Vance believes he can establish a connection with it." He chose his words carefully, framing it as an intellectual problem.
Maya's eyes widened slightly. "Non-terrestrial? Like... from space?" She processed that, her gaze turning thoughtful. "And Julian thinks he can talk to it? That's... a lot." She then looked back at Li Feng, her concern palpable. "But you're building this because you don't think Julian should be doing that, right? Or because you think he's doing it wrong?"
"My objective is understanding," Li Feng clarified. "Uncontrolled interaction with an unknown system carries unquantifiable risk." He sipped the tea. It was warm, with a subtle sweetness that cut through the metallic tang of his lab. "Your presence provides... a beneficial disruption. A necessary recalibration of perspective."
Maya chuckled softly. "Glad I can be a useful variable in your equation." She reached out and lightly brushed a stray wire from his hair. "Just promise me you won't lose yourself down this rabbit hole. There's a world right here that needs you, too."
Her touch, a soft, human warmth, momentarily grounded him. He looked at her, then back at his screens, the faint, green line of the distant pulse. He was acutely aware of the paradox: he was reaching out into the vast unknown, driven by a profound curiosity, yet finding an unexpected, equally profound connection in the small, known world right beside him.
As Maya left, Li Feng returned to his work, his mind refreshed, but the urgency had not lessened. He spent the remaining hours of the night fine-tuning his quantum-phase correlator, convinced he was on the verge of a breakthrough. He needed to understand the pulse, to grasp its essence, before Julian Vance inadvertently opened a door that could not be closed. The digital echo was out there, and Li Feng was building the only ear sensitive enough to truly listen.