The little Soren curled up in the corner of the corridor, hugging his knees, forming himself into a ball—just like the gesture he often made many years later in the Justice League headquarters in Washington.
It turned out that his Soren had already learned to resist the storms of fate at such a young age with this posture.
Clark watched him from a distance.
His heart brimmed with tenderness, boundless joy, and affection.
This was Soren.
He thought.
This was the mysterious, unseen past of Soren.
But now he was here, as if stepping barefoot into a rushing stream; he saw reflected in the clear water the life of Soren.
Little Soren cried softly for a while, his golden eyelashes wet and clumped together.
His cries broke Clark's heart.
Unable to bear it any longer, he stepped forward and gently brushed away a tear from the corner of Soren's eye with his fingertip.
The warm tear fell on his fingertip, sending a jolt through Clark's heart.
He quickly withdrew his hand, but little Soren had already sensed this strange touch.
He stood up and with tears in his eyes, he looked around, unsure of what had happened.
The moment Clark saw Soren stand up, he instinctively retreated, but the oncoming impact of time reversing had already engulfed him—
He was torn apart in the reboot of the timeline, as the entire universe was reset to one minute earlier.
The chaotic and turbulent flow of time rushed past him; he witnessed the universe exploding, dust condensing and cooling, ancient stars being born, life forming… In the tumultuous flow of time, he observed everything coming into existence from nothing.
When he reappeared in the corridor in the form of dark matter, the world had completed its first reboot.
He was still the same Clark Kent from one minute later.
But one minute later, in front of him was Soren, who was still crying from one minute earlier.
…He shouldn't, and couldn't, wipe away that tear for Soren.
Because that was something that hadn't happened in the timeline; in the timeline that must happen, Soren wouldn't stand up, nor would he notice someone wiping away his tears.
He couldn't change the direction of the timeline in any way; he could only follow the trajectory predetermined by it, allowing time to become what it should be, what it must be.
For instance, at this moment, little Soren could only cry alone in the corner of the garden.
No one would wipe away his tears; his childhood was destined to be this way, and it must be so.
Clark stood dejectedly in the position he occupied one minute later, watching the crying Soren, his fists clenched helplessly.
Little Soren cried until he was tired, slowly stopping his sobs.
And there was no trace of anyone in the corridor.
This exquisite garden, filled with cosmic wonders, was seldom visited, and now it had almost become his own secret garden.
He used his small hands to wipe his eyes, smearing the half-dried tear streaks all over his face, then patted the wrinkles on his clothes.
He ran down the corridor to the center of the garden, where a giant upside-down tulip-shaped plant stood, and he reached out to touch its flower bud.
At the bottom of this plant was the flower bud, with leaves above, and a transparent stem transporting small bubbles.
Soren placed his hand in the flower bud, which gently wrapped around his little hand, as if playfully teasing him, petals brushing against his fingers while the leaves rustled in time with some unseen music.
A smile finally began to spread across his tear-streaked face, his beautiful baby-blue eyes shining with light.
"Doo—doo—"
He babbled incomprehensibly.
Lacking communication with others, his language skills were poor.
Although he could read and write, he struggled to express himself clearly, and his vocabulary was limited.
The name he gave to this plant resembled more of a simple onomatopoeia.
But he loved playing with this plant; it was the only being in the entire palace that showed him any kindness.
At four years old, his life was simple.
Under the emperor's orders, no one cared about what he thought or felt.
The servants only ensured that he didn't die, never daring to interfere with his every move.
Although he grew up in the palace, he lived like a wild child, never taught what to do or what not to do.
Only occasionally would his father call him to the palace, where the servants would regard him with fear and anxiety, urging him not to speak.
Yet even as he approached his biological father, hopeful like a voiceless doll, all he received in return was his father's cold gaze and scolding.
Just like today, he was called to check his homework, and when the emperor discovered that Soren still couldn't fluently recite a galactic epic, he exploded in rage.
In front of Soren, he smashed all the furnishings in the room, then pulled the terrified Soren out and kicked him several times in the stomach.
Little Soren curled up on the ground, clutching his stomach.
The pain was so intense that he trembled all over, fearing he might die.
His stomach hurt so much that he wanted to scream, but he wasn't allowed to shed tears in front of the emperor.
He desperately tried to hold back his sobs, but the tears kept flowing.
In the end, it was the emperor's personal attendant who took him out of the palace.
They hurriedly carried him into the medical chamber, which healed his injuries but couldn't comfort a four-year-old child who had never received love.
After emerging from the medical chamber, he ran alone to the garden to cry in secret.
The pain in his stomach felt almost like a lingering illusion; he held his belly, feeling excruciating pain.
Why, even after going to the medical chamber, did he still hurt so much?
It felt like his whole body was in pain, especially his chest.