Chapter 137: Three-Year Plan

Seran's three‑year countdown is like a seed buried in the soil of Pure Land—cold, hard, yet containing a possible spring.

On the seventh day of the countdown, Pure Land held its first all‑hands meeting. Not just among the core team, but truly everyone: surface residents, underground refugees, representatives of the mining community, and even two former infected who had been rescued from the industrial park and recovered the best. Nearly two hundred people packed into the newly built assembly square—actually just a cleared patch of ground, but paved with stone slabs and surrounded by a ring of forget‑me‑not flowers.

Su Yu stood on the makeshift podium, without a microphone, and had to raise her voice: "Seran gave us three years. Three goals: first, Starfire network coverage of 10% of land; second, cure 50% of spore‑infected people; third, establish five community alliances."

The audience was quiet. No look of miraculous excitement on their faces, only a heavy, pragmatic expression. The seven‑year disaster taught them one thing: hope does not fall from the sky; it is wrested inch by inch.

"It sounds impossible," Su Yu said frankly, "but what Seran doesn't know is that humanity's greatest skill is turning the impossible into 'not yet done.'"

Someone laughed; the laugh was sparse but genuine.

"So we drafted a plan," she said, pointing to the hand‑drawn map hanging behind her, "the Sower Plan."

On the map, Pure Land is the central dot. Five lines radiate outward: the east line connects to the mining community, the south line leads to farther coastal ruins, the west line penetrates the old‑era industrial zone, the north line points toward the mountains, and the central line follows the old road network. Each line is marked with known or presumed survivor settlements.

"Year one, consolidate the foundation," Su Yu explained. "Pure Land, as the core, must accomplish three tasks: expand shield‑array coverage, establish a complete Stardust crystal production line, and—cultivate more Resonators."

Han Qing stepped forward: "The defense squad will handle the opening and maintenance of safe passages. But we need more manpower. Volunteers, regardless of gender, who pass basic training can become defense members or logistical support."

Wang Hu added: "It's not just combat training. It includes piloting, repair, first aid, even… farming. What we rebuild is not only defense, but life."

Someone in the audience began to raise a hand. The first was Shitou—the boy Su Yu had rescued from the abandoned village. He stood up, his thin body straightening: "What can I do?"

Aili replied: "The medical team needs helpers to tend the wounded and learn basic care. For younger children, we'll organize learning and basic‑skill training."

"I want to learn rescue," Shitou said.

"Then come," Aili nodded.

One by one, more hands rose. An elder offered to teach children literacy; an engineer volunteered to help with design; even those still recovering from infection raised hands, saying they could do light work.

Old Zhao watched from the audience, a tear glinting in his single eye. He recalled the chaos, panic, and mutual suspicion when the disaster struck seven years ago. Now, they raise their hands and say "I can help."

That may be what Seran cannot calculate: when a common goal is clear enough, humanity will set aside differences and extend a hand.

After the meeting ended, the division of labor began.

Kaiwen and Li Xiaofeng took charge of the technical route. Deep within the underground ruins they made a new discovery—a complete Stardust crystal cultivation chamber. It was not a natural cave but a facility left by ancient sowers, well preserved. Inside were twelve cultivation tanks, three of which still functioned.

"The principle is similar to hydroponic farming," Kaiwen recorded excitedly, "but the medium is liquid Stardust energy, and the crystals sprout and grow like seeds. According to the records, a full cycle takes six months, but we can optimize—"

"First ensure basic output," Li Xiaofeng said more pragmatically, "three tanks can produce one standard crystal per month. Enough to sustain the current shield array, but not enough for expansion."

"Then we'll start steady and solid," Su Yu said, "while researching optimization plans. The three years Seran gave us are not a sprint from zero, but a marathon of continuous progress."

In the corner of the chamber they discovered another mural. This time it was not a covenant but a teaching diagram: ancient humans seated around, a luminous humanoid figure in the center demonstrating something. Beneath the image were annotations, which Kaiwen translated and read aloud:

"Sower Lesson One: Light need not be abundant, only continuous."

"Lesson Two: The strongest network is not an energy link, but a trust link."

"Lesson Three: When you begin teaching others how to sow, you truly become a Sower."

Su Yu touched the mural; the stone wall was warm, as if someone had just left.

"They are teaching us," she whispered, "not technique, but a mind method."

In the first week, the mining community sent good news.

Zhao Tieshan organized personnel to construct the first external shield‑array node. Though its coverage radius was only five hundred meters, it was enough to protect the community's core area. More importantly, they succeeded in large‑scale cultivation of forget‑me‑not flowers—not in soil but in an abandoned mine pit, irrigated with Stardust solution, growing three times faster.

"The flowers are not just antidotes," Zhao Tieshan said over the newly built communication network, "their roots can purify the soil. We tested it; in areas where the flowers were planted, spore residue dropped by 90%."

"Can they be divided?" Su Yu asked.

"Yes. We have prepared the first batch of divisions, ready to send to other communities."

The first "Community Alliance Agreement" was formally signed: the mining community provides forget‑me‑not cultivation techniques and ore resources; Pure Land provides Stardust technology and medical support. The agreement was handwritten on old‑era paper, with Zhao Tieshan's thumbprint and Su Yu's signature, plus collective seals from all community members—those who cannot write left a handprint, children drew stars.

The agreement was carefully stored, duplicated three times: one kept by Pure Land, one sent to the mining community, and one buried before the covenant mural in the underground ruins—like a response to the ancient pact: we choose our own path, but we remember where we came from.

In the second week, an unexpected discovery.

A small team out searching for supplies, deep in the ruins of the old city library, found a sealed capsule. It was neither Seran's nor the ancient sowers', but humanity's own—a "Civilization Backup Vault" established by the pre‑disaster government. The hull was damaged, but the internal storage devices were partially intact.

The data brought back contained a complete agricultural knowledge base, basic medical textbooks, and even pre‑disaster global ecological survey reports. More crucially, there was a "Deep‑Earth Shelter Full Map," marking the locations and estimated capacities of seventeen large shelters worldwide.

"If those shelters still have people…" Li Yuanshan's voice trembled.

"Then it's more than just us," Su Yu said, looking at the distant coordinates on the map. "Seran wants 10% land coverage and five alliances. Maybe… we can do more."

But a problem arose: the nearest shelter is eight hundred kilometers away, with a heavily polluted zone and unknown dangers in between. With current technology and resources, an expedition is almost impossible.

"Then we'll contact first," Kaiwen said, "the library still has intact satellite communication component parts; we can repair them and attempt a broadcast. If they can receive, at least they'll know we exist."

"What should the broadcast contain?" Aili asked.

Su Yu thought for a moment: "We'll use the method Seran used to test us. Not a technical signal, but Emotional Frequency. Send…song."

So that night, all of Pure Land gathered at the center of the shield array. No instruments, only voices. They sang an old‑era song, simple, known by almost every child: "Friendship Everlasting." Off‑key, with mixed accents, but genuine.

The singing passed through the repaired transmitter, converting into a specific Emotional Frequency signal, beaming into the night sky toward those compatriots who might exist, also persisting in darkness.

They didn't know who would hear, or even if anyone could hear.

But while singing, many people wept. Because it was the first voice in seven years not shouted for survival, but for connection.

In the third week, Han Qing's defense squad, while opening the west‑line passage, encountered a new threat.

It was neither Seran's creation nor a spore mutant, but a predator that naturally evolved after the disaster—a social crustacean, small in size but astonishing in number, capable of secreting acid that corrodes metal. They destroyed two exploration vehicles and injured three team members.

"It's not that we can't beat them," Han Qing said at the tactical meeting, "but the cost is too high. Our ammunition and equipment are limited, we can't expend them like this."

"Then we change strategy," Su Yu said, looking at the samples brought back. "Why do they attack humans? Because they see us as food, or perhaps…"

Kaiwen examined the biological sample: "Stomach content analysis shows they mainly eat metal and plastic from the ruins. Attacking humans may be because of our metal gear, or… we're destroying their habitat."

"What if we provide them an alternative food source?" Li Xiaofeng suggested, "for example, collect metal scrap and deposit it in areas far from the passage."

"Negotiate with animals?" Wang Hu frowned.

"It's not negotiation, it's coexistence," Su Yu said. "What we rebuild is not a world solely for humans, but a world for all life."

Thus the defense squad gained a new task: along the opened routes, set up "feeding stations"—piles of useless metal collected from the ruins, giving the creatures a stable food source. Simultaneously, plant forget‑me‑not flowers around human activity zones—their scent seems to deter the creatures.

A week later, the effect showed: attacks on the west‑line passage dropped by 80%. The creatures began building nests around the feeding stations, no longer approaching human camps.

"They're also adapting to the new world," Makusi said with a rare smile. "It's good; neighbors are always better than enemies."

On the day the first month ended, Pure Land held a simple ceremony.

There was no religion, no leader worship, only everyone sitting around the campfire, sharing the first month's results: Stardust Crystal production met the target, the planting area of Forget‑Me‑Not flowers doubled, the western corridor was essentially safe, and material exchanges with the mining community proceeded steadily.

More importantly, they received the first response from afar.

It was not via Emotional Frequency broadcast— that would take longer to propagate— but through an old‑era shortwave radio. The signal was weak and intermittent, yet clear enough to hear:

"…this is… North Mountain Shelter… we heard… friendship endures forever… we are still alive… repeat… we are still alive…"

The signal lasted three minutes, then vanished into interference.

But it was enough.

Around the campfire, many embraced and wept, but there was no cheering. For knowing someone was out there also meant knowing that someone out there was still suffering.

Su Yu stood up, cradling a small bag of seeds in her hands— the unknown seeds that Xiao Yu had given her, which she had kept with her. Now, she handed one to each person.

"Plant them," she said, "where you live, where you work, by the roads you walk. You don't need to know what flowers they'll bloom into; just believe they will bloom."

People took the seeds, holding them in their palms like tiny promises.

Old Zhao planted his seed beside his son's workstation— Li Xiaofeng now coordinates the entire tech team and often works late. After learning this through the communications network, Zhao Tieshan said he would plant one at the mine entrance as well. Shitou planted his at the entrance of the medical tent. Xiao Yu planted hers beside a sunflower.

And Su Yu planted hers in the soil of the Stardust Cradle, right next to the mother plant.

Night fell, and people dispersed to rest. Su Yu stayed alone by the cradle, watching the three‑year countdown on the Star Map: thirty days had already passed.

One thousand sixty‑five days remained.

She reached out and lightly brushed the cradle plant's leaf. The leaf was warm, as if breathing.

"We will make it," she whispered, "not because we are powerful, but because we have learned… not to demand we be all‑mighty, only to demand we do not give up."

The plant brushed her hair with a twig, as if saying: I understand.

The night sky was clear, the star‑river vast.

And in an observation station of a distant star system, Selaan evaluator "Ji He" was recording data:

【Earth Sample – Update Log: Phase One (30 days).】

【Progress: Starfire Network expansion 0.1%, infected recovery rate up 2%, community alliance count: 1.】

【Anomalous Data: the sample clusters began forming symbiotic relations with non‑human organisms. Emotional Frequency broadcast emitted. Autonomous innovation direction: ecological restoration rather than mere purification.】

【Model Revision: predictive efficiency increased 17%, but the trajectory deviated from the original "Efficient Civilization Reconstruction" path.】

【Conclusion: continue observation.】

After recording, "Ji He" turned to the observation window. Outside were countless stars, each possibly an experimental field, a sample, a civilization awaiting harvest.

Yet at that moment, within its logical core, an incalculable question surfaced:

If efficiency is not the sole value…

Then what unit should value itself be measured in?

It had no answer for now.

But it decided to grant this sample called Earth a little more observation time.

After all, three years to Selaan is merely a blink.