Chapter 138

In the second month of the three-year countdown, the Seeder Project hit its first technical bottleneck: the cultivation of Starfire resonators.

The problem is straightforward—Su Yu is the only one who can deeply resonate with Stardust. She can guide the shielding array, can induce forget-me-nots, can perform deep treatment on the infected. But she cannot work simultaneously in five directions, dozens of nodes. If the Starfire network is to expand, we need more "seeds".

"In theory anyone can resonate," Kaiwen called up the relevant part of Starfire knowledge in the lab, "Stardust energy vibrates with life's own 'existence frequency'. But most people's frequencies are……shielded. Disaster, trauma, survival pressure—like layers of shells wrapping the core."

"How do we peel away these shells?" Li Xiaofeng asked.

"The ancient seeders' method: teaching, meditation, guided experience." Kaiwen pushed his glasses, "But it needs time, needs a safe environment, needs……the luxuries we no longer have."

Su Yu watched the Stardust crystals slowly growing in the culture tank. Inside the hexagonal crystals, light flowed and swirled like a miniature galaxy. She reached out and touched the tank wall; the light flow inside the crystals responded by speeding up.

"Maybe we don't need to peel it all away," she said softly. "Maybe we just need to open a small window, letting a bit of light through."

The next day, Pure Land held its first "Resonance Class".

It wasn't a formal school; it was an open space beside the Stardust Cradle. More than twenty volunteers sat on the ground—young people, middle-aged, even two over fifty. Their expressions varied: curiosity, doubt, anticipation, tension.

Su Yu stood before the crowd, with no podium, only the pot of hope grass that Xiao Yu had sent placed on the ground. The leaves were healthy green, glowing with a faint halo in the morning light.

"Today we won't do anything complicated," she said, voice gentle. "Just feel. Feel the ground you're sitting on, feel the wind blowing past, feel your own breath."

Some closed their eyes, some stared, unsure. Stone sat in the front row, small hands on his knees, very earnest.

"Don't deliberately control your breathing," Su Yu guided. "Just notice it. Inhale, know you're inhaling; exhale, know you're exhaling. If your mind wanders, it's fine—gently bring your attention back."

A few minutes later, the crowd's breathing sounds gradually synchronized. Not the uniformity of training, but a natural convergence, like tides following the moon.

"Now," Su Yu said, "think of something you're most grateful for. It doesn't have to be big; even a small thing will do—like a mouthful of hot rice you ate yesterday, like someone smiling at you, like seeing a flower bloom."

Some smiled, some frowned, some had reddened eye sockets.

Su Yu's chest scar warmed slightly. She could "see"—in the True Knowledge Vision, over a dozen faint "heart-fires" began to change: some grew a bit brighter, some steadied, some shifted from flickering to slow burning.

"Hold onto this feeling," she said, plucking a leaf from the hope grass and placing it in the center of the clearing, "then think of the person or thing you're grateful for, and exhale gently."

Nothing miraculous happened. The leaf didn't glow, didn't float up—nothing at all.

But Su Yu saw: over a dozen faint breaths converged on the leaf like an invisible warm current. At the leaf's edge, nearly invisible, a trace of the palest gold appeared.

"All right," she said, "open your eyes."

People opened their eyes, looked at each other, as if nothing had happened, yet many faces bore an strange calm.

"Is that it?" a middle-aged man asked—he was the mechanic of the underground shelter, his hands still greasy.

"Just like that," Su Yu nodded. "Practice ten minutes a day. Don't chase results; just practice……being."

"What good is that?" another young warrior asked.

"It might not be useful now," Su Yu said honestly, "but like training a muscle, a little each day adds up over time." She pointed to the Stardust Cradle, "That plant, at the start, was just a seed. It didn't know what it would become—it just……grew."

After the class dispersed, Stone stayed to help clean up. He quietly asked Su Yu, "I just……felt like the ground was breathing. Was that an illusion?"

"Not an illusion," Su Yu said, ruffling his hair. "The earth is always breathing. We're just too busy to listen."

At the same time, Han Qing adopted a similar method when training new recruits.

He didn't teach combat skills directly; first he taught "why we fight." He had each new recruit name three people or things they most wanted to protect. Answers varied: family, friends, Pure Land's children, newly planted sunflowers, even someone saying "the pot of jasmine on my windowsill seven years ago."

Han Qing wrote them all down and posted them on the wall of the training ground.

"Remember what you said," he told the troops. "When you're tired, when you're afraid, when you want to quit, look at these. You're not fighting for me, not for orders—you're fighting for these."

Wang Hu was in charge of physical and combat training. This hard‑nosed instructor's method was direct and brutal, but effective. A young girl fell three times during rope‑climb training, her knees bleeding, crying "I can't do it." Wang Hu didn't scold her; he just squatted down, bandaged her wounds, and then said:

"The first time I held a gun, my hand shook so badly I couldn't hit a target three meters away. My captain didn't replace me; he said, 'Those who fear death cherish life, and those who cherish life grow strong.' Are you afraid now?"

The girl nodded, tears mixing with dirt on her face.

"Then remember this fear," Wang Hu said, "and turn it into the strength of 'not letting others feel this fear.'"

The girl stared, then wiped her tears dry and went back to the rope. On the fourth try, she reached the top.

Makusi stood by recording data, and for once he smiled: "Boss, you've gone soft."

"In the apocalypse, tenderness is a scarce commodity," Han Qing said, gazing at the training field. "We've got to use it sparingly—apply it to the blade's edge."

That evening, while Su Yu was helping in the medical tent, Aili raised a practical question.

"The idea behind the Resonance Class is good," she said while changing a wounded person's dressing, "but the pace is too slow. With the three years Sera gave us, at this rate we won't cultivate enough resonators to expand the network."

"I know," Su Yu said while giving water to an old man, "but it can't be rushed. Resonance isn't a technique; it's……trust. Trust in oneself, trust in others, trust in the existence of light. That takes time."

"What if we don't have enough time?"

Su Yu fell silent. She looked outside the tent; the Stardust Cradle glowed in the night like an eternal lamp.

"Then let the light shine a bit brighter," she said. "Let one person's effort count for ten."

"Your body will break down," Aili said sternly. "These past few days you've been guiding the array for over eight hours a day, your chest scar has been burning hot—you think I didn't notice?"

Su Yu didn't deny it. She could feel that overusing resonance was consuming something fundamental—not stamina, but a deeper "sense of existence." Sometimes she would briefly forget her own name, forget what she'd eaten that day, remembering only to guide the light, to maintain the array, to……

"Chen Mo was like that back then," Aili said softly. "In the end he disappeared."

"But he left behind seeds," Su Yu said. "If I could also leave something behind, it would be worthwhile."

The tent flap was lifted as Xiao Yu came in, holding her pot of hope grass. The little girl had spent the whole day helping in the fields; her face was smudged, but her eyes shone bright.

"Sister Su Yu, my grass has grown new leaves again," she said, handing over the pot. "Look, here, and here."

Indeed, the hope grass had sprouted a fourth pair of leaves. And—Su Yu examined closely—the edges of the leaves bore an extremely faint gold vein, much like the Stardust plants.

"Xiao Yu," Su Yu crouched, "do you talk to the grass every day?"

"Mm!" Xiao Yu nodded. "In the morning I say 'good morning,' at night 'good night,' when watering I say 'drink a bit more,' and in the sun I say 'warm or not.' Sister Aili says plants can understand."

"Maybe it really can," Su Yu said, reaching out to lightly touch the leaf. The leaf curled around her finger, warm and friendly.

In the True Knowledge Vision, this hope grass's energy field differed from other plants—it was linked to Xiao Yu, a pure, childlike trust flowing between them. Moreover, the grass's energy field was slowly……mimicking the frequency of Xiao Yu's "heart-fire."

"Aili," Su Yu looked up, "maybe we've been looking in the wrong direction."

"What?"

"It's not about cultivating people to resonate with plants," Su Yu's eyes lit up, "it's about teaching plants to resonate with people."

The next day the experiment began.

The subjects are Xiao Yu and her hope grass. Su Yu guides Xiao Yu into a mild Resonance state—very simple, just have her think "The grass is my friend, I want it to grow better." Then she uses her own Starfire Resonance as a bridge, establishing a temporary link between the girl and the plant.

The effect is immediate.

The hope grass grows at a visible speed—ten centimeters, twenty centimeters, thirty centimeters. The golden veins on its leaves become clear, and the whole plant begins to emit a soft, warm white light. Moreover—most crucially—when Su Yu severs the link, the faint connection between the grass and the girl does not disappear entirely.

The grass "remembers."

"Symbiotic relationship," Kaiwen records the data, "the plant has adapted to the symbiont's energy frequency and begins to autonomously adjust its growth pattern. In theory, if this connection stabilizes, the plant could even reinforce the symbiont's Resonance ability."

"But only one‑to‑one?" Li Xiaofeng asks.

"At present it appears so," Kaiwen says, "but if there are more plants, more people willing to establish a link…"

"Then we'll expand the experiment," Su Yu says, "starting tomorrow, the Resonance class will include plant partners. Each person selects a plant—it can be a Forget‑Me‑Not, or any living thing that can still grow—cares for it daily, talks to it, and attempts to establish a link."

"That sounds like a fairy tale," a technician whispers.

"In the apocalypse, fairy tales may be the only real thing," Su Yu says.

A week later, the effects begin to appear.

Among more than twenty class participants, seven have formed stable links with their plants. The most notable is a young mother named Lin Xiu, who chose a withered jasmine rescued from the ruins. Each day as she waters the jasmine, she softly tells it what happened that day: the child learned a new character, the husband found useful parts, and two more survivors arrived at the camp.

The jasmine survived and even blossomed. Tiny white flowers, their scent so faint it's almost undetectable, yet in a spore‑contaminated environment that alone is a miracle.

Lin Xiu discovers that when she's anxious, touching the jasmine's leaves calms her; when she's weary, watching the flowers restores a bit of strength. It's not magic—it's… companionship.

"It's as if it's listening to me," Lin Xiu tells Su Yu, "even though I know it's just a plant."

"Perhaps listening doesn't require ears," Su Yu says, "only the willingness to hear."

Shitou's companion is a sunflower seedling—the smallest one among the sunflowers Xiao Yu planted. He waters it daily, measures its height, and even names it "Xiao Yang." One afternoon, he falls asleep in the field; upon waking, he finds the sunflower's leaves tilted slightly, providing a small patch of shade for him.

"It likes me!" he exclaims, running to tell everyone.

It may be true, or it may just be coincidence. Yet in a world that needs hope, the line between coincidence and miracle is already blurred.

On the day the second month ends, Pure Land holds its second all‑hands gathering.

This time there are more people—five representatives from the mining community arrive, including the now‑mostly recovered Xiao Yue. A slight woody scar remains on her wrist, like a silver line, but its function is fully restored.

First item of the gathering: results report.

Han Qing reports: among the five pioneering routes, the east‑west lines have established stable, safe passages; the north‑south line has completed preliminary surveying; the central line is temporarily delayed due to complex terrain.

Kaiwen reports: monthly Stardust Crystal output has increased by 50%; the portable shielding device has entered small‑scale mass production, and the first ten units have been delivered to the mining community.

Aili reports: the total number of cured infected reaches forty‑one, with seventeen fully recovered and twenty‑four in convalescence.

Zhao Tieshan, speaking for the mining community, says: "We have opened a second planting zone; Forget‑Me‑Not yields are enough to supply three communities. Also… we discovered something."

He signals the accompanying staff to lift a crate. Inside, it's not weapons or equipment but—books. Paper books from the old era, covers damaged but contents intact: agricultural manuals, medical guides, children's reading material, and even several poetry collections.

"Found in the old miners' dormitory," Zhao Tieshan says, "hidden in a waterproof box. We think… knowledge should be shared."

The books are passed around carefully. People touch the pages as if handling relics. An elderly man opens a poetry collection, his trembling finger tracing a line, and he reads aloud softly:

"If life deceives you, do not be sad, do not be impatient…"

He cannot continue, tears falling onto the page. Someone beside him takes over, continuing: "In gloomy days one needs calm; believe, happy days will come!"

The voice is soft but clear. More and more people join—not in unison, but in overlapping succession, piecing together fragmented memories.

Su Yu listens, the scar on her chest beating warmly. She looks toward the Stardust Cradle; on the plant leaves, a countdown shows: thirty‑four months remaining.

But now, the number no longer feels like a cold verdict, but like a… distance. A stretch of road that must be traveled, and they are already on it.

At the close of the gathering, Su Yu announces the official launch of the "Plant Partner Program." Each community may receive Forget‑Me‑Not cuttings or seeds, encouraging people to forge links with plants.

"This isn't a technical solution," she says, "it's a lifestyle choice. Choose to believe even without evidence; choose to connect even if it may hurt; choose to plant flowers in the ruins even if we don't know whether the sun will rise tomorrow."

Xiao Yu lifts her hope grass: "My grass says it wants to see more grass friends!"

People laugh. The laughter echoes beneath the shielded dome, passing through the growing fields, through the newly built houses, through the old pages cradled gingerly.

And in a sky where the spore clouds have fully dispersed, Seran's observation station quietly records:

【Earth Sample—Second Month Summary.】

【Physical Progress: matches expected curve.】

【Anomalous Data Point: emotional network expansion rate exceeds model prediction by 300%. Sample begins forming symbiotic relationships with plants, energy efficiency rises but is unquantifiable.】

【New Variable: 'Hope' subjective experience positively correlates with objective survival rate, correlation coefficient 0.73.】

【Model Adjustment: incorporate 'irrational belief' as a factor, weight pending.】

【Conclusion: continue observation. The sample continues deviating from the preset trajectory… but the deviation yields unexpected positive effects.】

Record complete, within the core of "Geometry's" thought, that incalculable question resurfaces:

"If they are right…"

"What about us?"

It temporarily shuts down the question module. Three years—still a long time. Enough to observe, enough to analyze, enough… perhaps to understand.

Night deepens, Su Yu returns to the Stardust Cradle. The unknown seed she planted has sprouted, two tender leaves unfurling in the moonlight. She reaches out, lightly touching; the leaves curl back as if in response.

"What kind of flower will you bloom?" she asks softly.

There is no answer. Only the night wind passes, carrying the scent of soil and newborn plants.

In the distance, the camp still has scattered lights. Some teach children to read, others repair tools, others sing softly.

Su Yu looks up at the stars. The three‑year countdown flickers on the Star Map, yet what she feels now is not pressure but a strange calm.

Like a seed in soil, unaware of the world above, yet still growing.

Because growth is its nature.

And hope, perhaps, is human.