Chapter 140: The Language of Roots

On the fourth day after the storm, Aili gave Su Yu an ultimatum: "Either lie in bed for three full days, or I'll put sleeping pills in your nutrient solution. Choose."

Su Yu chose to lie down.

Her shack was tiny—just a bed, a table, and a crude shelf, all her possessions. But there was an east-facing window where morning sunlight could come in. Now it was the first clear day after the storm; sunlight streamed through the glass, casting bright patches on the concrete floor, dust drifting slowly within them.

She indeed needed rest. The scar on her chest no longer burned, but there was a deep fatigue, as if her marrow had been drained. This always happened after overusing Resonance, but this time recovery was slower. Aili said her body was warning: either slow down, or collapse.

But how could she slow down? The three‑year countdown hung over her head like a whip, every day precious.

Outside the window came children's laughter. It was Shitou and Xiao Yu, playing a new game at the edge of the field—sorting the various seeds they'd gathered after the storm: which could be planted, which could not, and which "looked like they wanted to sprout." Their childish argument drifted in:

"This looks like a sunflower!"

"No, sunflower seeds are flat; this one is round!"

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know… shall we ask Sister Su Yu?"

"Aili Sister says she needs to rest."

The voices faded away. Su Yu closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but her thoughts raced. She recalled a passage in Chen Mo's lab notes, circled in red:

""Rest is not stopping; it is another form of growth. Just like a seed in the soil, appearing still while actually carrying out the most complex preparations: splitting, differentiating, storing strength, waiting for the moment to break ground.""

At the time she thought it too poetic; now she understands.

At noon, Old Zhao brought lunch—a bowl of wild vegetable soup, two roasted potato slices, and a small dish of pickled radish. The old man sat beside the bed, watching her finish.

"Eat slowly, no one's going to take it from you."

"I'm used to it." Su Yu sipped the soup slowly. The soup was thin, but it warmed her stomach.

"Change the habit." Old Zhao pulled a little wooden carving from his pocket and placed it on the bedside table, "Xiao Feng carved it. Said it's to relieve your boredom."

It was a simple wooden carving: a plant breaking through the soil, leaves unfurling, with a tiny star at the tip. The craftsmanship was rough, but full of vitality.

"Has his leg healed?"

"It healed long ago; now he spends all day bringing people underground to dig." Old Zhao paused, "Yesterday they dug up something new. Not a device, but… a corpse."

Su Yu put down her chopsticks.

"An ancient sower's?" she asked.

"Looks like it. But it's not a being of light like the Aeo; it's solid." Old Zhao lowered his voice, "Preserved perfectly, as if asleep. Wearing a simple robe, with… a book beside it. Not paper, but some kind of crystal plate, still glowing."

"What does it contain?"

"Xiao Feng doesn't dare touch it. Wait until you've rested and then go see."

Su Yu stared at the wooden carving. An ancient sower's corpse? Why was it left here? Was it a Guardian, or…?

"Also," Old Zhao continued, "the seed you planted beside the Stardust Cradle has bloomed."

"What kind of flower?"

"I don't know. It's white, very small, but…" The old man, rare for him to be at a loss for words, added, "You'll know when you go see."

In the afternoon, Su Yu ultimately couldn't stay in bed. She promised to stay within the camp and not do any work, after which Aili reluctantly let her go.

She first went to the Stardust Cradle.

That unnamed seed had indeed bloomed. Not a showy flower, but a plain, almost humble white blossom with six petals and a center of extremely pale gold. What was special—it opened in the morning, yet now it was afternoon and the flower had not wilted; instead, it glowed faintly in the sunlight, like a tiny lamp.

Even more remarkable, when she approached, the flower gently turned toward her, like a sunflower turning to the sun.

"It knows you." Xiao Yu appeared out of nowhere beside her, clutching her Hope Grass, "My grass says this flower is waiting for you."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait for you to give it a name." The little girl said matter‑of‑factly, "A flower without a name would be lonely."

Su Yu crouched and reached out to touch the petal. The petal was soft, warm, like the skin of a living thing. In her True Knowledge Vision, the plant's energy field differed from that of the Stardust plants—softer, more… wise? As if it knew what it was and what it should do.

"Let's call it 'Hear‑Speech,'" she said, "to hear the wind's language, the earth's language, and… the sounds we cannot hear."

Xiao Yu repeated the name, nodding satisfied. Her Hope Grass leaves swayed slightly, as if waving hello.

Next, Su Yu went to the fields.

The storm had indeed caused losses, but reconstruction was underway. People cleared fallen plants, reinforced the field borders, and replanted seedlings. Lin Xiu was repotting her jasmine—the storm had shattered the pot, but the jasmine itself was intact and had even put out a second flower.

"It's very strong," Lin Xiu said, seeing Su Yu, laughing as she lifted the pot, "I said 'we must hold on,' and it really did hold on."

Not far away, Shitou was talking to his sunflower "Little Sun." The boy pressed his face against the flower disk, murmuring softly, then looked up at Su Yu as she approached and said:

"Little Sun says underground there are many roots holding hands."

"Roots?"

"Yeah. The forget‑me‑not's roots, the sunflower's roots, even the weeds' roots over there—they're linked underground into a net." Shitou said seriously, "When the storm came, they pulled tight on each other, so not too many were blown away."

Su Yu recalled the energy network she had seen in her True Knowledge Vision. It turned out it wasn't just energy; physically, they were really connected.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"Little Sun told me." Shitou stroked the sunflower's thick stem, "It says plants don't speak, but they remember. They remember who watered them, who blocked the wind for them, who… regarded them as friends."

Su Yu felt a warmth in her chest. Not the burning of the scar, but something softer.

At dusk, she finally went to the underground ruins.

Li Xiaofeng waited at the entrance, his face betraying undisguised excitement: "We ran a basic scan—the corpse has no radiation, no biological contamination, and its energy field is stable. The crystal plate… see for yourself."

They passed through the expanded corridor and arrived at the newly discovered chamber. Not large, about ten square meters, its walls were smooth silver metal emitting a soft cold light. In the center stood a stone platform, on which lay a person.

It indeed had a human shape, but the details differed: the skin bore a faint silver sheen, the features were softer, eyes closed, expression calm as if in contemplation. (He or she? Gender hard to tell) wore a simple white robe, hands folded over the chest, gripping a palm‑sized crystal plate.

Inside the crystal plate, light flowed, forming complex patterns—not characters, but more like a dynamic star map.

"We didn't dare move anything," Li Xiaofeng said, "the scan shows the corpse itself is an energy source, sustaining this chamber and the crystal plate."

Su Yu approached. She could feel—this ancient sower was not dead. Not alive, but… in some kind of dormant state. Its energy field was faint yet steady, like the heartbeat of a hibernating animal.

She reached out, not to touch the corpse, but to lightly press the crystal plate.

Instantly, light surged from the plate, forming a hologram in mid‑air—not an Aeo‑like being of light, but a real, three‑dimensional scene:

A lush forest, trees towering into the clouds, leaves sparkling with specks of starlight. Animals moved through it—not earthly creatures, more graceful, more tranquil, some even semi-transparent. In the forest's center, a group of ancient humans sat in a circle; in the middle was a sower (the one on the stone platform) demonstrating something: he reached out and touched a sapling, which swiftly grew, bloomed, bore fruit; the fruit fell to the ground and grew into a new plant.

The scene shifted: humans were learning. Not through language, but through touch, resonance, and the direct transmission of energy. A child reached out and touched a flower, and the flower changed color; an elder gently stroked the bark, and the tree lowered its branches for him to lean on.

The final scene: the sower bowed to the humans, and they returned the gesture. Then the sower walked toward the forest's depths, lay down on a prepared stone platform, and closed his eyes. The humans gathered around the platform, holding hands, and began to sing—not with their mouths, but with their whole bodies resonating; the sound was like wind passing through the forest, like water flowing over stone.

Amid the song, the sower's body gradually turned transparent, finally dissolving into points of light—part rising into the sky, part sinking into the earth, and part… seeping into all the surrounding plants.

The scene ended. The light of the crystal board faded.

Li Xiaofeng drew a deep breath: "He sacrificed himself…? For this forest?"

"Not a sacrifice," Su Yu said softly, "but a transformation—from individual existence to ecological existence." She recalled the stardust plants, the hope grass, the "Listening Speech" flower. "He has become part of this land. So the plants here… are sentient."

"What is that crystal board…?"

"A testament. And also a textbook." Su Yu gazed at the serene face on the stone platform, "He was teaching the final generation of students: how to truly coexist with life."

Just then, the crystal board lit up again—this time showing only a single line, displayed simultaneously in ancient script and the Starfire frequency:

【By the time you understand these words, I have become the wind, the rain, the sound of seeds breaking through the soil.】

【My mission is complete. Now it's your turn to become the sowers.】

【Remember: the strongest network is not something you build, but something you awaken.】

The light went out completely. The cool light in the secret chamber dimmed a little, but the sower's face on the stone platform remained calm, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

Li Xiaofeng remained silent for a long time, then said: "Should we… leave him here?"

"This is his home," Su Yu said, "but we can erect a monument at the entrance. Not a tombstone, but… a monument of gratitude."

"What should we write?"

Su Yu pondered: "Write 'Thank you for the lesson. We are learning.'"

On the way back to the surface, Su Yu felt the tightness in her chest ease a little. It wasn't a recovery of strength, but a weight being set down.

She understood: the sower was not a superman, not a god, but a teacher. Teachers grow tired, they depart, but the lesson continues.

And she was learning how to become a teacher.

Night fell, the camp lit up. The mess hall drifted with the smell of food and laughter. Han Qing was organizing the night patrol, saw Su Yu, and nodded in greeting. Wang Hu was teaching a few new recruits combat techniques, moving slowly and patiently. Aili was hanging bandages outside the medical tent, humming an off‑key tune.

An ordinary scene verging on luxury.

Su Yu walked to the edge of the Stardust Cradle. The "Listening Speech" flower glowed faintly in the night like a star on the ground. She reached out and touched it; the petals curled lightly around her finger.

In the True Knowledge Vision, she saw something she had missed before: centered on the "Listening Speech," an ultrafine energy thread stretched outward, linking every plant companion in the camp—Xiao Yu's hope grass, Stone's sunflower, Lin Xiu's jasmine, and even the crops in the fields that had no designated partners.

A network formed by plants, tiny but real.

And the core of that network was her.

But it was not she who supported the network; the network supported her. With each breath came a faint energy feedback, like a tide, like a heartbeat.

She suddenly understood the sower's final words: "The strongest network is not something you build, but something you awaken."

The network has always existed—underground, among the roots, in the silent dialogue between living beings. What humans must do is not to create, but to join; not to control, but to listen.

She closed her eyes and let her consciousness sink into that tiny network.

In an instant, she "heard":

the wind's whisper, the soil's breath, the fragile crack of seeds splitting, the tactile feel of roots exploring, and… far off, more plants calling, waiting, asking: "Does anyone still remember how to listen?"

She opened her eyes; tears slipped down silently.

Not because of sorrow.

But because she had finally heard the language of roots.

Night deepened; Su Yu returned to the bunkhouse. The wooden carving on the table cast a tiny shadow in the moonlight. She picked it up, her fingers rubbing the rough grooves.

Thirty‑three months remained in the three‑year countdown.

But at this moment, what she felt was not pressure, but a strange confidence: they were not fighting alone. There were the lessons left by the ancient sowers, the plant‑woven network, and the unextinguished spark in every heart.

And… herself. She was learning how to listen, how to connect, how to keep shining without draining herself.

She lay down and this time truly fell asleep.

In her dream, she walked through the forest, the trees emitting a soft glow. A voice rose on the wind, indistinguishable—was it Chen Mo, Aio, or the sower buried underground:

"Walk slowly. The light need not be much; just keep it going."

When she woke, the sky was just beginning to lighten.

Outside the window, the "Listening Speech" flower turned toward the rising sun, the dew on its petals scattering seven‑colored light.

A new day began.

And the language of roots continued.