Chapter 142

Selan's seventy‑hour assessment period was like a ruler hanging over their heads—precise, icy, and indisputable.

The countdown froze on the leaves of the stardust plants, the numbers no longer jumping, but the pressure grew stronger, because everyone knew: after seventy‑two hours, that ruler would fall, measuring whether everything they did conformed to the Definition of the Starfire Network. And the authority over that Definition lay in Selan's hands.

"We can't just wait passively," Su Yu said at the first meeting after the assessment began. "We need to actively demonstrate—show what the plant network is, what it can do, and… why it is more valuable than mere stardust technology coverage."

"Who are we demonstrating to?" Li Xiaofeng asked. "Selan isn't even here."

"They're observing," Kaiwen said, pointing to the data stream from the Deep Space monitoring station. "The energy readings show seven new observation points in low Earth orbit, arranged in a regular icosahedron—that is Selan's highest‑precision observation array. They can see everything we do."

"Then let's show them," Han Qing stood up. "Let's devise a seventy‑two‑hour demonstration plan—one theme per hour, from basic connections to complex applications."

The plan quickly took shape. First theme: network expansion.

They chose a wasteland on the west side of the camp, where spore concentration was moderate and a few hardy wild plants survived. The goal was to use the existing network nodes to connect at least 50% of the plants in that area within twenty‑four hours.

The execution team consisted of Su Yu, Kaiwen, Shitou, and Xiao Yu. Choosing the children wasn't a risk; it was because their connections tend to be purer and less preset.

"Remember," Su Yu told the two children before they set out, "it's not about conquest, it's about invitation—like inviting new friends over to play."

Shitou nodded seriously, while Xiao Yu clung to her Hope Grass: "My grass says there's a particularly old tree in the wasteland that saw the sun before the disaster."

The wasteland was more alive than imagined.

It wasn't lush, but the kind of vitality that bursts forth in dire straits: wild grass in brick cracks, moss on broken walls, even vines with tiny purple flowers climbing a fallen telephone pole. The spore mist here was much thinner, allowing sunlight to barely filter through.

Su Yu chose a half‑withered old locust tree as the first connection point—its roots ran deep, its energy field stable. She placed her hand on the rough bark and guided the network's resonance through the "Listening‑Speak" flower.

"Hello," she whispered in her mind, "we're here."

The old tree didn't respond right away. Its energy field was like a deep pool—surface calm, deep currents stirring. Su Yu "saw" its memory fragments: summers before the disaster, children playing in its shade; the quake and flames when disaster struck; seven years of solitary growth, watching everything around it die and be reborn.

"You're very strong," she said, "but you don't have to be so alone."

She let the network's energy flow in gently, like a stream—not forcing a connection, but offering an option: here is water, if you want to drink.

A few seconds later, ripples stirred the deep pool. The old tree's energy field began to shift, from closed to cautiously opening. An aerial root dangled from above, lightly touching Su Yu's shoulder, as if checking in.

The connection was established.

"It's asking," Su Yu said, opening her eyes to Kaiwen, "whether we are 'that light'."

"What light?"

"The light of the ancient seeders," Su Yu felt the tree convey a vague memory: long ago, beings of light had come here, touched it, then left. The light had left a phrase, but the memory was too old to recall clearly.

Kaiwen noted: "Do plants have transgenerational memory? Passed on through their roots?"

"Possibly," Su Yu turned to Shitou and Xiao Yu. "You pick the next point. Use your own way."

Shitou chose the vine on the telephone pole. He climbed the broken wall, carefully reaching out—not to touch the vine, but the crack where it took root. The little boy closed his eyes and whispered, "I also have a plant friend. It says the more friends, the warmer."

The vine's leaves swayed lightly. No immediate connection, but hostility clearly diminished.

Xiao Yu's approach was more direct. She placed her Hope Grass on the ground and stepped back a few paces. "You speak for yourself," she told the grass, "I'll wait here for you."

The Hope Grass's white light grew slightly brighter. It moved at a visible, slow pace—truly a "walk"—its roots like tiny feet, creeping toward the nearest clump of wild grass. When the two plants touched, the wild grass shuddered violently, then… it produced an extremely tiny white flower, identical to the Hope Grass.

"It learned!" Xiao Yu clapped her hands.

Kaiwen's detector emitted a soft beep: "The wild grass's gene expression has changed… it is mimicking the Hope Grass's energy signature. Not passive reception, but active learning and self‑adjustment!"

Within three hours, all seven major plant points in the wasteland were connected. The network unfurled like a spiderweb, each node glowing—not with physical light, but with the light of energy in the True Knowledge Vision. More importantly, after the connection, the spore concentration in that area began to slowly decline, and soil tests showed increased microbial activity.

"The purification isn't us doing it," Kaiwen analyzed the data. "It's the result of the network self‑regulating. The plants share purification knowledge, secrete complementary enzymes, and create a synergistic effect."

Su Yu lifted her head, gazing at the much clearer sky. She knew Selan's observation array was recording all of this.

First theme, complete.

Second theme: cross‑species mutual aid.

The demonstration site was at the edge of the camp's farmland, where a small group of Metal Eaters lived—crustaceans that had evolved after the disaster to feed on metal. They had established an initial coexistence via feeding points, and now we wanted to test whether they could interact with the plant network.

"In theory it's impossible," Kaiwen called up the biological data. "Their nervous systems and plants are on completely different frequency bands—"

"Let's try," Su Yu had Lin Xiu place her jasmine pot near the feeding spot.

The jasmine had already bloomed its fifth flower, its scent faintly detectable in the air. Lin Xiu whispered to the flower: "Please ask those… neighbors if they'd be willing to work together."

The jasmine didn't move. But a few minutes later, a Metal Eater poked its head out of its nest, antennae twitching, slowly crawling toward the pot. It didn't attack; instead, it gently touched the pot's rim with its forelegs, then… began nibbling a small patch of rusted metal on the pot's bottom.

"Is it helping to remove rust?" Li Xiaofeng exclaimed.

"No," Kaiwen said, eyes on the detector. "It's 'tasting' the jasmine's energy frequency. Look here—its carapace shows a faint fluorescence, frequency matching the jasmine's purification frequency!"

The organism absorbed the plant's energy traits to boost its own pollution resistance. Meanwhile, the jasmine, through this contact, gained an "understanding" of the Metal Eater's metal‑corrosion mechanism—its roots began secreting trace acidic substances, allowing it to extract trace elements more effectively from scrap metal.

"They're exchanging survival skills," Su Yu said. "Not language, but a resonance of ways of being."

Just then, an anomaly appeared in the sky.

It wasn't Selan's ship, but a more subtle change: as sunlight passed over that area, it underwent slight refraction, like through a prism, casting tiny rainbow spots on the ground. The spots fell exactly over the jasmine and that Metal Eater.

"Selan is marking it," Kaiwen whispered. "They're paying special attention to this interaction."

The spots lasted three minutes, then faded.

Second theme, complete.

Third theme: remote treatment.

The subject was a severely injured person from the mining community—not a fresh wound, but a spinal injury sustained seven years ago in the disaster, leaving Old Zhou paralyzed in bed. Conventional medicine could do nothing, but the plant network offered a new possibility: via energy connection, attempt to stimulate neural regeneration.

This was the boldest test, with extremely high risk. Aili strongly objected: "If it fails, it could hasten his death. And Selan will see our failure."

"But if it succeeds," Su Yu said, "Selan will see the network do what stardust technology cannot."

The final decision was left to Old Zhou himself. In the video feed, the old man lay on a simple bed, reduced to skin and bone, but his eyes were bright.

"Seven years have passed," his voice came through the speaker, hoarse but calm. "Every day I stare at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the wall. Recently a little patch of moss grew in a crack, and I've been tracking how much it grows each day. Now you tell me—could I possibly stand again…"

He paused, drew a deep breath: "I choose to try. The worst that could happen is going from counting cracks to counting floor tiles."

The treatment proceeded simultaneously in both locations.

In the mining community, Xiao Yue placed a Forget‑me‑not by Old Zhou's bedside, gripping his hand with both of hers. "Think of what you most want to do," she said, "think of the first thing you'll do after standing up."

Old Zhou closed his eyes: "I want… to go to the mine entrance and watch a sunset."

On the Pure Land side, Su Yu sat before the Stardust Cradle, her hands pressed on the Listening Blossom flower. Everyone who had formed a plant-partner connection sat in their respective places, touching their own plants.

The network was fully activated.

In the True Knowledge Vision, Su Yu "saw" energy flows like glowing rivers, surging from the Pure Land, traveling along the underground root network toward the mining community fifteen kilometers outside. Where the river passed, plants along the way swayed slightly, as if helping to push it forward.

The energy reached the mine, flowing into the forget‑me‑not by Lao Zhou's bedside, then passed through the flower to the old man.

Time passed minute by minute, second by second.

On the monitors, Lao Zhou's vital signs were steady, but his neural signals showed no clear change. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, thirty minutes…

Aili clenched her fists: "It might not work—"

Suddenly, Lao Zhou's right toe twitched.

It was extremely slight, but it definitely moved.

Next came his left toe, then his ankle, his knee… like ice thawing, like spring arriving, the nerves frozen for seven years began to slowly awaken.

The old man opened his eyes, tears welling up: "I feel… my legs. It's like lots of tiny ants crawling…"

The treatment lasted an hour. By its end, Lao Zhou could slightly lift both legs. Full recovery would take time, but hope had been truly ignited.

Before the communication was cut off, the old man said to Su Yu: "Thank you. Once I can walk, my first stop will be the Pure Land, to thank you in person."

"We'll be waiting," Su Yu said, and she too cried.

Third topic, complete.

Half of the seventy‑two hours has passed.

Late at night, Su Yu sat alone beside the Stardust Cradle. Fatigue washed over her again, but this fatigue was different—not drained, but the pleasant ache after a long run. The plant network fed her back, gently replenishing what she had expended.

The Listening Blossom glowed in the darkness, like a tiny lighthouse.

She reached out to touch it; the petals curled around her finger. In her consciousness, an image surfaced: not a memory, but an omen?

She saw herself standing in a vast space composed of light and geometric forms. Before her was the Stern Orchid evaluator "Geometry," but this time it was not a light‑humanoid figure; it was a solid entity—perfectly symmetrical, with silver data streams flowing across its surface, no facial features, yet she could feel it "looking" at her.

"Geometry" reached out a hand—not an attack, but an invitation.

The image faded.

Su Yu drew a deep breath. She knew the final test was coming.

It was not a test of skill, nor a test of ability.

It was a test of existence itself.

The Stern Orchid would personally step in, to touch the network they had built, to touch her soul, and decide whether it was "qualified".

She lifted her gaze to the starry sky.

In orbit, the seven observation points began to move, converging toward the center.

The final segment of the seventy‑two‑hour assessment was about to begin.

And they were ready.

At least, that's what she believed.