Chapter 148: Hundred‑Kilometer Heartbeat

Before the transport team set out, Su Yu stood alone in front of the Stardust Cradle.

She clutched the note she had just found in the toolbox, her fingertips white from the pressure. Chen Mo's handwriting was still so neat, and even after that sentence capable of overturning everything, he had drawn a tiny smiley face—just like the one he used whenever, seven years ago, he said, "It's fine, I have a way."

"Communication established." Ji He's voice came from behind.

Its current form straddles machine and organism: a metal skeleton supports "muscles" made of Stardust veins, the surface covered with fine plant sprouts that sway gently with its movement, as if breathing. Its mechanical arm is linked to a console, and the screen shows a live view of the southern ruins.

The cultivation chamber is now fully opened.

The humanoid silhouette inside sat up—its movements stiff, as if a body that hadn't moved for seven years were relearning how to control its muscles. The view zoomed in, and Su Yu's breath halted for a moment.

It was Chen Mo.

But not entirely.

His face was still the same, but the surface of his skin was overlaid with faint silver patterns, as if Stardust flowed beneath. A glowing scar marked his chest, identical in shape to Su Yu's, only his was luminous. Most striking were his eyes—when opened, tiny golden specks rotated in the pupils, like a miniature plant network.

"He's awake." Han Qing's voice tightened; the tough captain's hand gripping the communicator trembled slightly, "but his vital signs… are strange."

Kaiwen hammered the keyboard quickly: "Heart rate twelve beats per minute, body temperature 23 °C, brainwave activity pattern… This is impossible—his consciousness activity is three times that of a normal person, yet his bodily metabolism is almost halted."

At that moment, Chen Mo on the screen lifted his head.

He looked toward the camera—as if, despite a hundred‑kilometer gap, he could see everyone in the Pure Land control room directly. Then, he smiled.

That smile was too familiar. The curve of his upturned mouth, the slight wrinkle at the corner of his eye, even the angle of his head tilt—all exactly the same as when Chen Mo left seven years ago.

"Hi." His voice came through the speaker, a bit distorted, but the warmth in his tone was real, "I guess… I've slept quite a while?"

Lao Zhao spun around abruptly, his shoulder slamming into a tool rack. Wrenches and screwdrivers clattered to the floor, but he didn't bother to pick them up, staring fixedly at the screen: "Engineer Chen? Is that you? Really you?"

"Lao Zhao." Chen Mo's eyes curved, "You've found your son, right? I remember the photo in your wallet, the child was only five—"

He stopped abruptly at that point.

Because he saw on this side of the screen a young man standing beside Lao Zhao—Li Xiaofeng, already twenty‑eight, yet his brows and eyes still reflected the shadow of that five‑year‑old child from the photo.

"Looks like you found him." Chen Mo said softly, then turned to Han Qing, "Captain, does that old back injury still hurt when it's cold? The lumbar brace I made for you before I left…"

Han Qing said nothing. The tough man who never shed tears in front of others raised his hand and harshly wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

Su Yu stepped forward.

She stood directly before the screen, the heat from her chest scar now a kind of Resonance pulse—perfectly matching the rhythm of Chen Mo's glowing chest scar. Thump. Thump. Thump. Across a hundred kilometers, the two wounds beat in sync.

"Chen Mo." She called his name, her voice steady, but the clenched paper betrayed her, "The note you left says your awakening will trigger Seran's final safety protocol. The countdown shifted from three years to three days—explain."

That's classic Su Yu. When everyone else was drowned in emotion, she was the one who first seized the most crucial question.

On the screen, Chen Mo's smile faded slightly, turning into a seriousness tinged with apology.

"The Seran evaluation system has a final protocol," he said, his pace unhurried, as if arranging his words, "If the observed civilization 'contaminates' the observer during the test—say, teaches the observer emotions, deviating from pure efficiency—the system will trigger a purification process. Not to purify us, but to purify 'Ji He.'"

Ji He's outer shell emitted a faint hum.

"But there's a loophole," Chen Mo continued, "If I—one of the 'contamination sources'—can, within three days, prove that this 'contamination' is not a civilizational flaw but an evolutionary advantage, the protocol will be aborted."

He paused, his gaze landing on Su Yu's face: "I need to show Seran's homeworld that emotion isn't inefficient, but a higher‑level 'efficiency.' For example… how much love can accelerate plant network expansion, how many miracles friendship can inspire in desperate situations, and I believe it can turn a mechanical observer into something."

"What's the proof method?" Kaiwen pushed his glasses, data streams reflecting on his lenses, "What are the concrete quantitative metrics?"

Chen Mo was silent for a few seconds.

"Within three days, plant network coverage must rise from 8 % to 15 %," he said, "and simultaneously, five completely independent communities must voluntarily join the symbiotic alliance without any forced agreement."

The control room filled with inhalations.

Lao Zhao was the first to shout, "That's impossible! Jumping from 8 % to 15 % is nearly a double increase! And five new communities—we only know three right now!"

"And how do we define 'voluntary joining'?" Han Qing's brows knit, "If it's just a verbal promise…"

"Seran monitors consciousness frequencies," Chen Mo cut in, "They can distinguish genuine voluntariness from coerced compliance. So…"

He looked at Su Yu, his gaze gentle yet resolute.

"So you need to come fetch me. My consciousness is now split in three places—this body, the Stardust Core, the plant network—only when the three parts reunite can I fully activate the ancient sowers' permission. And within that permission lies a method to rapidly expand the network."

"Then let's go." Su Yu said, turning toward the equipment area.

"Wait." Chen Mo called out to her.

Su Yu halted, but didn't look back—she feared that turning would make her lose control of her emotions.

"Su Yu." Chen Mo's voice was soft, "I've 'seen' these seven years—through the plant network, through Stardust, through the Memory Fragments you left each time you touched the hope grass. You turned the little light I left into the whole night sky."

He paused, and the image on the screen flickered, as if the signal were being interfered with.

"But I have to tell you… this body has issues." Chen Mo lowered his head to his glowing chest, "The backup body was hastily constructed seven years ago with the last of the Stardust and Seran technology; its synchronization rate with my consciousness is only 78.3 %. And also—"

He raised his right hand.

The fingertips of that hand began to turn transparent, as if about to dissolve into points of light.

"It's collapsing. Three days is the longest my consciousness can keep this body from dissipating." Chen Mo lifted his head again, his smile now tinged with bitterness, "So if after three days you don't arrive, or the proof isn't completed… I'll be forever trapped in a split state. One part will be a 'ghost' in the plant network, the other a 'memory' in the Stardust Core."

He looked at Ji He: "By then, Ji He will be formatted, and Seran will send a new observer—a purely efficiency‑driven observer with no capacity to learn emotions. And Pure Land and all linked communities… will face a genuine extinction assessment."

A prolonged silence.

Then Su Yu turned around. There were no tears on her face, only a steel‑like resolve.

"Lao Zhao, how much longer until the transport vehicle is ready?"

"Ten minutes!" Lao Zhao shouted, already sprinting toward the warehouse.

"Han Qing, select the six best team members." Su Yu spoke at breakneck speed, "Kaiwen, sync Chen Mo's real‑time bodily data to the mobile terminal. Aili, prepare the highest‑grade life‑support equipment—we not only have to retrieve him, but also keep his body stable on the way."

She stepped up to Ji He: "Can you calculate the optimal route? Avoid the spore‑contaminated zones, but make it as fast as possible."

The plant sprouts on Ji He's shell glowed faintly in unison: "Calculating now. But Su Yu, I must remind you—based on Chen Mo's data, the probability of achieving the goal in three days is only 11.7 %."

"Math is math." Su Yu said, the glow of her chest scar faintly visible through her clothing, "People are people."

She finally looked at the screen.

Chen Mo's body had become transparent up to his wrists, yet he was still smiling.

"Wait for me," Su Yu whispered, then added a sentence only he could understand, "This time, let me save you."

Chen Mo nodded, he opened his mouth wanting to say something, but the signal was completely cut off at that moment. The last frame before the screen went black was his lip shape:

"I have always believed in you."