Chapter 195

The unfolded paper stars hovered in midair, like a stationary firework.

Chen Mo's handwriting appeared on the yellowed paper—not ink, but a trace of some plant sap mixed with stardust, unfaded after seven years. The characters were tiny, yet each stroke was astonishingly steady, as if carved into the paper fibers with a graver.

Su Yu was the first to recognize the handwriting. She stepped forward, her voice catching in her throat: "This is his… from that final week he wrote. He said he'd leave something behind, to be opened at the 'right time.'"

Han Qing looked up at those characters. He had lost most of his memories of Chen Mo, but his muscles remembered—his fingers unconsciously mimicked the pressure of those strokes, as if the hand that had taught him to write still pressed on his back.

Xiao Yu's wrist light-print projected an enlarged image, so everyone could see clearly:

"To whoever can still see these words:

"If you've opened this star, it means you've let the Stern Orchid's 'crack leak light.' That's faster than I expected—good."

Three things, in order:

One, ask Han Qing: Do you still remember the wildflower that grew from a crack in the reactor at the chemical industrial park's ruins? If you've forgotten, just look at his chest—I buried a seed there years ago. Not a metaphor.

Two, ask Su Yu: The tuner's resonance limit isn't three hundred people, but 'all who are willing to reach out.' The seed in her chest is a key that can open the final frequency lock left by Ai Ou.

Three, ask Xiao Yu: the three-thousand-civilization seeds are not guests, they are homecoming. Earth's plant network was originally the 'intercivil memory garden' built by the sower Aeon. Her wrist light imprint is the garden's heir insignia.

After doing these three things, go to Pacific coordinates 32°N, 145°W. There a ship waits.

Last line: light need not be much, a little is enough. But this little must be lit by oneself.

At the signature spot there was no name, only a simple-line seed drawn, from the seed's split a tiny leaf sprouted.

Everyone looked at Han Qing's chest.

Han Qing lowered his head, fingers pressing where the star-string lyre strings sit. There was only skin, bone, and the faint protrusion where the strings were embedded in flesh. He did not remember the wildflower of the chemical plant zone, nor did he remember Chen Mo burying a seed—that memory was in the 97% that had been stripped away.

But he suddenly felt a faint, unfamiliar throbbing deep in his chest.

Not a heartbeat, but something deeper awakening, like a hibernating animal touched by the first ray of spring sunlight.

Su Yu walked up to him, reached out and pressed his chest, right above the star-string lyre strings. She closed her eyes and felt: the light of the seven-colored seed shone through both their clothes: 'Indeed there is something… beneath the strings. Not Sieran technology, but vegetal, very ancient… responding to Chen Mo's words.'

Old Zhao suddenly slapped his thigh hard: 'I remember! Seven years ago, when Chen Mo carried you back from the chemical plant zone, you had a wound on your chest—not a battle wound, but a round hole the size of a seed. He said, "We need to bury something inside, otherwise this child's soul will drift away." We thought he was talking nonsense…'

Han Qing unfastened the top two buttons of his shirt. In the morning light, besides the silver inlay mark of the star-string lyre strings on his chest skin, there was indeed an extremely faint, almost invisible circular scar. The scar's edge was not smooth, but had fine radial lines—like the imprint left when a seed is buried in flesh and its roots spread outward.

Aili put on medical gloves and lightly touched the scar with her fingertip: 'There is an abnormality deep in the tissue… at three centimeters under the skin there is a micro-structure of non-human tissue. But it is completely integrated, as if it had always been there.'

'That wildflower,' Su Yu asked softly, 'what did it look like?'

Han Qing closed his eyes. In the empty memory a image suddenly surfaced—not a complete memory, but a sensory afterimage: iron rust, the pungent smell of chemical reagents, then… a trace of extremely faint purple. The petals were tiny, but the color was vivid as if about to drip, growing in the ferocious crack of the reactor, against a backdrop of gray-black ruins.

'Purple,' he said, 'very small. But when looking at it, I felt… the whole ruin was not so heavy.'

As his words fell, the chest scar suddenly heated.

The heat did not come from the skin surface, but spread outward from deep within the chest cavity. Han Qing could clearly feel—something beside the heart, beneath the lung lobes, where the star-string lyre strings' roots entwine, began a slow pulsation.

Once, twice, three times.

Like a second heart.

Su Yu's seven-colored seed simultaneously emitted a strong light, the beam like a searchlight penetrating Han Qing's flesh, projecting a fuzzy internal image in the air: the silver root system of the star-string lyre strings dense and thick, but at the center where the roots are most concentrated, a small area is empty. There floats a… nearly completely transparent seed.

The seed's surface has extremely fine purple patterns, now brightening and dimming with the pulsation.

'It has always been there.' Xiao Yu's wrist light imprint analyzed the image, 'wrapped, protected, and simultaneously suppressed by the root system of the star-string lyre strings. Now Chen Mo's message is like… an unlock command.'

The three new lifeforms simultaneously reached out, their fingertips' silver-green light connecting to Han Qing's chest. They closed their eyes, voices overlapping:

'It is dreaming.'

'It has dreamed for seven years.'

'Now the dream must wake.'

The transparent seed suddenly split open a slit—not shattering, but sprouting. A phantom of a micro‑plant rose from the slit, having only two leaves, one silver‑white (Sieran), one deep purple (Earth wildflower), swaying lightly in the void.

The swaying rhythm was completely in sync with the breathing rhythm of the three rifts in the sky.

The golden‑yellow rift high in the sky suddenly intensified its light; the captain's light hand reached out again, this time pointing westward—toward the Pacific.

At the same time, the other two rifts (pale blue and soft white) also extended light hands; the three hands met in the air and jointly pointed to the same coordinate.

Xiao Yu's light imprint automatically projected a coordinate map: 32°N, 145°W, deep in the Pacific, 1,200 kilometers from the coast.

'The ship is waiting.' Old Zhao muttered, 'Chen Mo that bastard, did he lay the line seven years ago?'

Su Yu began folding the sixty‑fifth star.

This time she folded slowly, each fold pausing a moment, as if thinking, as if listening. The paper was ordinary white printing paper, precious after the disaster, but she was not stingy.

'What are you doing?' Han Qing asked. The phantom of the micro‑plant on his chest had stabilized; its two leaves no longer swayed, but stretched out still, as if feeling the morning breeze.

'A reply.' Su Yu said, 'Chen Mo left homework; the students must turn in their assignment.'

After folding it, she lightly bit one corner of the star, leaving a tiny tooth mark. 'This is my signature,' she explained, 'Chen Mo taught me. He said things become too easily perfect, so one must leave a trace of 'human.'

She handed the star to Han Qing: 'You write the reply.'

Han Qing took it, bewildered: 'What should I write? I can barely remember what he looks like.'

'Then write what you know now.' Su Yu gestured around, 'Write Old Zhao's hand gripping his dog tag trembling, write Aili having prepared seven syringes but using only six, write Kaiwen pushing his glasses three times, write the one‑eyed woman's eye socket where three geometric flowers bloomed, write the water‑tank old man's mist‑cloud humming a song, write the three new lifeforms saying "It is dreaming."'

She paused, her voice softening: 'Write that the seed in your chest has awakened, write that when I saw that rift I recalled his often‑said words: "If the door is shut, knock; if it won't open, wait; if the wait never comes, become the door yourself."'

Han Qing lowered his head to look at the star in his hand. The blank paper seemed already filled with things—not words, but the very presence of the 341 people here and now.

He suddenly understood the meaning of Chen Mo's saying 'Light need not be much; a little is enough.'

This little light is not about quantity but quality: it must be lit by oneself. Self‑lit, even if faint, is a spark; given by another, no matter how bright, is borrowed light.

He gripped the star tightly, lifted his head, and looked toward the rift in the sky.

'I still have one question,' he said.

Just then, a piercing alarm came from the synchronous orbit.

It was not from the three awakening vanguard ships, but from farther out—beyond the Kuiper Belt, a warning of the main fleet's arrival. On Kaiwen's holographic star map, dense red points flickered in the jump channels, numbering at least three hundred.

"Main fleet under the Standardization Agreement, estimated arrival time…" Kaiwen's voice went dry, "12 hours. That's 24 hours earlier than the original plan."

Worse still, the main fleet had evidently received the anomaly report from the vanguard ships. Upon arrival they would release a massive scanning beam; this scan's target was very clear: to locate all 'emotional anomaly points,' including Earth's surface, and also… the coordinates deep in the Pacific.

The scanning beam swept across the ocean like an invisible comb.

Three seconds later, Kaiwen's screen burst open with a red warning: "Coordinates exposed! That spot in the Pacific has a strong, unrecorded Silan energy signature—not a fleet, but some kind of… fixed installation. It is being marked by the main fleet as a 'high-priority target'."

Old Zhao cursed: "Chen Mo's so-called 'ship'—could it be something of the Silans?"

"It was left by Aeo." Xiao Yu's wrist light imprint analyzed the scan data: "The energy signature shares origins with the plant network, but is older and more complete. It is… the Sower's legacy."

The three vanguard ships high above suddenly started moving.

They didn't flee; instead, they formed a triangular array, flew directly above the Healing Forest, and simultaneously released a massive energy shield—not to protect themselves, but to protect the land below. The shield was hemispheric, its surface flowing with gold‑yellow, pale blue, and soft white light, like an upturned colored glass bowl.

The captain's voice came through the crack, translated by Xiao Yu:

"We will buy you time."

"Go to the coordinates."

"There you will find answers, and… a choice."

"What choice?" Su Yu shouted.

The crack fell silent for three seconds.

"Choosing what to become."

"The gardener of the garden,"

"or the garden itself."

As the words fell, the three vanguard ships simultaneously climbed upward, flying toward the approaching main fleet. Their hull‑crack flares blazed bright, like three meteors racing upstream into a storm.

Han Qing lowered his head to look at his palm.

That blank paper star had, at some point, been covered in writing—not by him, but the plant network through his palm had stamped the 'now' of 341 people onto it. The strokes overlapped, nearly illegible, but one could feel the temperature: Old Zhao's sweat on his palm, Aili's cool fingertips, Su Yu's warm breath, Xiao Yu's pulsing light imprint…

He lightly tossed the star.

The star didn't fall to the ground; instead, a plant root extending from the earth caught it, the roots wrapped around it and quickly sank into the soil—stored in the ecological memory bank, becoming part of collective memory.

"Go to the Pacific." Han Qing said.

"How do we get there?" Old Zhao asked, "1,200 kilometers, and we have no long‑range aircraft."

Han Qing looked at Xiao Yu.

Xiao Yu's wrist light imprint flickered, projecting an image: beneath the Pacific coordinates, deep in the seabed, a huge, hemispherical transparent structure was slowly rising. Inside, the outline of a city could be vaguely seen—not Earth‑style, not Silan‑style, but some kind of… hybrid. The buildings resembled coral and crystal, the streets like root systems and circuits.

"Aeo's ship," Xiao Yu whispered, "is not sailing through the sea. It is sailing through… memory."

Three newly formed life‑forms suddenly joined hands and walked to the center. The ground beneath their feet split open—not a collapse, but an orderly parting, revealing a downward passage. The inner walls were covered with glowing plant roots, woven into a spiraling stairway descending.

"A shortcut." the first one said.

"A ley‑channel of the plant network." the second one said.

"It leads straight to the coast." Having said that, the third one stepped first into the passage.

Han Qing glanced back at the Healing Forest. In the morning light, the homeland they had built with their own hands was gently enfolded by the three‑color shield, while above, the sky showed the three awakened vanguard ships as three points of light, heading toward the expanding red shadow in deep space that marked the main fleet.

The two‑leaf plant phantom on his chest suddenly twitched slightly.

One leaf (silver‑white) fell off, drifted upward, and turned into a faint light that chased after the vanguard ship.

The other leaf (deep purple) fell off, floated into the depths of the passage, like a guiding lantern.

"Let's go." Su Yu took his hand, "to attend Chen Mo's final lesson."

The two stepped into the passage.

Behind them, Old Zhao, Aili, Kaiwen, the one‑eyed woman… everyone who could move followed.

The passage entrance slowly sealed after the last person entered.

On the ground, only that ceramic rabbit remained, the crystal cluster on its ears glittering with tiny lights in the morning light.

Countdown: 11 hours.