Chapter 283: The First Lesson on the Wound

The first teaching meeting of the Sensory Research Department of the cosmos is scheduled in the Bridge Space kitchen.

It isn't a formal conference room, because Purifier-1's application email states: "According to Observer-0's data, learning 'sensibility' is best started from a place 'where someone is cooking.'"

Thus seventeen researchers from various civilizations—among them the silent observer Light Sphere, a semi‑solid frequency entity from GuiHuaYuan, and even two conservative‑turned geometric entities—squeezed into the kitchen, watching Old Zhao peel garlic at a leisurely pace.

"Today I'll teach the spiciness of garlic," Old Zhao said, raising a clove. "When you peel, leave a thin membrane, otherwise the heat dissipates too quickly. It's like a wound—over‑exposure hinders healing."

Han Qing stood beside the stove, his chest's Teaching Scar unusually calm today, like the sea before a storm. He lifted his collar, fully exposing the scar to everyone: the imprint of eighty‑seven transparent flowers had long faded, replaced by silver patterns as intricate as a Star Map; at the center of the pattern, the fissure of the ninth balance fruit remained, but tiny, pale‑green new tissue had sprouted along its edge.

"This is my teaching plan," Han Qing said, his voice low, yet the kitchen fell silent at once. "Teacher Chen Mo implanted a 'Wound Conversion Algorithm' in me. The first lesson today, I'll teach you how to read it."

Xiao Yu handed each researcher a small leaf from a grafted sapling—the leaf was semi‑transparent, with faint golden light flowing through its veins.

"Attach the leaf to the receiver," Han Qing demonstrated, pressing the leaf against the edge of the scar. "Then ask a question. Any question about 'pain,' 'wound,' or 'healing.' The scar will answer using my bodily memory."

The first to ask was Purifier-1. On its pure white geometric surface, warm‑yellow cracks had expanded into a complete leaf‑vein pattern. It lifted the leaf with an energy tendril, hesitated three seconds, and asked:

"Pain… is it worth remembering?"

Han Qing's scar lit up instantly.

It wasn't light but temperature—a gentle warm current spread from the scar's center, coursing through the silver patterns, finally gathering at the fissure of the balance fruit. The new tissue at the fissure's edge began to quiver faintly, as if breathing.

Simultaneously, the leaves in all researchers' hands heated up in sync, transmitting a coded memory:

It wasn't Han Qing's memory but Chen Mo's—young Chen Mo once fell off a cliff during a field survey, breaking his left leg. In the excruciating pain he saw a never‑before‑seen pale‑blue tiny flower peeking out of a rock crevice. He used his still‑functional hand to record the flower's shape; later the flower was named 'Chen Mo Resilient Grass.'

The memory ended with a line of text:

【Pain is the body screaming 'Look here!'—what it points out is often the only light in a desperate situation.】

Purifier-1's geometric form trembled slightly: "So pain… is guidance?"

"It's an alarm and also a map." Han Qing's scar steadied. "It tells you where you're hurt, and also hints that around the wound often new possibilities for survival are sprouting."

The second researcher came from GuiHuaYuan, a newly adult frequency entity whose form resembled a constantly shifting pale‑purple mist. Its question was:

"If pain can be converted into knowledge… what is the 'cost' of that conversion?"

Han Qing inhaled deeply, pressing his hand directly onto the scar's center.

This time, the scar didn't transmit warmth but a sharp, brief sting—like a needle's tip lightly tapping skin. After the sting, the surface of everyone's leaf displayed a visual of Han Qing's memory:

On the day his permanent damage hit the 68% ceiling, in the medical pod, he stared at the screen's 'irreversible' diagnosis; his first thought wasn't despair but: 'For the remaining 32%, I must make them live vividly enough.'

The scene shifted: he began drafting the 'Wound Teaching Outline' with his fragmented memory; each character he wrote caused the fissure on his chest to heat up once. By the thirty‑seventh heat, a bud of the first transparent flower sprouted at the fissure's edge.

Finally came Chen Mo's voice (a recording stored deep within the scar): "The cost of conversion is—you must first fully acknowledge 'I am injured, and this wound may never heal.' Only when you admit that fully will you stop asking 'Why me?' and start asking 'Given this, what can I do with this wound.'"

The purple‑mist frequency entity began to fluctuate unstably, tiny electric sparks flickering within the mist—this was GuiHuaYuan's individual response to deep Resonance.

"The cost is… the courage to acknowledge," it concluded.

"Correct." Han Qing lowered his hand; a drop of transparent fluid seeped from the scar's edge—not blood, but sap. "And the benefit is—when you can use your own wound to teach others how to avoid injury, the wound becomes a medal."

At the forty‑fifth minute of the lesson, Old Zhao's garlic‑bread emerged from the oven.

The aroma formed a gentle barrier, separating the heaviness of the teaching content. The researchers—especially those cosmic beings who had never encountered 'food'—all turned toward the oven; the Light Sphere's color warmed, and the geometric entity's surface sprouted curious patterns.

"Eat while you learn." Old Zhao sliced the bread into pieces. "Garlic's heat becomes sweet after baking, just as some pain becomes…"

"It turns into wisdom." Purifier-1 continued, carefully lifting a small piece of bread with an energy tendril and delivering it to an opening on the geometric entity's surface—that was its recently self‑developed 'temporary taste simulator.'

After the bread entered, the entire geometric entity suddenly turned warm‑yellow, lasting three seconds.

"Confirm: 'spiciness converting to sweetness' is a physical change, but 'pain converting to wisdom'…" it paused, seemingly searching for a term, "is… magic?"

"It's a choice." Xiao Yu said, also eating the bread, a dab of butter at the corner of her mouth. "You choose how to perceive it."

Su Yu seized the moment, handing each researcher a freshly folded paper crane. On the crane's wing was a line of small text: "Fold your current feeling into the crane; share it in the next lesson."

Purifier-1 examined the crane for a while, then began awkwardly folding with its energy tendril—it didn't produce a crane but a crooked yet earnest polyhedron. Each face bore a word: confusion, curiosity, warmth, faint expectation.

"This is my 'Feeling Container.'" it announced.

When the lesson reached the seventh question, Han Qing's scar suddenly convulsed violently.

It wasn't the previous gentle response but a spasm as if an invisible hand were tearing it. The silver patterns turned a glaring bright white, and the new tissue at the fissure's edge began exuding a pale gold liquid—that was the scar's stored "teaching energy" leaking.

"Stop!" Xiao Yu rushed forward, but Han Qing raised his hand to halt her.

His complexion turned pale, sweat beads rolling from his forehead, yet his voice remained steady: "This is… part of the material. Let you see—what happens when teaching exceeds the scar's capacity."

The scar's surface began projecting real‑time data:

【Current Load: 147%】

【Cause: Simultaneously processing seven different civilizations' pain cognition models】

【Risk: Scar tissue may suffer permanent damage, causing further loss of host memory】

【Recommendation: Cease teaching immediately】

All researchers saw the data.

"Why do you continue?" a conservative‑turned geometric entity asked, its voice carrying genuine worry—an emotion entirely new to it.

Han Qing gritted his teeth, forcing a smile: "Because… the best teaching… isn't showing perfection… it's showing how to keep teaching amid brokenness."

He inhaled deeply, pressing his hand onto the grafted sapling. The sapling's seven hair‑braid branches instantly coiled around his wrist, beginning to channel gentle green energy into the scar. Simultaneously, every weapon‑converted flowerpot in the kitchen released tiny light specks—the "memory flowers" stored positive emotions, gathering around Han Qing like fireflies.

The scar's convulsions gradually subsided.

The load eased from 147% down to 89%, the bright‑white patterns reverting to silver.

"Look," Han Qing panted, his eyes bright, "this is the practical use of conversion—when your own wound isn't enough, you can borrow healing energy from other lives. Teaching… has never been a one‑person affair."

At the lesson's end, Han Qing assigned homework to each researcher:

"When you return, in your own culture, find something defined as negative—pain, error, failure, fissure—and try to 'translate' it. Bring your translation report next week."

After the researchers gradually departed, the kitchen returned to calm.

Old Zhao, while washing dishes, suddenly said: "Your scar… the liquid that leaked earlier, dripped onto the sink edge."

Han Qing looked down, seeing that drop of pale gold liquid had not evaporated but seeped into the tile grout, where a small tuft of silver moss had sprouted.

The moss's surface bore extremely fine patterns, whose combined design matched Han Qing's scar's Star Map exactly.

After scanning with the instrument, Xiao Yu's voice trembled with uncontainable excitement: "This is… a self‑replicating teaching organization. Your scar is creating the 'Child Teaching Plan.'"

Han Qing reached out and lightly touched the clump of moss.

The moss quivered slightly, transmitting an extremely simple message:

【Child Teaching Plan 001: How to Grow in Imperfect Places】

【Applicable to: All beings that feel 'not good enough'】

【Lesson One: Cracks are not the end, but the entry for seeds into the soil.】

A paper crane folded by Su Yu flew over, hovering above the moss, its wings fluttering gently.

"Will it grow?" she asked.

"Yes." Han Qing watched the speck of silver spreading slowly but steadily within the tile grout, "and it will also teach its own students."

Outside the window, the grafted saplings swayed gently in the dusk, as if nodding.