Chapter 705: Still Growing

All the eyes were morphing in sync, at a startling speed, and within a few breaths their outlines had formed.

In each eye socket a face was growing.

Qingque squinted; the distance was too great to see details clearly, but the faces' outlines on the Golden Giant Tree's bark grew clearer.

Some were human faces, some beast faces, some were a twisted form between the two that defied description.

Noses were crooked, lips flipped, the number of eyeballs was off; some faces had a single eye socket packed with two eyeballs, others had no eyes at all, only a vertically elongated mouth.

They arched outward from the trunk, from the Branch, from the tips of hanging tendrils, from every spot that previously bore eyes.

First came the outlines, then facial muscles that could move independently.

The mouths opened, closed, opened, closed, as if speaking.

From this distance their words were inaudible, yet they were indeed speaking, for the lips moved, several hundred billion mouths silently writhing at once.

Several hundred billion.

On this tree, the number of eyes equals the number of faces, and the number of faces equals the number of mouths.

They are all alive, all breathing, all writhing.

Accompanying the bark's subtle rustling—shhh shhh shhh.

Even from far away it could be heard, like countless insects crawling beneath the bark.

A chill crawled up from the coccyx along the spine.

The tree is still evolving, still growing.

From the earlier "Golden Giant Tree covered in eyes" it is moving toward a form that better embodies the definition of Shuhuo.

Qingque couldn't help but gasp a breath of cold air.

She closed her eyes.

Not that she was scared—okay, she was scared—but more so a physiological reaction.

The eyes received the image, and in Shana the brain automatically issued a command to shut the visual channel; the command came so fast she couldn't even intercept it.

She took two deep breaths to steady herself, then reopened her eyes, turning her gaze forty‑five degrees to the side, trying not to stare directly at the forming faces on the trunk.

But the tree's enormity could no longer be ignored; wherever you looked, it filled your peripheral vision, the Golden Giant Tree's Branches stretching from the left edge of sight to the right, the trunk's girth covering the whole front, the twisted features of those faces writhing at the edge of view—clear in outline, vague in detail, and that only made the hair stand on one's neck.

In Qingque's mind, the spontaneously generated data about Shuhuo began to pop up again automatically.

Xianzhou history's records of the Abundance Order, fragmentary battle reports of Tengxiao General confronting Shuhuo, and survivor testimonies repeatedly mention a descriptive term: Thousand-Faced Monster Tree.

The Thousand-Faced Monster Tree, bearing countless branches, can, with a wave of one, cause Blood and Flesh Regeneration from bone, and also make petals fall back into the flower's core from the dust.

Earlier she had thought "Thousand‑Faced" was a metaphor, meaning the tree had many eyes or the like.

Now it is clear it is not a metaphor; literally each eye is a face.

Several hundred billion faces, extending from the trunk to the tips of the Branch, all gazing in different directions.

The trunk's girth can no longer be described as merely "thick"; its cross‑section resembles a golden continent rising from the earth.

The swirling tissues beneath the bark are the tree's internal structure constantly reshaping, as if something at the very center of the trunk drives successive cycles of growth, each reshaping adding another layer of oppressive mass.

This tree is moving toward a complete Shuhuo form.

The descriptions in the data from her dream—born with a thousand faces, Blood and Flesh Regeneration, the Abundance Order that can Rewind all things to their original state—are unfolding before her eyes step by step.

Fine.

Then what else to say, just keep lying down.

Anyway, you can't run away, you can't fight it; might as well watch this scene like fireworks, even though the fireworks truly push the limits of one's psyche.

Qingque rested her hands under her head again, shifted her crossed legs, her toes flickered intermittently in the air, and the Silver Feather Pattern Anklet on her ankle flashed once in the tree's golden light.

She cast her gaze upward; the giant tree was too massive to avoid, but at least she could refrain from staring at the trunk.

The voice in her mind grew louder.

Help—help me out here—please help—hurry up a bit—

The Pioneer's voice reverberated in her skull like someone repeatedly ringing a doorbell in a room occupied solely by her, ringing over and over, each time more urgent.

Qingque whispered an apology in her heart, then tried to ignore the sound as much as possible.

A blue moon hung in the sky, which she had actually noticed before she arrived on this fish, but the giant tree had monopolized her attention, leaving no time to examine it.

The moon was a perfect circle, a crisp light blue, its edge clear and sharp, its halo gently radiating outward.

In the moon's center was a chibi emoticon face, "‑O‑", sleeping.

Qingque tilted her head.

A face on the moon?

It's actually quite cute.

Compared with the tree below, this moon was simply the most comforting presence in the whole dream, causing no trouble for anyone.

Worth a like.

Then she saw the branch at the very top of the giant tree still extending upward, reaching toward the moon.

The tip of the branch had pierced the clouds, drawing nearer to the moon, its tendrils gently swaying in the moonlight as if probing a prey's position.

Qingque squinted, her gaze wavering half a circuit between the moon's serene sleeping face and the branch's determined thrust.

Fine.

The moon can't hold on either.

Sooner or later this tree will devour everything in the sky that isn't a tree—first the TV Tower, then the clouds, then the moon, and eventually perhaps even this fish of hers.

She yawned.

Her eyelids felt heavy.

Perhaps it was from being soaked in the Abundance aura earlier, or because the tree's terror spiked her adrenaline before it fell, or maybe the sleeping moon above simply made her drowsy as well.

In short, drowsiness settled like a blanket, layer upon layer, growing thicker and heavier.

The cold blue moonlight gently fell on her face, her ash‑gray hair was tinged light‑blue by the moon, her emerald eyes blinked twice, then blinked twice again.

Then she closed them.

Her consciousness fell into a soft, quiet darkness.

Then Qingque inhaled a huge breath sharply, and the rush of air brought a long‑missed scent.

It wasn't the cloyingly sweet kind from a dream; she opened her eyes, the back of her head pressed against the hard seat back, the angle of her spine curved exactly as it had before she fell asleep, even the slightly sore muscle on her shoulder was precisely telling her:

You've been holding this posture for at least half an hour.

Inside the Star Chariot cabin.