Chapter 45
Su Ci examined the names of the three plants: Jade Snow, Emerald Bean, and Golden Yam.
Yep, he confirmed—he didn’t recognize a single one.
He set the three small packets of seeds back down and furrowed his brow in mild frustration.
While he instinctively knew that these three plants were the ones he needed most, that was the extent of his knowledge. He had no idea how to cultivate them to ensure proper germination and growth.
As for using spiritual techniques…
Su Ci’s gaze fell on the dried Star-chain fruit vines nearby. The memory of an entire wall of Star-chain fruit withering in an instant was still vivid in his mind. He shook his head.
To interfere with the natural cycle of life’s growth always came at a price—be it his spiritual power or the lifespan of the plants themselves. At the moment, there didn’t seem to be a need to pay such a price.
Even with spiritual seeds capable of returning Earth’s aura to him, Su Ci hadn’t used his soul energy to accelerate their growth. So, when it came to these ordinary plants, forcing their growth with spells was even more out of the question.
For now, he decided to rely on conventional methods to cultivate them. If that didn’t work, then shortcuts could be considered.
But… how should he proceed?
He couldn’t deny that his trip to the cultivation garden had been enlightening. He had gained new insights and seen firsthand the unique methods humans used to tend plants.
At least in his era of wandering across the land, he had never encountered a technique capable of cultivating such a wide variety of crops without soil—
Of course, methods involving magical force didn’t count.
The humans in this base, despite having journeyed through the cosmos and seemingly forgotten their ancestors, still retained—and even expanded upon—their skills in agriculture.
Su Ci had to admit, it was impressive that they could cultivate so much greenery on the current state of the Earth, and likely not just here at Base 24.
Although these plants didn’t grow from soil, they originated from the Earth itself.
When these plants thrived above the ground, they enriched the vitality of the land. In doing so, they became powerful weapons against the deathly aura and resentment carried by the Blood Mist.
Of course, that didn’t mean Su Ci completely approved of their methods. The Earth was the source of all life. Restoring the land and reviving its vitality was the right way to dispel the Blood Mist and dissolve its lingering resentment.
Hydroponics was merely a temporary measure. The soil itself remained the most important focus. Thus, cultivating these three types of plants was a crucial first step.
Recalling what Gu Qingchen had mentioned earlier over the communicator, Su Ci glanced at his device. After a moment of thought, he tentatively spoke: “Call the Base Intelligence Core.”
As soon as he finished speaking, a light screen appeared before him, and a monotone electronic voice sounded throughout the room.
“Hello, Trainee Caretaker Su Ci. How may I assist you?”
Su Ci raised his eyebrows slightly. He had only been testing the feature, not expecting to successfully summon this so-called Base Intelligence Core.
This thing… wasn’t it referred to as the Smart Core? It was likely a highly advanced type of puppet, far more sophisticated than the caretaker robots. It didn’t merely control a robotic body but governed the entire base.
If it so desired, it could even command the 4586 caretaker robots.
Scanning through the knowledge surfacing in his mind, Su Ci couldn’t help but wonder: With such intelligence and the ability to manage an entire base, could this really not be considered another form of life?
He studied the light screen in front of him and, after a brief pause, asked, “Have you been watching me all this time?”
“Hello, Trainee Caretaker Su Ci. In adherence to the principle of fully respecting the privacy of base members, the Base Intelligence Core does not monitor or record anything within personal dormitories unless under emergency conditions.”
The monotone electronic voice remained emotionless, its tone businesslike and rigid, distinctly different from 4586’s somewhat personable tone.
Su Ci nodded slightly. “So, you do watch but don’t record anything for others to see. Is that what you mean?”
“Unless emergency conditions are triggered, the Intelligence Core does not monitor or record any footage from within base members’ dormitories,” the Core repeated.
Su Ci nodded again. In other words, there were cameras in the dormitory, just like in the main hall on the first floor of the logistics department. Under normal circumstances, these cameras remained inactive. However… if the Core wanted to watch, it could.
“Have I triggered any emergency conditions so far?”
“No.”
“What exactly qualifies as an emergency condition?”
“Emergency conditions include, but are not limited to, monster invasions, personnel search and rescue operations, and directives issued by high-level authority.”
In simple terms, this meant it was possible for someone with the appropriate permissions to manually review surveillance footage. Su Ci stared at the light screen and asked, “So, are you watching me right now?”
“No.”
“Then you’re really impolite.”
“…”
The Intelligence Core didn’t respond. Instead, six small dots appeared on the light screen, leaving it unclear whether the system lacked a preset response for such a remark or if it was simply rendered speechless.
Su Ci decided not to tease the Core further and got back on topic.
“I want detailed information and cultivation methods for these three plants,” he said, pointing at the three small packets of seeds on the coffee table.
So what if the dormitory was riddled with cameras? Without his consent, no one would learn anything. After all, even the small patch of land he secretly cultivated in the courtyard remained undiscovered to this day.
Of course, being under constant surveillance did make certain tasks inconvenient.
Perhaps he’d need to devise a solution—preferably one that would get the Base Intelligence Core on his side and make it willingly help conceal his activities.
Su Ci rubbed his chin. Pulling that off might be tricky, mostly because he still didn’t fully understand this so-called “high-tech” entity created by humans.
But Su Ci was confident it wouldn’t be an insurmountable challenge. It was only a matter of time.
“Understood. Please wait.”
After Su Ci finished speaking, a scanning beam swept over the three seed packets he had selected.
“Scanning complete. The plant seed names are: Jade Snow, Emerald Bean, and Golden Yam. Querying data…”
A moment later, a beep sounded.
“Query results: Trainee Caretaker Su Ci, you are not a member of the cultivation garden staff and therefore do not have access to the relevant database. For further assistance, please consult the appropriate personnel from the cultivation garden.”
“Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Su Ci: “…”
He shot the light screen a look that seemed to say, What good are you, then? before pulling out his communicator.
*
The Cultivation Garden: Zhuangsong’s Greenhouse.
Two figures in full protective gear and gas masks emerged from the greenhouse. After the door sealed shut behind them, they removed their masks.
“The garlic smell isn’t as strong as before, is it?” Wei Ming asked after taking a deep breath.
The greenhouse still reeked of garlic, and they had inevitably picked up the odor during their time inside. But compared to his first visit, when the stench had been overwhelming, Wei Ming found it much more tolerable now.
In fact…
“Is there something wrong with my sense of smell? I think this garlic scent is kind of… pleasant?”
Wei Ming couldn’t help but fall into deep self-doubt.
Turning to observe the plants through the greenhouse glass, he frowned thoughtfully.
Initially, he and Zhuangsong had planned to remove all the plants from the greenhouse, leaving only the unique garlic sprout. The overwhelming smell of garlic had been so pungent that they worried it might harm the other plants.
However, after observing the greenhouse over time, they discovered something unexpected: not only were the other plants unaffected by the pungent garlic odor, but their growth had actually improved.
This prompted them to review surveillance footage and analyze the data, confirming that their observations were not a mistake.
Within the dense, nearly suffocating garlic fumes, the growth of the other plants hadn’t been hindered—on the contrary, they were thriving.
To verify their findings, the two skipped lunch and systematically moved over a dozen different plant species from other greenhouses into the garlic-scented one. After continued observation and comparison, their preliminary results confirmed it: the garlic atmosphere was beneficial.
Whether it was the potent garlic aroma itself that promoted the growth of other crops, or the reduction of pollutants in the greenhouse to an extraordinarily low level, remained a question for further research.
But even with the current findings, Wei Ming was already overjoyed, almost losing himself in excitement.
Just moments ago, tests had confirmed that there were no detectable pollutants left in the entire greenhouse. This alone was enough to prove that this little garlic sprout was indeed the purification plant they had been searching for all along!
The thought filled Wei Ming with so much enthusiasm that the overwhelming garlic scent became intoxicatingly appealing to him—energizing, almost addictive.
Just as he was about to share his thoughts, Zhuangsong’s communicator buzzed with a sharp beep beep. He had just removed his protective mask and was in the process of taking off his suit when the noise drew his attention.
Because of the suspected purification plant’s discovery, Zhuangsong had yet to allocate time to investigate the water source issue. The sound of the communicator immediately reminded him of the assignment given by the garden director, and he hastily opened the message.
To his surprise, the message wasn’t from Director Wu Yunqin but from the trainee caretaker at the nursery, Su Ci.
After reading the message content, Zhuangsong paused for a moment in silence before responding: [Alright, give me a moment.]
Then, true to his word, he began searching through the database.
Wei Ming noticed his colleague was busy and refrained from interrupting. Instead, he resumed combing through the data logs of the garlic sprout, analyzing its hydroponic growth timeline.
He was particularly focused on pinpointing the period during which the sprout mutated, as well as identifying potential factors that triggered the mutation. This information could be crucial for future research into purification plants.
After some time, Zhuangsong finally compiled all the requested materials and packaged them for Su Ci. Although Su Ci had only inquired about three specific plants, Zhuangsong decided to send data on all ten plant types, just in case.
“Was it the director contacting you?” Wei Ming asked.
“No, it was Su Ci, the caretaker from the nursery,” Zhuangsong replied.
“Su Ci?” Wei Ming frowned, recalling the same caretaker who had stood motionless during the plant mutation and even picked fruit barehanded. “What does he want?”
“He traded for some seeds this morning and just asked about their cultivation methods. So I provided the information,” Zhuangsong explained matter-of-factly.
“What? He doesn’t know how to cultivate them, yet he wanted the seeds? What is he going to do, plant them as a hobby? Isn’t that just a waste of resources?” Wei Ming shook his head, his impression of Su Ci growing worse.
“He seems to have some foundational knowledge,” Zhuangsong defended Su Ci. “The three plants he asked about are all soil-enriching crops. If planted properly, they can significantly enhance soil fertility.”
Furthermore, the other seven plants he had traded for also had properties that contributed to soil improvement in varying degrees. This convinced Zhuangsong that Su Ci wasn’t entirely clueless about cultivation.
Wei Ming, however, remained unconvinced.
“Even if he has some knowledge, that doesn’t make it applicable here on Prison Star. In the end, all he’ll do is waste those seeds and the fertilizer. Just like that Dr. Gu you keep humoring with his absurd attempts!”
Gu Qingchen’s talent for cultivation was notoriously poor—he struggled even when following step-by-step instructions. Zhuangsong could only scratch his head helplessly.
“But I do have diseased plants that need purifying, and Dr. Gu is always willing to help with that,” Zhuangsong countered. “Besides, if it weren’t for Su Ci, I might have taken far longer to discover this garlic sprout. By the time I noticed it, it could’ve already been damaged due to neglect.”
Compared to the immense value of a purification plant, a few seeds, some fertilizer, and cultivation information were insignificant expenses.
Wei Ming was at a loss for words.
Zhuangsong was right. The greenhouse plants were fragile. If a delay in discovery led to the death or withering of a purification plant, the loss would indeed be incalculable.
But for Wei Ming to admit he was wrong—it felt like swallowing a bitter pill.
In the end, he pursed his lips and grumbled in frustration, “That Su Ci is just lucky. If he actually manages to grow something, I’ll… I’ll personally go and apologize to him!”
Zhuangsong chose not to argue further.
Rationally, he agreed that without the greenhouse and advanced hydroponic technology, it would be incredibly difficult for Su Ci to grow anything on Prison Star.
However…
In his mind, the image resurfaced: that young man standing calmly amid the frenzy of rapidly growing plants, plucking a Star-chain fruit with composure.
Was his confidence really just a matter of boldness?
“Enough about Su Ci,” Wei Ming said, steering the conversation back to their work. “Let’s focus on studying the garlic sprout’s purification ability. And regarding its cultivation—do we stick with the current levels of fertilizer and water, or should we adjust them?”
Zhuangsong was about to share his thoughts when his communicator buzzed again.
A message from Su Ci: [Thank you.]
Zhuangsong glanced at it and was about to dismiss it when a second message popped up.
[Also, the garlic sprout in the greenhouse—its ability might not be purification.]
Zhuangsong froze, staring at the message.
Then, like a sudden spark of inspiration, an idea flashed through his mind. He grabbed onto it, ignoring the need to reply to Su Ci, and snatched the data panel from Wei Ming’s hands to scroll through the greenhouse logs.
“Zhuangsong, what’s going on? Did you figure something out?” Wei Ming asked, puzzled.
He watched as Zhuangsong’s scrolling gradually slowed, while the light in his colleague’s eyes grew brighter.
“Wei Ming,” Zhuangsong finally said, his voice filled with certainty, “we were wrong. This mutated garlic sprout’s ability isn’t purification!”
“Then what is it?” Wei Ming asked, thoroughly confused.
But Zhuangsong didn’t answer. He bolted back to his lab, eager to confirm his hypothesis through experiments.
*
Nursery Facility, Room 303.
Su Ci looked at the file package Zhuangsong had sent over and nodded in satisfaction.
This human wasn’t bad. He had only asked for information on three plants, yet Zhuangsong had gone out of his way to send data on all ten. As a gesture of reciprocity, Su Ci didn’t mind giving him a bit of guidance to save him some trouble.
Whether Zhuangsong chose to heed his advice, though, wasn’t Su Ci’s concern.
Su Ci opened the file and began reading. His speed was remarkable, skimming the text and committing it to memory in mere moments. However, by the time he finished, his previously relaxed expression had turned serious.
He hadn’t expected cultivation to be so complicated.
For the seeds of these ten plants, factors like optimal growing temperature, planting schedules, required fertilizer amounts, and light exposure durations varied greatly.
Moreover, Zhuangsong’s notes detailed precise control of these variables—down to the second in some cases.
Su Ci frowned. Has agriculture always been this intricate for humans in the past?
The most frustrating part was that much of the information wasn’t applicable to his current resource-starved circumstances.
The soil-based cultivation details were especially sparse, as most of Zhuangsong’s expertise and experience centered on hydroponics—knowledge that, while valuable, wasn’t particularly helpful to Su Ci.
That said, it wasn’t entirely useless.
Su Ci walked to the kitchen and selected ten empty tin cans from his stash of finished meals. He washed and dried them in the dishwasher, then filled three of them with spiritual water. Finally, he placed the seeds from the three selected packets into these cans to soak.
He arranged the soaking cans next to the tin he’d filled with soil earlier.
Initially, he placed them in a straight line, but after some thought, he rearranged them so the soil-filled tin was at the center, with the others positioned around it, like stars orbiting a moon.
Almost as if sensing the increased pressure, the previously lackluster chants of the tiny spirit seed in the soil suddenly grew louder and more energetic.
“Grow! Grow! Grow, grow, grow!”
The little spirit seed’s chanting grew louder and more vigorous, as though it might burst out of its casing at any moment—though it didn’t, of course.
Still, sensing its frantic energy and determination to grow, Su Ci’s lips curved in satisfaction.
Now, that’s more like it.
Even A-Yan, who had been diligently practicing his heavenly scripts, couldn’t help but be distracted by the seed’s voice. He turned to look at the table and noticed three additional cans that hadn’t been there earlier.
Curious, he extended his spiritual sense and immediately saw the seeds floating and bobbing in the water inside the cans.
Though their expressions weren’t as clear as the little spirit seed’s, A-Yan could still sense the joyful, vibrant emotions radiating from these ordinary plant seeds.
It was the same vitality and exuberance he had felt in the cultivation garden—a zest for life, brimming with energy.
And then…
Su Ci raised his finger and gave an effortless flick in midair.
A-Yan’s spiritual sense snapped back to him in an instant. It felt as though Su Ci’s flick had landed directly on his forehead, prompting him to instinctively lift his hand to rub at the spot.
Hearing the caretaker move closer, A-Yan quickly lowered his hand and sat upright, looking as proper and serious as he could.
Though he wanted to return to his writing, Su Ci reached over and picked up the notebook in front of him. On the page, A-Yan had written only three characters, but the spiritual resonance within them grew progressively denser with each one.
The final character was almost indistinguishable from a fully formed heavenly script.
Though Su Ci had already adjusted his expectations of A-Yan’s abilities, the little cub still managed to surprise him.
He had given A-Yan half a month to learn the first heavenly script. Now it seemed that the boy might master it within three days.
Noticing A-Yan’s anxious expression, as if he were a child caught misbehaving, Su Ci softened his gaze.
Reaching out, he gently touched A-Yan’s forehead, lightly rubbing the spot he had flicked.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
A-Yan shook his head. Truthfully, it did hurt, but compared to the constant pain he endured every day, this was nothing.
He picked up his pen and wrote a line in the notebook:
I shouldn’t have lost focus earlier. I’m sorry.
Seeing the child admit his mistake so earnestly, Su Ci pressed his lips together thoughtfully. Was he being too strict with A-Yan?
“Just be more careful next time,” he said, ruffling A-Yan’s hair affectionately. Then, he added, “Since you’re a bit distracted now, why not take a break? Do you want some fruit?”
A-Yan blinked, lifting his gaze. Just as he looked up, Su Ci flipped his hand, and the vibrant red Star-chain fruit he had picked from the cultivation garden appeared in his palm.
The little cub’s previously low spirits were instantly lifted. His bright eyes fixed on the fruit. While he was eager to taste it, he hesitated slightly.
“Go wash it first,” Su Ci said, placing the fruit on A-Yan’s desk.
With his hesitation gone, A-Yan excitedly picked up the fruit—large enough to be cumbersome in his small hands—and darted to the kitchen. Carefully, he held it under the faucet and washed it thoroughly.
The Star-chain fruit wasn’t dirty to begin with. Its vivid red skin gleamed under the water, immaculate and flawless. As a gift offered to the Earth Spirit, it naturally had an excellent appearance. After being rinsed with spiritual water, its surface glistened with droplets, making it look even more like a prized spiritual fruit.
Spiritual fruit?
A-Yan blinked, the term stirring a faint but unplaceable sense of familiarity. However, the thought quickly slipped his mind. After shutting off the water, he zipped back to Su Ci’s side.
“Mm!” he chirped, holding the fruit with both hands. His crisp little voice was adorable.
Su Ci accepted the fruit and patted A-Yan’s head in approval. Then, he split the Star-chain fruit into two halves.
The fruit was perfectly ripe, with a thin skin and thick, juicy flesh. Its interior was divided into segments, separated by delicate, translucent membranes. The flesh gleamed like crystal, and in the center of each segment was a glossy black seed.
With a wave of Su Ci’s hand, a dozen seeds floated out and landed gently in the empty tin cans on the coffee table.
“Eat.”
He generously handed half of the fruit to A-Yan, then walked over to the coffee table to retrieve the dried Star-chain fruit vines placed on it.
A-Yan cradled the Star-chain fruit in his hands, staring blankly at the caretaker before obediently taking a small bite.
The tangy-sweet juice exploded on his tongue, spreading a fragrant flavor that was soft and fluffy, like stepping onto a cloud. It was a sensation A-Yan had never experienced before.
So delicious!
He couldn’t help but glance at Su Ci, but the caretaker’s figure had already disappeared from the dormitory.
The joy of tasting something so amazing quickly faded, replaced by unease. A-Yan instinctively released his spiritual sense, and before long, he detected Su Ci’s presence in the nursery’s courtyard.
Stashing the remaining fruit into his spatial button, A-Yan darted outside, where he found the caretaker crouched by a patch of exposed soil.
Su Ci was placing the collected Star-chain fruit vines into a small pit he had dug next to the little spirit seed. The dampness of the soil suggested it had just been freshly excavated.
Is he planning to bury them?
A-Yan’s thoughts turned to the three wilted Star-chain fruit trees. They must be dead, right?
The memory of the vibrant wall of green vines withering and falling lingered vividly in his mind, filling his dark red eyes with a hint of sadness.
Was the caretaker bidding them farewell?
A-Yan crouched down beside Su Ci, silently observing him.
Deep down, he wished the plants didn’t have to die. They, like him, liked the caretaker. They could bear countless fruits for him to eat…
Suddenly, A-Yan’s attention shifted to Su Ci’s hands.
Those hands, as flawless as a work of art, glowed faintly with golden light. With an elegant yet profound motion, Su Ci drew a simple gesture in the air. The serene and divine expression on his strikingly handsome face seemed to take on an otherworldly quality.
“Withered wood meets spring.”
The ethereal words floated in the air, and Su Ci’s glowing fingertip lightly touched the dried vines.
Under A-Yan’s astonished gaze, a faint hint of green appeared on the decayed, withered vines.
From Su Ci’s fingertip, the green spread outward, slow but resolute.
In that moment, a miracle unfolded.
The vines, which had willingly sacrificed everything for the Earth Spirit, even at the cost of their own lives, were now blessed by the divine and granted a second spring.
The green hue seeped gradually through the outer surface into the depths of the vines, restoring their stems to a plump, vibrant state. It wasn’t until the entire set of dried vines had regained their lush greenery that the faint golden glow in Su Ci’s hand faded.
A-Yan stared at the restored Star-chain fruit vines, his eyes brimming with awe and admiration.
Su Ci withdrew his hand, letting out a soft sigh in his heart.
Though the vines had regained vitality, by his usual standards, the spell’s effect was far from perfect.
The Star-chain vines were not yet fully revived.
Picking up a small tool, Su Ci carefully buried the vines halfway into the soil. He then poured spiritual water over them evenly, hoping the energy in the water would aid their recovery.
Only when the vines developed root systems would they be considered truly alive again. At that point, perhaps they could achieve even greater potential.
