diskusbooks Chapter 277 [Empire] Seedling
Chapter 277 [Empire] Seedling
However, time didn't leave me any time for puzzle games. In the blink of an eye, it was time for school again. I opened my eyes as the alarm clock chimed, dragging my somewhat heavy body to my feet. Fragments of last night's conversation with Wen Ya still lingered in my mind, but reality had no patience for me to process my thoughts.
I sat in my seat, my gaze fixed on the young seedling on the table. It was still dazzlingly green, crouching there quietly like some strange, isolated and eerie creature. Whenever I was at school, I couldn't help but see it, as if it and I were bound by some kind of fate.
But today, it seemed unchanged. No taller than before, no new shoots sprouted, and even its emerald green luster seemed slightly dimmed. Its motionless appearance made me feel a little puzzled.
"Didn't it absorb any nutrients?" I whispered to myself, feeling both relieved and uneasy. Its stagnant state finally gave me a sigh of relief, but it also left me feeling a little uneasy. Was this silence temporary, or did it indicate some other abnormality?
I tentatively reached out and gently touched its leaves. The touch was cool and smooth, making my fingers flinch. This feeling was truly... hard to describe. How could this thing be an ordinary plant, yet it was so adept at disguising itself as harmless?
After staring at it for a long time, I couldn't help but whisper, "What on earth do you want to do..." The voice was drowned out by the noisy classroom and no one heard it, but it remained silent as before, as if it didn't care about the existence of me, its "master".
For several days, my life seemed to be overtaken by a strange rhythm. Occasionally, my vision would be tinged with a faint reddish hue, a hazy, misty glow that seemed to seep out of a dream and envelope my vision. Whenever this happened, I would feel an indescribable sense of oppression.
It was like my body was resisting something, but I was powerless.
At the same time, I noticed that the seedling was truly weakening. Its leaves were beginning to dull, and its once plump stems were showing signs of drying up. It was no longer as vibrant and aggressive as before, and even occasionally curled up slightly when exposed to direct sunlight, as if unable to withstand the external stimulation.
I knew its weakness wasn't due to natural causes, but something deeper. Perhaps it could no longer draw sufficient nourishment from me. The reddening of my vision was like a barrier, severing its connection to me.
At first, I thought this was a relief. After all, its daily growth had always been a thorn in my side. But when I actually saw its gradually weakening appearance, a conflicting emotion welled up in my heart—relief, mixed with a subtle sense of worry.
I knew this seedling was no ordinary plant; its existence was somehow bound to me. If it withered, perhaps I would be free of its threat, but at the same time, the seal on the cyan magic book would remain unbreakable.
"What do you want me to do..." I muttered to myself, my eyes fixed on the seedling lying silently on the table. It was motionless, like a sleeping beast, as if waiting for me to make a decision.
Given the painful experience of our previous wheat crop failure, the teacher in today's planting class clearly wasn't going to give up on us "newbies" so easily. So, he introduced a new topic: soybeans.
"This time, the method isn't much different from before; it's still just planting practice." The teacher stood at the podium, his expression calm, as if unsurprised by the previous failure. He picked up a small bowl of soybeans. The emerald yellow beans shimmered in the sunlight, appearing plumper and healthier than wheat seeds.
"This time, we'll be using a modified nutrient solution formula that will better activate the plants' vital potential," he added, scanning our faces, as if searching for expressions of dissatisfaction or doubt. But apparently, none of us had the courage to do so. After all, after the disastrous "zero survival rate" from last time, we really had no right to object.
The new project's schedule was nearly identical to wheat planting. Distributing seeds, preparing nutrient solution, adjusting temperature and humidity... every step felt like a repeat of the previous one. But no matter how repetitive, it all felt like a mechanical cycle to me. As I looked at the soybeans being distributed to me, a complex mix of emotions welled up within me.
This project brought back memories of that strange seedling. It still sits on my desk, but I can sense its presence as if somehow isolated from the other seeds. The soybean's vitality contrasts starkly with its withered state, and my inner vigilance never diminishes even a little bit because of its frailty.
As I picked up a soybean, ready to place it in the soil, my fingers paused mid-air. My gaze drifted involuntarily to the young green seedling. It seemed quiet, yet its presence evoked the feeling of a pair of invisible eyes, coldly observing my every move.
My hand froze in mid-air, neither letting go nor staying put. The soybean seed lay quietly at my fingertips, yet the wilted seedling seemed to suddenly react. I could sense a subtle displeasure emanating from it, like a silent repulsive force that nearly pushed my hand back.
I paused, feeling a strange sense of amusement. This thing... does it even have a sense of territory?
The green seedling still maintained its "harmless" disguise, its slightly bent leaves appearing tired and weak, but I could clearly sense a subtle hostility. Its emotions seemed to be transmitted to me through some invisible bond—it didn't like the soybean, nor did it like me letting them get so close.
I stared at the seedling and suddenly found myself curious.
When did it become so unique? It clearly lacked the ability to protect itself, yet it seemed to possess an invisible sense of oppression, even resisting my approach to other plants. Like some disturbed beast, it hunkered down in its little corner, clinging to its own designated territory.
"That's quite particular," I murmured, as if talking to myself, or teasing the seedling. But it remained silent, neither responding nor compromising.
In the end, I still gritted my teeth and gently placed the soybeans into the prepared soil, but I couldn't help muttering in my heart: "No matter how much you object, you can't stop me from completing the project." My hand paused in the air for a moment, and my eyes glanced at the green seedling again, vaguely feeling that it seemed to have wilted a little.
This thing is really becoming more and more unique.