Chapter 4: New Roots
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ ⚠ CORRUPTION DETECTED │
│ Location: Vegetable Garden (East Field) │
│ Severity: Critical │
│ Cause: Residual shimmer miasma │
│ Effect: Crops dying. Soil contamination │
│ spreading. If not contained within 48 │
│ hours, corruption may affect adjacent │
│ fields and orchard. │
│ Recommended: Immediate removal of all │
│ affected plant matter and topsoil. │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
He stared at the golden text, his heart hammering against his ribs. The vegetable garden. The same garden his grandfather had planted before his father was born.
The same garden that had fed their family. Corrupted. Dying. Spreading.
He was out of bed before the panel faded, pulling on his trousers, his jacket with the thinning elbows, his worn shoes. Xiao Hei yelped and scrambled after him, but Wei barely noticed. He was already moving, already running, his bare feet slapping against the packed earth of the hallway.
His mother was in the kitchen, kneading dough. She looked up as he passed.
"Wei? What's—"
"The garden. Something's wrong with the garden."
He didn't stop to explain. He burst through the back door and into the grey morning light, and what he saw stopped him dead.
The vegetable garden was a graveyard.
The bok choy—which had been lush and green and knee-high the day before the shimmer—was a ruin of blackened stems and curling leaves that crumbled to ash when the wind touched them. The napa cabbage beside it was worse: the heads had split open like wounds, revealing cores that pulsed with a faint, sickly purple light.
The spinach had bolted—shot up tall and spindly, already gone to seed in a desperate, final act of survival. The radishes had cracked in the soil, their flesh split open and turned grey and foul, leaking a dark fluid that stank of rot.
Only a few plants still clung to life—the potatoes at the far end, the beans climbing their trellises, a single row of carrots near the wall—and even they were sickly, their leaves spotted with black, their stems drooping.
His family was already there.
His father stood at the edge of the field, his arms crossed, his face set in those hard lines that Wei had learned to read over twenty-three years. It was the face he wore when something was very wrong and he was containing it, holding it inside where it couldn't affect anyone else.
His mother had followed Wei from the kitchen and now stood beside him, her hand pressed to her mouth. Grandfather leaned on his cane, his weathered face unreadable, his pale eyes moving slowly across the ruined field.
Hao was silent for once, his hands at his sides, his bow forgotten. Li stood near the duck pond, her eyes red, her blue jacket pulled tight around her shoulders even though the morning wasn't cold.
"They're all dead," Hao said quietly. His voice was flat, stripped of its usual humor. "Everything except the potatoes and a few beans."
"The potatoes won't last," his father said. His voice was even, controlled, but Wei could hear the strain beneath it, like ice over deep water.
"The corruption's in the soil. I can see it spreading—the black spots on the leaves, the way the stems are darkening from the roots up. If we don't remove the infected plants, it'll reach the orchard. Then we lose the fruit too."
"How did this happen?" Li asked. Her voice was small. "The tree protects the farm. The wall keeps out the monsters. Why didn't it protect the vegetables?"
"The shimmer came before the tree was fully grown," Wei said. "The corruption was already in the soil before the roots could spread deep enough. The tree's been fighting it, but—" He shook his head. "It wasn't enough. Not yet."
His mother knelt beside a row of dead cabbage. She touched one of the blackened leaves, and it crumbled under her fingers. "This garden has fed our family . Your grandfather planted the first seeds. I've been working this soil since I was a bride." Her voice cracked. "And now it's just... gone."
"Not gone," Grandfather said. His voice was quiet but firm, the voice of a man who had seen worse and survived. "The plants are dead, but the earth is still there. Earth can be healed. It just needs work."
He tapped his cane against the ground, a single sharp sound that cut through the morning silence.
"We have to clear it," he said. "All of it. Every plant that's touched the corruption. Every inch of contaminated soil. Right down to the clean earth beneath."
"How deep?" Wei asked.
Grandfather looked at the field, his pale eyes calculating. "Half a meter. At least. The corruption sinks into the soil like water into sand. If we leave any of it, it'll spread back up into whatever we plant next."
"Half a meter," Hao repeated. "Across the whole garden? That's—that's days of digging."
"Then we dig for days." Grandfather's voice brooked no argument. "Unless you'd rather lose the orchard too."
The silence that followed was the heaviest Wei had ever felt. Even the birds had stopped singing. Even the wind had died. The world seemed to be holding its breath, waiting to see what they would do.
"Then we start now," his father said. "Everyone."
****
The digging took the rest of that day and all of the next.
Half a meter of soil across half a mu of land. It was backbreaking work—shovels biting into earth that had been cultivated for decades, wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of contaminated dirt hauled through the north gate and dumped far beyond the wall where the corruption couldn't spread.
Grandfather had insisted they dig a pit for it, lined with stone, far from the farm's boundary. "We don't know how far the corruption can travel," he said. "Better to be safe."
The hole grew deeper with each passing hour, a vast square depression in the earth where the vegetable garden had once been. The raw soil at the bottom was pale and clean, untouched by the shimmer's poison, but reaching it meant moving an enormous amount of earth.
Hao's hands blistered by noon of the first day. He didn't complain—not once, which was how Wei knew how serious this was. He just wrapped them in strips of cloth that Mother brought from the house and kept digging.
Li worked silently beside him, her face set, her blue jacket streaked with dirt. Mother and Father dug together, their shovels moving in a rhythm that had been honed over decades of working side by side, a rhythm that spoke of shared labor and shared hardship and a marriage built on the understanding that some things simply had to be done.
Uncle Jianguo came from the forge when he heard what was happening. He didn't say anything—he never did, not in moments like this—but he took up a shovel and worked without pause, his massive arms making the heavy labor look almost easy. The muscles of his back moved under his sweat-soaked shirt, and the pile of contaminated soil beside him grew faster than anyone else's.
Grandfather couldn't dig. His back was too old, his hands too gnarled by decades of farm work. But he stayed at the edge of the field the entire time, leaning on his cane, directing the work, telling stories, keeping spirits up in the way that only he could.
"When I was a boy," he said, his voice carrying across the field, "there was a blight that came through the valley. Killed half the crops in the county. My father—your great-grandfather—stood in his field and watched his wheat turn black, just like this. He didn't say a word. Just stood there for an hour, looking at what he'd lost. Then he walked back to the house, got his plow, and started over."
"What did he say?" Hao asked, pausing to wipe sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.
"Nothing. Not a word. I asked him why he wasn't crying, and he said, 'Tears don't bring back the wheat. Work does.'" Grandfather's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I thought he was a stubborn old man who didn't know how to feel things. Took me thirty years to realize he knew exactly how to feel things. He just knew that feeling them wouldn't fix the field."
"So we just... work?" Li asked.
"We work. We clear the dead plants. We dig out the poisoned soil. We start again. That's what farmers have always done. That's what we'll always do."
By the evening of the second day, the field was cleared.
The dead plants were ash on the wind, burned in the stone-lined pit beyond the north wall. Grandfather had lit the fire himself, striking the flint with steady hands, and they had all stood in silence and watched the smoke rise, carrying with it the remains of three generations of careful cultivation. The contaminated soil was piled far from the farm, quarantined from the healthy earth, a dark mound that would sit there until someone figured out what to do with it.
And in the garden's place was a hole. Half a meter deep, perfectly square, the raw earth at the bottom pale and clean. The irrigation channels that had fed the old garden were exposed, their stone linings cracked in places where the corruption had eaten at them. The wooden stakes that had marked the rows were gone, burned with the rest.
Everyone stood at the edge, exhausted, leaning on their shovels. The work was only half done. The hole still needed to be filled, and filling it was going to be another enormous task.
"We could transfer soil from near the barn," his father said, his voice tired in a way that went beyond physical exhaustion. "It's been composting there for years—manure and straw and kitchen scraps. Rich ground."
"That's a week of hauling," Hao said. He was sitting on the ground now, his back against the wheelbarrow, his bandaged hands resting on his knees. "Maybe more. The barn is two hundred meters from here, and we'd need dozens of loads."
"We could use soil from the higher slopes," Li suggested. She had pulled her hair back from her face, and there was a streak of dirt across her forehead. "The runoff from the orchard has been feeding that ground for decades. It's dark and rich—you can smell it."
"Still not enough volume," Grandfather said. He was tapping his cane against the ground, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. "We need to fill half a meter across half a mu. That's...more than 150 cubic meters of earth. More than we can move by hand before planting season ends. Even if we worked from dawn to dusk for a week, we wouldn't have enough."
The silence stretched. Wei stood at the edge of the hole, looking down at the raw earth, and felt the weight of what needed to happen next. He'd been thinking about it all afternoon, ever since the last load of contaminated soil had been hauled away. The system store. The materials section. The absurd, wonderful prices that made no sense.
"I can handle the soil," he said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"The same way I handled the pig pen," he said. "The same way I grew the tree. It's part of what I can do—I can create things the farm needs. Soil. Stone. Materials." He paused, choosing his words with care. "It takes energy from me, but I can fill this hole. Tonight. With soil that's better than anything we could haul from the barn or the slopes."
His father studied him for a long moment. The silence was heavy, but it wasn't the weight of disbelief. It was the weight of a man who had seen enough impossible things in the past few days that he'd stopped trying to understand them.
"Better how?" his father asked.
"Richer. More nutrients. Already balanced for growing vegetables. It'll give whatever we plant the best possible start."
His father held his gaze. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it. "Do it," he said. "We'll be waiting."
---
That evening, while the family rested in the house, Wei returned to the garden alone.
The hole stretched before him in the fading light—a vast empty space where generations of vegetables had grown. He stood at the edge for a long moment, feeling the weight of what he was about to do, the strange loneliness of being the only one who could see the panels, the only one who understood where the soil would come from.
Then he pulled up the system store.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SYSTEM STORE — MATERIALS │
│ │
│ Premium Soil Mix (Bulk) │
│ Coverage: Half mu at 0.5m depth │
│ Contents: Nutrient-enriched topsoil, │
│ organic compost, drainage sand, trace │
│ minerals, mana-infused growing medium │
│ Cost: 5 credits │
│ Note: Pre-balanced for vegetable │
│ cultivation in post-shimmer conditions. │
│ Promotes root development and disease │
│ resistance in crops. │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Five credits. For enough soil to fill the entire garden. The system's pricing was still absurd, but he wasn't going to question it. Not when his family needed food. Not when the warehouse only had two months of rations left.
He confirmed the purchase.
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ PURCHASE: Premium Soil Mix (Bulk) │
│ Cost: 5 credits │
│ Credits before: 32 │
│ Credits after: 27 │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
The soil materialized from his inventory in a steady, silent flow—dark and rich and fine-textured, pouring out across the hole like water finding its level. It spread in an even layer, filling the half-meter depth perfectly, its surface smooth and ready. The smell of it rose in the evening air: good earth and aged compost and something faintly sweet, like the forest floor after rain, like the promise of growth.
In less than a minute, the hole was gone. In its place was a level field of the darkest, richest soil Wei had ever seen, smooth as a tabletop and humming with quiet potential. He knelt and pressed his palm against it. Warm. Alive. The mana in the soil tingled against his skin, a faint echo of the Tree of Life's pulse.
Tomorrow we figure out what to plant, he thought. But tonight, the soil is here. That's enough.
---
The family gathered in the kitchen after a simple meal of rice and preserved vegetables. The oil lamps flickered on the scarred old table, casting long shadows on the walls. The mood was subdued but no longer despairing. The soil was restored. The garden could be replanted. But the question of what to plant—and whether it would survive—still hung over them like a storm cloud.
Mother and Grandmother were at the stove, preparing food for the next day. Li had gone to feed the rabbits and ducks before the light faded completely. Uncle Jianguo, Father, and Hao had walked the perimeter to check the wall while there was still daylight, looking for any signs of corruption or damage.
Grandfather sat at the table, his cane across his knees, his pale eyes thoughtful. "We have seeds in storage," he said. "Years of them. Every variety we've ever grown. Tomatoes, corn, beans, carrots, radishes, cucumbers, spinach, peppers, cabbage, herbs. I've been saving them since before your father was born."
"But will they grow?" Hao asked. He'd come in from the perimeter check and was sitting by the window, his bandaged hands resting on the sill. "After what happened to the old garden? After the corruption?"
Grandfather was quiet for a moment. "I don't know," he admitted. "The seeds were stored in the house, not in the garden. They shouldn't have been touched by the corruption. But after what we've seen..." He shook his head. "I don't know anything anymore."
Wei was quiet, thinking. He pulled up the system's analysis panel—the one that showed survival rates—and what he saw made his stomach drop.
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ CROP SURVIVAL ANALYSIS │
│ Post-Shimmer Conditions │
│ │
│ OUTSIDE FARM BOUNDARY │
│ Normal Seeds: <10% survival rate │
│ Yield: 5-15% of baseline │
│ Cause: Atmospheric corruption, soil │
│ taint, water contamination │
│ │
│ INSIDE FARM BOUNDARY │
│ Normal Seeds: 40-50% survival rate │
│ Yield: 45-55% of baseline │
│ Cause: Partial corruption resistance │
│ from Tree of Life (Tier 1) │
│ │
│ ENHANCED SYSTEM SEEDS │
│ Survival Rate: 95% (inside boundary) │
│ Yield: 120-200% of baseline │
│ (varies by crop type) │
│ │
│ TREE OF LIFE STATUS: TIER 1 │
│ Full corruption immunity for crops │
│ requires: TIER 4 │
│ Estimated time to Tier 4: Unknown │
│ │
│ WARNING: Planting normal seeds inside │
│ farm will result in significant crop │
│ loss and reduced yields. Enhanced │
│ seeds strongly recommended. │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
"Outside the farm's boundary," he said slowly, "normal crops have less than a ten percent survival rate. The shimmer's corruption is everywhere—in the air, in the water, in the soil.
Father looked at him with a serious face "What about inside the farm ?"
Even inside the farm, with the tree's protection, it's only forty to fifty percent. And the yields would be reduced by half or more compared to what we're used to."
"But didn't you say that the soil you used to fill up the field was immune to corruption ?"
"That's for the soil, but the crops need more than just the soil to survive."
The silence around the table was absolute.
His father repeated. "Half the seeds we plant would die. And the ones that survive would give us half the normal yield."
"The tree's still growing," Wei said. "It needs to reach a lot higher level, at least—before it can fully protect the crops from the corruption. Right now it's still small. I don't know how long it'll take to get there. Months. Maybe longer."
"So even if we plant, it's a gamble," Hao said. "We need to put seeds in the ground and hope they don't die."
"We have about two months of rations in the warehouse," his mother said from the stove. She didn't turn around, but her voice was steady. "Maybe a little more if we ration carefully. If we plant now and half the crops fail, we won't have enough to make it through winter."
The weight of those words settled over the room. Two months of food. A garden that might fail. A winter that was coming regardless of whether they were ready.
"There might be something I can do," Wei said.
Everyone turned to look at him.
"The same way I can create soil," he said, choosing his words with care, "I can enhance seeds. Make them stronger. More resistant to the corruption. Better germination, better yields. I did it once before—remember? The pumpkin seed on the kitchen table, when I first showed you what I could do."
His father nodded slowly. "The seedling. It grew in seconds."
"The same principle. But with these seeds, it would be more... thorough. I can take existing seeds and improve them. Make them able to survive in the corrupted soil. Make them grow faster, yield more." He paused. "But I need seeds to start with. Good ones. The best you've saved."
Grandfather straightened in his chair. "I have seeds. Years of them." He looked toward the storage room. "Hao. Bring me the wooden box. The one with the brass latch."
Hao fetched it. The box was old and worn, its lid polished smooth by decades of handling, the brass latch gleaming dully in the lamplight. Grandfather opened it with gnarled fingers, revealing cloth bags and glass jars and folded paper packets, each one labeled in his careful handwriting.
"Ten varieties, for now" he said, touching each packet in turn. "Tomatoes. Corn. Green beans. Carrots. Radishes. Cucumbers. Spinach. Bell peppers. Napa cabbage. Herbs—a mix of basil, cilantro, and parsley." He looked up at Wei. "These are the backbone of everything we grow. We've been cultivating these varieties for generations."
Wei looked at the seeds—the pale, dried kernels and beans and tiny dark specks, each one carrying the legacy of careful selection and patient cultivation. "I'll bring them back better," he said. "Just wait till dinner, I need some time."
He carried the box to his room and closed the door.
Hao "Hope he doesn't mess up, or we will find a new tree growing from his window till dinner."
Awkward silence.
***
Xiao Hei, who had followed him, curled up on the floor and watched with curious eyes as Wei spread the seed packets across the kang. Ten varieties. Each one precious. Each one carrying the hope of the next harvest.
He pulled up the Seed Registration panel.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION │
│ Register existing seeds to receive │
│ upgraded system packets with enhanced │
│ survival traits and yield potential. │
│ Cost: 1 credit per packet. │
│ Packet size varies by crop type. │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
One by one, he registered them.
The tomato seeds came first. Small and pale and flat, they looked unremarkable. Wei placed one into the registration slot, and the panel shimmered.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — TOMATO │
│ Original: Standard garden variety │
│ Upgraded Packet: 100 seeds │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 150% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 120% of baseline │
│ Fruit: Enhanced sweetness, deeper color, │
│ higher nutritional content │
│ Special: Natural pest resistance │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
A new packet materialized in his inventory—crisp paper, labeled in precise handwriting, filled with seeds that were slightly larger than the originals, their surfaces gleaming with a faint golden sheen. He poured them into a clean glass jar.
The corn came next. The kernels were wrinkled and dry, but when the panel processed them, they emerged plumper, more golden, almost glowing.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — CORN │
│ Original: Standard field variety │
│ Upgraded Packet: 200 seeds │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 160% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 175% of baseline │
│ Grain: Sweeter, more tender kernels, │
│ higher protein content │
│ Special: Stronger stalks, wind-resistant │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Green beans followed—a hundred seeds, each one smooth and perfect, their surfaces taking on that same faint golden shimmer.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — GREEN BEANS │
│ Original: Standard pole variety │
│ Upgraded Packet: 100 seeds │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 170% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 130% of baseline │
│ Pods: More tender, stringless, enhanced │
│ flavor │
│ Special: Continuous bearing, longer │
│ harvest window │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Carrots. The seeds were tiny—three hundred to a packet—but each one now gleamed like a grain of gold dust.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — CARROTS │
│ Original: Standard root variety │
│ Upgraded Packet: 300 seeds │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 140% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 125% of baseline │
│ Root: Sweeter, more tender, deeper │
│ orange color, higher vitamin content │
│ Special: Improved drought tolerance │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Radishes—two hundred seeds, each one round and brown and now shimmering faintly.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — RADISHES │
│ Original: Standard garden variety │
│ Upgraded Packet: 200 seeds │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 150% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 200% of baseline │
│ Root: Crisper, milder flavor, no │
│ woodiness │
│ Special: Earliest harvest—ready in │
│ 2 weeks │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Cucumbers—fifty seeds, flat and pale, transforming under the system's influence.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — CUCUMBERS │
│ Original: Standard garden variety │
│ Upgraded Packet: 50 seeds │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 160% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 120% of baseline │
│ Fruit: Crisper, sweeter, never bitter │
│ Special: All-female flowers, higher │
│ fruit set │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Spinach—two hundred seeds, small and dark, now gleaming.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — SPINACH │
│ Original: Standard garden variety │
│ Upgraded Packet: 200 seeds │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 150% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 140% of baseline │
│ Leaves: More tender, richer flavor, │
│ higher iron content │
│ Special: Slow to bolt, extended harvest │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Bell peppers—a hundred seeds, pale and papery, transformed.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — BELL PEPPERS │
│ Original: Standard garden variety │
│ Upgraded Packet: 100 seeds │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 140% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 110% of baseline │
│ Fruit: Thicker walls, sweeter flavor, │
│ mixed colors (green, red, yellow) │
│ Special: Natural pest resistance │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Napa cabbage—two hundred seeds, tiny and dark.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — NAPA CABBAGE │
│ Original: Standard garden variety │
│ Upgraded Packet: 200 seeds │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 150% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 120% of baseline │
│ Heads: Tighter, sweeter, more tender │
│ leaves, higher vitamin content │
│ Special: Improved cold tolerance │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
And finally, the herbs—a mixed packet of basil, cilantro, and parsley, three hundred tiny seeds in total.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — HERB MIX │
│ Original: Mixed garden varieties │
│ Upgraded Packet: 300 seeds (mixed) │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 160% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 130% of baseline │
│ Leaves: More aromatic, stronger flavor, │
│ higher essential oil content │
│ Special: Perpetual harvest—cut and come │
│ again │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Ten varieties. Ten credits. He worked through them all, each registration a small act of hope, each enhanced packet a promise that his family would not go hungry.
When he finished, the wooden box was full again—not with the old, uncertain seeds, but with glass jars of enhanced ones that gleamed with quiet promise. Thousands of seeds, ready to be planted.
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SEED REGISTRATION — SUMMARY │
│ Packets purchased: 10 │
│ Cost: 10 × 1 credit = 10 credits │
│ Credits before: 27 │
│ Credits after: 17 │
│ │
│ Varieties registered: │
│ Tomato (100) | Corn (200) | Beans (100) │
│ Carrots (300) | Radishes (200) │
│ Cucumbers (50) | Spinach (200) │
│ Bell Peppers (100) | Cabbage (200) │
│ Herbs Mix (300) │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
"Only 17 credits remaining, I need to spend carefully and save for emergencies."
"Is there anything remaining."
Then he remembered the Weekly Seed Shop. He pulled it up, curious.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ WEEKLY SEED SHOP — ROTATING STOCK │
│ Refreshes in: 6 days, 14 hours │
│ │
│ AVAILABLE THIS WEEK: │
│ Moonpetal Melon — 8 credits (Rare) │
│ Glows faintly in moonlight. Fruit │
│ restores mana when eaten. │
│ Ironbark Pea — 5 credits (Uncommon) │
│ Pods can be dried and ground into │
│ protein-rich flour. │
│ Sunveil Pepper — 6 credits (Uncommon) │
│ Provides warmth when consumed. Ideal │
│ for cold-weather planting. │
│ Dewfruit Strawberry — 4 credits (Common) │
│ Perpetual bearer. Fruits every 3 weeks │
│ Frostroot Carrot — 5 credits (Uncommon) │
│ Can be left in ground through winter. │
│ Harvest as needed. │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
He scanned the list, intrigued by the descriptions—melon that glowed in moonlight, peas that could be ground into flour, strawberries that fruited every three weeks. Those would be useful someday.
Here are the three additional purchases from the Weekly Seed Shop, with their status windows, inserted into the chapter right after Wei finishes registering the 10 seeds and before he checks the special offer.
---
Wei was about to close the panels when the Weekly Seed Shop caught his eye again. He'd almost dismissed it—the ten varieties were enough to fill the garden—but something made him pause. The rotating stock wouldn't be there forever. The shop refreshed in six days, and some of these seeds might not come back.
He scrolled through the list again, reading the descriptions more carefully this time.
The Dewfruit Strawberry caught his attention first. A perpetual bearer—fruit every three weeks, all through the growing season. Fresh strawberries weren't just food. They were morale. They were something sweet in a world that had become very bitter.
The Frostroot Carrot was next. Leave it in the ground through winter, harvest as needed. No storage required. No cellar space. Just fresh carrots whenever they wanted them, even in the coldest months.
And the Ironbark Pea—that one made him stop entirely. Pods that could be dried and ground into flour. Flour meant bread. Flatbreads, noodles, dumplings. Flour meant options.
Three more varieties. Fourteen credits. That would leave me almost nothing.
But the seeds weren't just for this season. They were for every season after. They would keep producing, keep multiplying, keep feeding his family long after the current crisis passed. And the strawberry and carrot would fill gaps that the other ten varieties couldn't—fresh fruit through the growing season, fresh roots through the winter.
He bought them.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ WEEKLY SEED SHOP — PURCHASE │
│ │
│ Dewfruit Strawberry — 4 credits │
│ Frostroot Carrot — 5 credits │
│ Ironbark Pea — 5 credits │
│ Total: 14 credits │
│ Credits before: 17 │
│ Credits after: 3 │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
The three new packets materialized in his inventory. He opened them one by one, examining the seeds.
The Dewfruit Strawberry seeds were tiny—smaller than a pinhead, golden-brown, each one gleaming with a faint dew-like shimmer. The packet was heavier than it looked, as if the seeds themselves held moisture.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ DEWFRUIT STRAWBERRY — TIER 2 (COMMON) │
│ Type: Perpetual Bearer │
│ Seeds per packet: 50 │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 130% of baseline │
│ Fruiting Cycle: Every 3 weeks during │
│ growing season │
│ Fruit: Intensely sweet, high juice │
│ content, bright red with gold-flecked │
│ seeds on skin │
│ Special: Fruits year-round in protected │
│ conditions. Each plant produces runners │
│ for easy propagation. │
│ Notes: Benefits from mana-enriched soil. │
│ Fruit provides minor vitality boost │
│ when eaten fresh. │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
The Frostroot Carrot seeds were larger than the standard carrots he'd just registered—plumper, darker, with a faint blue-grey sheen that looked almost like frost on winter grass.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ FROSTROOT CARROT — TIER 2 (UNCOMMON) │
│ Type: Winter-Hardy Root │
│ Seeds per packet: 150 │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 120% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 100% of baseline │
│ Root: Extra sweet after first frost. │
│ Dense, crisp texture even after months │
│ in frozen ground. High vitamin content. │
│ Special: Can be left in soil through │
│ winter and harvested as needed. Cold │
│ improves flavor. Stores better than │
│ standard carrots. │
│ Notes: Ideal for regions with harsh │
│ winters. Roots survive to -20°C in soil. │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
The Ironbark Pea seeds were the most unusual. Each pea was the size of a small marble, smooth and round, with a shell that gleamed like polished iron. They clinked faintly when he poured them into a jar, as if they were made of something denser than plant matter.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ IRONBARK PEA — TIER 2 (UNCOMMON) │
│ Type: Dual-Purpose Legume │
│ Seeds per packet: 80 │
│ Survival Rate: 95% │
│ Yield: 140% of baseline │
│ Growth Speed: 110% of baseline │
│ Pods: Tough, fibrous shells (save for │
│ composting). Peas can be eaten fresh, │
│ dried for storage, or ground into │
│ protein-rich flour. │
│ Flour: High protein (18-22%), mild │
│ nutty flavor. Works as wheat substitute │
│ in flatbreads, noodles, and porridge. │
│ Special: Nitrogen-fixing. Improves soil │
│ for following crops. Stalks can be │
│ dried for animal fodder. │
│ Notes: Staple crop replacement. One │
│ planting can feed a family for months. │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
Wei stared at the Ironbark Pea description for a long moment. Flour. Real flour, from something that would grow in their own soil. His mother could make noodles again. Grandmother could make flatbreads. They wouldn't have to rely on the warehouse rice forever.
He added the three new jars to the wooden box. Thirteen varieties now. The garden would be fuller than he'd planned, but there was space. They'd make space.
He closed the panels and sat in the quiet of his room, the weight of what he'd just done settling over him. Sixteen credits gone in a single evening. But in return, his family had seeds that would feed them for years.
Worth it, he thought. Every credit.
***
Li walked back from the animal pens as the last light drained from the sky. She stopped at the well to wash her hands, scrubbing the smell of hay and rabbit fur from her fingers, then stood there for a moment, looking toward the dark shape of the rabbit enclosure at the south end of the property.
The lamps in the house flickered on, warm and golden. She could hear her mother and grandmother in the kitchen, the clink of pots, the murmur of voices. She should go inside. Dinner would be ready soon.
Instead, she walked toward the rabbit pen.
The enclosure was quiet. The rabbits were huddled in their new den, the one that had grown from the upgrade, its walls lined with soft moss that glowed faintly in the darkness. They came out when they heard her footsteps—all of them, one by one, their long ears swiveling, their noses twitching. They knew her walk. They'd known it since they were kits.
"Hello, little ones," she said softly. She knelt by the gate and reached through the wooden slats. The grey buck, the one with the small gold mark on his forehead, hopped forward and pressed his nose against her palm. "I'm here. I didn't forget about you."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handful of hay—just hay, dry and plain. The rabbits sniffed at it, their whiskers brushing her fingers. They ate it anyway. They trusted her.
"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. "I don't have any carrots for you today."
The grey buck looked up at her, his dark eyes reflecting the faint glow of the moss. He didn't understand. He just knew that the girl who always brought the good greens had come with only hay.
"The garden is gone," she said. "The vegetables died. The carrots died. Everything died." She stroked the buck's ears, feeling the soft fur slide under her fingers. "I don't know if I can give you any tomorrow, either. Or the day after that."
Her voice cracked on the last word, and she stopped. The rabbits waited. They were good at waiting.
She sat there for a long moment, her hand still resting on the grey buck's head, feeling the warmth of his small body through the slats. The night was cold, but the rabbits were warm. They were always warm.
"I've been bringing you carrot tops since I was old enough to walk," she said. "Grandmother used to carry me out here when I was little. I'd sit in her lap and she'd let me hold out the greens and you'd all come running." She swallowed. "I don't know when I'll have greens for you again. I'm sorry. I wish I could explain it to you. I wish you could understand."
The grey buck pressed his nose against her hand again. She scratched behind his ears, and he closed his eyes.
She stayed there until the cold became too much, then stood up slowly. "I'll come back tomorrow," she said. "I'll bring what I can. I promise."
The rabbits watched her go, their ears silhouetted against the faint glow of the moss. None of them made a sound.
***
"We'll have greens again soon," Wei said. He set the wooden box on the table. "The seeds are ready."
The family gathered around as he opened the box. Ten glass jars, each one filled with enhanced seeds that gleamed in the lamplight. Grandfather lifted the jar of tomato seeds and held it up to the light, his weathered hand steady despite his age.
"They look different," he said quietly. "Bigger. Brighter. Like they've been waiting for this."
"They're enhanced," Wei said. "Better germination—ninety-five percent survival rate. Better yields—half again what the old seeds would have produced, maybe more. Better resistance to the corruption and to pests. They'll grow faster, too. The radishes will be ready in two weeks. The spinach and beans soon after."
"Two weeks," his mother said. She had come from the stove, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure. The enhancement makes them... adaptable. They'll grow regardless of season, regardless of the late planting. They'll push through the corruption in the soil and come up strong."
His father took the jar of corn kernels and examined them. "How much seed do we have total?"
"Tomatoes: a hundred seeds. Corn: two hundred. Green beans: a hundred. Carrots: three hundred. Radishes: two hundred. Cucumbers: fifty. Spinach: two hundred. Bell peppers: a hundred. Napa cabbage: two hundred. Herbs: three hundred mixed." Wei counted them off, touching each jar in turn. "Enough to plant the entire field, with some left over for succession planting and seed saving."
Grandfather pulled out his rough sketch of the garden—the same scrap paper he'd been marking up since the hole was filled, the paper now creased and soft from handling. "Ten varieties. We'll divide the field into ten patches. Each one gets a different crop."
He began to sketch, his pencil moving with the confidence of sixty years of experience. "The tomatoes and peppers go in the sunniest corner, here, where the south wall reflects heat. They need the most light and the warmest soil. The spinach and cabbage go in this shadier section, near the irrigation channel—they'll appreciate the cooler temperatures and the steady moisture. The corn along the north edge, so it doesn't shade the other plants. Corn grows tall, and if we plant it wrong, it blocks the sun from everything behind it."
He drew lines across the paper, dividing the field into neat sections. "The beans can climb trellises between the patches—we'll build them tomorrow. Beans are nitrogen-fixers; they'll feed the soil while they grow. The root vegetables—carrots and radishes—go in the deepest soil, here and here. They need room to go down. The cucumbers can sprawl along the east edge, where they'll have space to spread. And the herbs along the borders—they'll attract beneficial insects and repel pests."
Hao leaned over the map. "How much food will all of this produce? If everything grows right?"
"More than we lost," Grandfather said. "With these enhanced seeds and the new soil Wei brought, we might even exceed the old garden's yields. But it'll take time. The first harvest won't be for two weeks at the earliest, and that's just the radishes and spinach. The tomatoes and peppers won't fruit for two months or more."
"We have enough in the warehouse for about two months," his mother said. "If we ration carefully, we can stretch it until the new crops come in. But we can't afford to lose a single plant. Every seed has to count."
"We won't lose them," Wei said. "The seeds are strong. The soil is rich. The tree's protection is getting stronger every day." He looked around the table. "We're going to make it. It's going to be tight, but we're going to make it."
"Leaving land empty now would be foolish," Grandfather said, tapping the map. "We have the seeds, we have the soil, we have the hands to work it. We plant everything. Every patch, every row, every spare inch. No more saving space for later. Later is now."
The planning continued as the evening wore on. Grandfather sketched irrigation channels and trellis placements, muttering to himself about drainage and sun exposure. Father calculated planting depths and spacing, his farmer's mind working through the logistics. Li volunteered to make wooden stakes to mark each patch—she was good at whittling, and the work would keep her hands busy. Hao, despite his bandaged hands, offered to help build the trellises.
"I can still hold a hammer," he said. "The blisters are just on my palms. My fingers work fine."
"You'll wrap them first," his mother said. "Clean cloth. I don't want those blisters getting infected."
"Yes, Mother."
By the time the oil lamps burned low, the plan was complete. Ten patches. Ten varieties. Tomorrow at first light, they would plant. And in the weeks that followed, if the seeds grew as Wei knew they would, the garden would come back stronger than ever.
"Get some sleep," his father said, standing. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day."
The family dispersed to their rooms. Mother banked the fire. Grandfather closed the wooden box with its gleaming jars and set it carefully by the door, ready for morning. Li paused at the hallway and looked back at Wei.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "For the seeds. For the soil. For... all of it."
"I didn't do it alone."
"I know. But you made it possible." She hesitated, then said, "The rabbits will have carrots again. Soon."
"Yes," Wei said. "They will."
She nodded once and went to her room.
---
He lay on the kang, staring at the fish-shaped knot in the ceiling beam. Hao was already asleep beside him, breathing slow and even, his bandaged hands resting on his chest. Xiao Hei was curled on the floor in his usual spot, twitching as he chased something in a dream. The house was quiet.
But Wei wasn't ready to sleep. Not yet.
He pulled up the system store one more time, scrolling idly through the menus. The Weekly Seed Shop with its strange varieties. The materials section with its absurdly cheap stone and soil. The blueprints for beds and channels and cold frames. And then, at the bottom, something he hadn't noticed before.
```
┌──────────────────────────────────────────┐
│ SPECIAL OFFER — TODAY ONLY │
│ │
│ The Farmer's Codex │
│ Cost: 1 credit │
│ Type: Knowledge Resource │
│ Description: A comprehensive guide to │
│ farming in mana-enriched environments. │
│ Covers soil management, crop rotation, │
│ companion planting, natural pest │
│ control, seed saving, irrigation design, │
│ seasonal planning, and medicinal herb │
│ cultivation. Written for post-shimmer │
│ conditions. │
│ │
│ Offer expires at midnight. │
└──────────────────────────────────────────┘
```
One credit. A book. He almost dismissed it—he had Grandfather's sixty years of experience, his father's practical knowledge, his mother's lifetime of gardening. But the description mentioned mana-enriched environments. Post-shimmer conditions. Things that even Grandfather had never seen before.
One credit. It's practically nothing. And if it has even one thing we don't already know...
He bought it.
The book materialized in his inventory—a heavy leather-bound volume, its pages crisp and new, its cover stamped with a simple design of wheat and roots intertwined. He didn't open it yet. Tomorrow, maybe. Or the day after. When there was time.
"I will plant the remaining 3 jars later."
"Let's wait until tomorrow's work is done."
For now, he closed the panels and let the darkness settle over him.
The seeds were ready. The soil was ready. The plan was ready. Ten patches. Ten varieties. A garden that would feed them through the winter and beyond.
And for the first time since the shimmer, Wei slept soundly.
End of Chapter 4