coobybook Chapter 494 [Empire] I am also a plant
Chapter 494 [Empire] I am also a plant
Chapter 494 [Empire] I am also a plant
Amidst this vast ocean of confusion and nothingness, my consciousness suddenly trembled, as if a faint light flickered in the distance. That light pierced the darkness, slowly taking shape, gradually becoming a clear lotus. A cyan lotus blossomed softly in the chaos. Its petals were as light as gauze, as if woven from countless tiny points of light, shimmering with a faint yet luminous light, illuminating the surrounding indifferent darkness.
This lotus flower didn't resemble any real plant. Its form was vague, tinged with a thin, unreal quality. It seemed to dissipate a little every time I approached, as if pulled by some invisible force, floating in the endless void. Each petal seemed to breathe, opening and closing slightly in a silent rhythm, as if conveying some ancient call across this vast ocean.
I couldn't help but want to get closer, to touch it, but every time I approached, it was like piercing the surface of water. The lotus always gently retreated, as if it had never truly existed, always remaining just within reach, yet elusive. Its cyan light was like a shattered star in this boundless darkness, secretive, isolated, and disorienting.
The lotus before me began to distort slightly in my vision. Its cyan light continued to spread, gradually permeating my thoughts and perceptions. It carried a strange chill that seemed to wash away all troubles and fatigue. The flicker of each petal was like a deep breath, making me forget myself and everything around me.
The lotus's shadow, cast across this vast ocean, felt like a comfort, like some hidden force calling me. I tried to draw closer, but knew it remained out of reach. I could only gaze silently in my heart, feeling that illusory yet real light.
When I finally came to my senses from that hazy dream and opened my eyes, the scene around me gradually became clear. The training ground before me was still in a mess, with several conspicuous deep pits and overturned training equipment on the ground. The air around me was filled with a faint smell of gunpowder smoke, and the mixed smell of sweat and mud filled the air.
My body seemed to still be trembling slightly, my legs a little weak, my hands still firmly braced against my knees, as if I had just emerged from a fierce battle. My head was a little dizzy, as if I hadn't yet fully recovered from the illusion of the cyan lotus. My vision gradually cleared, and I looked around. The students had already stood up, their faces filled with exhaustion and satisfaction.
At that moment, Qianmo stood beside me, his arm raised, a determined expression on his sweat-stained face as he scanned the battlefield. His abilities had played a significant role in this confrontation, and the rich plant scent in the air told me he had once again leveraged the defensive capabilities of plants to buy us precious time.
I was silent for a moment, realizing the battle was over. The rest of the class came forward, glancing at us with complicated expressions. My body was stiff, my limbs feeling almost drained of strength. My back still ached, and the corners of my mouth still had a hint of rust.
The surrounding clamor gradually returned to normal, and order began to return to the training ground, but that invisible sense of oppression still filled the air. Today's victory is only temporary. Tomorrow, we still have challenges to face.
I raised my hand and casually wiped the sweat from my face, a silence filling my heart. Yes, this is reality. The battle has just begun. And I, still standing here, await the next round.
Night fell quietly, the dormitory lights dim and warm, and everything around me seemed serene and peaceful. On the table, my young green seedling still lay quietly, its branches and leaves drooping slightly, as if immersed in a deep sleep. The once close sensory connection—a warm, life-filled wave—was now completely gone.
I stared at the plant, feeling a sense of oppression in the air that tightened my heart. The cyan seedling seemed to have entered a deep dormant state. Its leaves no longer trembled or glowed with the same subtle energy as before, as if it had lost its vitality. Even the subtle energy fluctuations it once emanated had vanished without a trace.
Once, wherever I went, as long as I was close to it, I could clearly sense its presence—its emotions, its needs, even its subtle changes. I could form a kind of tacit communication with it, like a resonance between two hearts. But now, that feeling has completely disappeared, replaced by only silence and emptiness.
I reached out and carefully touched its leaves. Instead of the usual warmth, they felt icy cold, a pallid, frail quality. I gently pinched the branches, but they didn't react. There was no resistance, nor the usual slight bend, as if they no longer cared about my touch.
An inexplicable sense of loneliness washed over me, and I stood there, gazing silently at this plant with which I had already established a deep connection, feeling somewhat lost. I wondered if it had changed, or if I had.
I withdrew my hand, sighed, and sat back on the bed. The night breeze outside was light and chilly, and I couldn't help but daze, thinking about the changes in the green seedling. Perhaps it really had entered a deep dormancy, but this sudden silence made me feel a little uneasy.
Qianmo sat next to me, his brows slightly furrowed, his gaze unconsciously following my gaze. He didn't speak, but I could sense the shift in his aura. There was a faint sense of oppression, as if something was stirring inside him, though he just didn't express it. His silence made me feel a little uneasy.
I pursed my lips, trying to distract myself, but I found my thoughts becoming increasingly confused. The air became unnaturally silent, as if even breathing seemed too abrupt.
Finally, he spoke softly, his tone carrying an imperceptible nervousness: "Are you... okay?"
I didn't answer, but just lowered my head slightly. A long silence enveloped me, and it seemed that even this simple response was difficult to say.
"Qianmo, your supernatural plants won't get sick. But my combat plants will..."
My voice was a little low, carrying an indescribable weariness, like someone crawling out of the abyss, a sense of helplessness and resignation. I didn't look directly at Qianmo, but instead stared intently at the young green seedling in my hand. It lay still beside me, as still as a windless lake. The power that once teemed with life, surging in my hands, now seemed completely gone, as if not even a trace of its presence remained in the air.
"They can sometimes absorb surrounding energy and continue to grow, but every time they consume energy, their bodies become unstable." I bit my lip, trying to keep my tone steady. "They're not as life-threatening as the plants in Qianmo... but they're also... prone to problems."
Qianmo's eyes fell on me, and I could feel his deep gaze, as if he was trying to read something from my eyes. But I knew that my current state did not allow me to show any weakness.
"As you know, the vitality of combat plants is more complex than that of ordinary plants... and when I have no other choice, they are what I rely on most." I lowered my head, my fingertips gently touching the tips of the green seedlings' leaves. "I don't know if I can still rely on them if they continue like this."
The air seemed to freeze and my heartbeat gradually became weaker.
"Do you really need plants..." He seemed a little cautious. I remained silent.
His voice was tinged with uncertainty, as if he were treading on thin ice, each word carefully chosen, afraid of accidentally breaking something. I didn't look up, but simply lowered my head, staring at the green seedling in my hand with a dazed look, my fingertips still caressing its soft leaves, feeling the faint breath of life.
My silence seemed to answer his question. The air was still, filled only by the sound of gentle breathing. I still didn't answer his question, because I couldn't answer it clearly. Yes, I needed these plants, even relying on them to a certain extent. In my life as a mercenary, they were my weapons, my support, and once, even my only companions.
But now, I'm caught in a dilemma - what if the plants become unstable and can no longer support me? Will I continue to rely on them until one day they completely collapse?
He stood beside me, his eyes filled with a hint of pity and worry. Perhaps what he saw was not a me who was simply dependent on plants, but a me who was gradually lost because of my excessive dependence on them.
"Without them," I finally raised my head and looked at him slowly, "how would I survive?" My voice was so low that it almost disappeared, but that question was asked with an irrepressible sense of powerlessness, as if it was a question to myself.
Qianmo didn't answer immediately. He looked at me with a complex emotion in his eyes, as if he was looking at someone lost in the darkness, wanting to reach out but afraid to touch a deep wound.
My gaze returned to the green seedling. It lay still, its leaves slightly curled, as if it had entered a deep dormancy. It lacked its former vitality, nor the warmth and strength it usually gave me. Now, it seemed like a dormant being, completely cut off from the world. As I gazed at it, the faint glow of its green leaves faded, and all traces of life seemed distant and hazy.
My gaze lingered on it, eyes gradually losing focus as I felt myself drawn into a deep silence. I couldn't even think clearly, no coherent thoughts forming in my mind. I simply stared at the plant, as if it could hold the answers. Perhaps because I was overly dependent on it, every change in its presence filled me with an indescribable anxiety, like I'd fallen into a bottomless abyss, every second hanging in the balance.
The air seemed to freeze at this moment, my breathing slowed, and I could almost hear the sound of my inner voice. All my thoughts and emotions were closely connected to this plant, my mind drawn to it, floating in its unresponsive silence.
I tried to reach out a finger and gently touch its slightly stiff leaves, but I was afraid that touching it would completely shatter this fragile tranquility. My hand paused in mid-air, not falling for a long time. And so, I felt like I was trapped in a state of stillness, feeling myself drifting further and further away from time and everything around me. It was as if the world had ceased to be real at this moment, and only the plant before me existed.
He hugged me tightly, his body trembling, transmitting to my back. I could feel his faint strength, as if resisting some invisible pressure. His voice was so low that it was almost inaudible, but the words "As you wish... I am also a plant" flashed through my mind like a flash of lightning, bringing a shock.
I could feel his arms stiffen, as if he were trying to remain calm, but his grip unconsciously tightened. The trembling wasn't just in his body; it was as if a deeper emotion was surging behind his words, a vulnerability now exposed. His breathing was rapid, almost suppressed, not wanting to appear too conspicuous. I could hear his slightly trembling voice, but I didn't dare look at his face. I simply lowered my head and let him hold me.
I could sense his uneasiness, as if he wanted to melt into my embrace, yet at the same time, trapped by some force, unable to fully release himself. Those words left me stunned—"I'm a plant, too"—and I couldn't help but bite my lip softly, a complex wave of emotions welling up inside me. I had never seen him so vulnerable, so uneasy.
I reached out and gently patted his back, wanting to offer some comfort, but I couldn't find the words to express what I felt. I could sense his presence, and I understood his need for support. In this moment, it felt like we were no longer two people, but one, intertwined.
"You're not a plant," I whispered, my voice weak but strangely firm. "You are you. You don't need to become anything."
His body stiffened slightly, as if my words had touched a vulnerable spot within him. I could sense the suppressed emotion in his mouth, as if he were trying to swallow it down but couldn't. The air suddenly stilled, the atmosphere in the room heavy and stagnant. The silence, like the faint sound of breathing in my ear, softly, silently spoke of his inner struggle.
I could feel his heartbeat, suddenly becoming clearer and more distinct, trembling slightly. He still held me tightly, as if afraid I would suddenly disappear. I could hear the faint trembling of his lips, a trace of his inner struggle. It was as if he wanted to tell me something, but was afraid of my rejection, afraid of my misunderstanding.
I understand what he's trying to say, but I don't need him to change like that. That unease seems to be some deep-seated anxiety within him, and I don't want to put more pressure on him. He doesn't need to be the person I expect him to be, as resilient as a plant or as powerful as a supernatural being. He is who he is, and his existence is important enough.
I breathed a sigh of relief, raised my hand, slowly touched his back, and patted it gently. His body seemed to relax a little at this moment, and his tense muscles relaxed a little, as if he had found some kind of relief at this moment.
"You don't need to become a plant," I whispered again, my voice gentle but firm. "I don't want you to become something I depend on. I only depend on you."