Just as the two small figures at the top of the vines vanished into specks of light, the purple ice core beneath Chen Hao's feet trembled violently, as if someone had struck a drum underground. He stumbled and nearly fell to the ground, but luckily Nana reacted quickly and grabbed his arm.

"Again?" he grinned. "This land has quite a rhythm."

Nana remained silent, her fingertips tracing several dotted lines in the air, as if reading some unseen data stream. Her brow furrowed slightly: "The underground network... is alive."

As soon as the words were spoken, all the plants on the desolate planet trembled in unison. It wasn't the wind, as the wind had long since stopped—but rather, starting from the roots, a pulse-like movement surged upwards along the vines, like countless sleeping snakes turning over at the same time.

Then, the sound came.

It wasn't the kind you could hear with your ears; it was a buzzing sound that seemed to emanate directly from your bones. It was as low as a leaky pipe in an old building, yet as dense as a swarm of ants gnawing at a tin bucket. Chen Hao scratched the back of his neck: "What's this? A sound system test before an alien square dance performance?"

Nana raised her hand and placed it on his wrist, her pupils flashing a few times: "Sound wave frequency... three short and two long, repeated seventeen times. This is not noise, it's a signal."

"Oh." Chen Hao nodded. "So, are they saying 'hello' or 'paying protection money'?"

“It cannot be deciphered at the moment.” She paused, “but the beat pattern is 89 percent similar to an ancient interstellar etiquette code recorded in the robot’s knowledge base.”

“That’s how you say hello.” Chen Hao slapped his thigh. “I know this – when I was a kid, the kid from the next class would knock on my desk like this if he wanted to copy my homework.”

After he finished speaking, he simply took off his other shoe and stepped barefoot into the ice at the edge of the crack. The chill crept up his calf, and he shivered. Then he lifted his heel and slammed it against the ground five times.

Nana immediately caught the frequency, turned around and slammed her metal arm against a nearby rock with a loud thud.

The two exchanged a glance.

I waited for three seconds.

Suddenly, all the flower buds on the vines trembled at the same time.

The next second, a new wave of sound surged in from all directions, no longer a chaotic buzzing, but a unified resonance—like hundreds of cellos playing the same note at the same moment. The air grew slightly warm, and even the still snowflakes began to tremble slightly.

“They responded,” Nana whispered. “They understood.”

"Shouldn't we show our appreciation?" Chen Hao grinned, took a deep breath, and was about to tap out a different rhythm when he suddenly noticed a faint sweet fragrance wafting towards his nose.

Purple pollen rose up from nowhere, swirling around the two of them like mist.

"Warning." Nana quickly activated the filtration system. "The pollen contains unknown alkaloids that may interfere with nerve perception."

"What's there to be afraid of?" Chen Hao leaned in and sniffed it instead. "My brain is already unreliable, how much more outrageous can it get?"

He closed his eyes and hummed a children's song that was off-key. The tune was terribly off, and he couldn't remember all the lyrics, but the melody was very familiar—it was the song he had shouted in his hoarse voice while wrestling in the snow the day they first met.

Nana was stunned for a moment.

Immediately, her electronic heart rate automatically adjusted to synchronize with the beat of the children's song. Then, she converted the audio into a stable waveform and amplified it through her arm speaker.

The world fell silent for a moment.

Then, thousands of vines bloomed all at once.

The petals unfolded layer by layer, releasing a large amount of fluorescent pollen. Instead of dispersing in the air, the pollen slowly gathered and aligned, eventually forming a suspended holographic text—

Interstellar Peace Treaty

The first article states: All intelligent life, regardless of form, has the right to exist and to express itself.

Chen Hao stared at the line of text for a long time, then suddenly laughed: "Oh my, it's quite formal."

“This is a symbolic declaration of consensus among civilizations,” Nana said. “They are inviting us to participate in the establishment of rules.”

"Can I offer my opinion?"

"In theory, any signatory has the right to make modifications."

"Okay." Chen Hao patted his pocket and actually pulled out a small bottle—red, wrinkled, with most of the label peeled off, leaving only the word "spicy" barely legible.

He shook it: "I've been saving this chili sauce for a long time, originally planning to eat it as a side dish when I was starving."

After saying that, he opened the lid and splashed the solemn words in the air with a splash.

The red sauce, piercing through the light and shadow, was about to land when it was instantly absorbed by the floating pollen. Immediately afterwards, a line of crooked, handwritten supplementary clauses appeared at the edge of the projection:

**New Rule #250:** Using physical laws for mental suppression or pretentious behavior is prohibited.

Chen Hao nodded in satisfaction: "That's fair now."

Nana paused for two seconds, then suddenly raised her right hand and drew a certification light pattern in the air.

“Based on the authorization of the ecological agreement implementation system,” she said calmly, “the 250th amendment proposed by Chen Hao has been formally incorporated as a valid clause. His actions fall under the category of protected cultural expression.”

As soon as he finished speaking, all the plants swayed gently, their leaves intertwining and rustling, making a sound like laughter.

"Are you laughing too?" Chen Hao pointed to the nearest vine. "Don't pretend, your leaves are shaking more than my mom is when she sees my report card."

Nana looked up at the gradually spreading network of light patterns and said softly, "They are not just accepting, they are celebrating. This way of resonance... is a traditional ritual for advanced civilizations to confirm their covenants."

Speak like a human.

“That means,” she turned to look at him, “that you are now a legal troublemaker.”

“That’s good.” Chen Hao sat down on the ground, picked up a blade of grass and put it in his mouth. “If anyone tries to pressure me with the theory of relativity, I’ll bring out the 250th law.”

He leaned against the rocky platform, empty chili bottles piled at his feet, watching the treaty projection slowly shift across the sky. Starlight filtered through the gaps in the text, illuminating his bare feet.

"Why do you think they chose this time to sign?" he suddenly asked.

“Because the initial synchronization of the law reconstruction has been completed.” Nana stood beside him, her outer shell reflecting starlight and floral shadows. “Now, the planet itself has become a witness to the agreement.”

"That sounds pretty far-fetched." Chen Hao yawned. "Actually, I think they've just been holding back for too long. Now that two of them have finally come along who can communicate, they should quickly set up the rules to avoid another space war later."

Nana did not refute.

She merely opened the chest armor slightly, revealing the tiny engraving on the inner layer. Even in the light, the two names remained clearly visible.

In the distance, a newly formed crystal flower quietly unfolds, and a miniature scene emerges at the center of the petals: Chen Hao and Nana stand side by side, with the treaty floating above their heads, and a ring of countless planets in the background.

It looks like a design draft for some kind of commemorative coin.

“They’re still singing,” Nana suddenly said.

"Hmm?" Chen Hao squinted.

“The sound waves haven’t stopped.” She closed her eyes, as if listening to a channel only she could receive. “It’s not just here; the plants all over the planet are resonating with it. This isn’t the end; it’s the beginning.”

What are they singing?

"I don't know." She opened her eyes. "But the frequency kept changing, like... waiting for a response."

Chen Hao thought for a moment, then reached into the soil, his mechanical fingers probing underground along the vine roots. The residual energy from the fruit pit flowed into his body through the interface. He closed his eyes, feeling the continuous pulse.

Three short and two long.

pause.

Three short and two long.

Let's do it one more time.

He suddenly smiled.

He raised his palm, drew a circle in the air, then poked his chest hard, pointed at Nana, and finally spread his hand out, making a "give" gesture.

This is a sign language he created himself, meaning: Me and her, together, for you.

Nana understood immediately.

She converted this movement into an energy signal, superimposed it with her heartbeat rhythm, and transmitted it through the ground.

A moment of silence.

Then, plants around the world simultaneously emitted a deep and long resonance, as if the first note of a grand chorus had finally found its tune.

Pollen rose again, this time not forming words, but coalescing into a flowing star map, slowly rotating and suspended in mid-air. Seven bright spots were marked on the map, arranged in a ring, connected by bands of light.

"This is...?" Chen Hao sat up straight.

“Unknown coordinates,” Nana analyzed, “but the structure conforms to the classic model of a ‘civilizational network’.”

"In other words," Chen Hao grinned, "this treaty we signed isn't just for our own eyes, but also for us to post on social media so others can see it too?"

"The logic holds true."

"Then I should add a note: A bottle of chili sauce is included as a gift. It's a limited edition, first come, first served."

Nana didn't respond.

But her eyes curved slightly, as quickly as a system lag.

Chen Hao lay back on the rock platform, his hands behind his head, the blade of grass in his mouth dangling back and forth. Gazing at the slowly rotating star map, he suddenly said, "Do you think if aliens really come and see line 250, they'll think we're particularly petty?"

“Yes,” Nana said, “but they will also remember us.”

"That's fine then." He chuckled. "I'm not afraid of being criticized, I'm just afraid of no one remembering."

The wind remained still, the snowflakes still hung in mid-air, yet this desolate planet became more lively than ever before. Songs rose from the earth, carried by every leaf, every vine, and every grain of pollen, weaving a global sound network.

Chen Hao closed his eyes and gently swayed his feet to the rhythm.

Nana stood beside him, and the sensors continuously recorded every fluctuation.

Then, at one point, she suddenly spoke up: "They changed the lyrics."

"What?"

"That melody just now... has a new lyric added."

What are they singing?

She paused, as if confirming the accuracy of the translation.

Then she said softly, "**Welcome home.**"

Chen Hao was stunned.

He opened his eyes, stared at the star map for a long time, then suddenly sat up, grabbed the last empty chili bottle, and smashed it on the ground.

The bottle broke.

Purple pollen, swirling with debris, rose into the air, tracing an arc under the starlight like a falling asteroid.