Chapter 30
The first paragraph of "An Outline of Plants" reads: "In this world, we encounter all sorts of plants that may be liked or disliked; some simply bring peace, while others stir our emotions. But these are merely our own perspectives, imbuing plants with our own likes and dislikes. Now, having learned about its growing environment for the first time, about its function for the first time, and about the efforts it makes to survive for the first time, will you have a new perspective on it?"
I closed the book. Then I opened it again and turned to the table of contents.
The senior looked at me and asked, "What's wrong? Did you run into some difficulties?"
He didn't mention that I had already adapted for over a month. I felt a sense of relief and acceptance, and shook my head: "No."
I explained, "...I just don't want to go to class."
After the weekend, I felt my nerves become very calm, so calm that my brain was sometimes unable to think. I think this is similar to a cat inhaling catnip, but humans don't have catnip after all.
Although everything happened inexplicably, my emotions have become slightly more stable, which is quite gratifying.
I began to embrace life's events with renewed enthusiasm, no longer seeing myself as a usurper. If it was out of fear of the dream shattering, then I should have accomplished a series of things before it arrived, so that the truth wouldn't seem hurtful, and that I would have no regrets.
Going back to my old self is indeed difficult. I scratched my head, almost wondering: Was I always able to stay sharp because of my sensitivity?
My senior handed me a glass of warm water and said with concern, "Don't push yourself if you're tired." He winked at me and said with a smile, "I'll help you. Don't forget about me."
I smiled back, "Senior, I really don't know how to repay you for helping me like this."
He frowned slightly upon hearing my words, his fingertips tracing the surface of his water glass. I observed him for a moment, then, as if having made up my mind, he asked me in a low voice, "Qinghe, do you mind if I ask you a rather personal question?"
I replied to him, somewhat bewildered, "I don't mind, senior, just ask away." Because I didn't have any personal matters to attend to right now.
He moved even closer to me. I suspected the teacher could see the two inattentive students with just a turn of his head, but for now, I could only obediently wait for the senior's question.
"Why aren't you calling my name?" he asked. "Did I do something to upset you? You didn't reply to my messages all weekend either. If I did something to make you uncomfortable..."
I shook my head repeatedly, "No, that's not true, senior." After thinking for a moment, I felt this reason was more appropriate: "Maybe I was too busy over the weekend and forgot to reply. You didn't do anything to upset me, senior. Have you been feeling a bit restless lately? Maybe you should go to a traditional Chinese medicine clinic to get some treatment?"
The memory of calling my senior by his name feels so distant; it feels like it happened a long time ago. I think I've just changed how I address him; maybe recently I felt "senior" sounded more special? He really is a very special person. I told him my thoughts, and I quickly saw his expression freeze, his face turning red.
I chuckled to myself; my senior really blushes easily. If he has someone he likes and then confesses to her, will he turn as red as a tomato?
I casually flipped through a book; I still have to rely on myself. The help from my senior is just what he provides. What if one day he no longer needs me, his junior, and I happen to have become dependent on him? The whole thing sounds terrifying.
I glanced down at the page I had flipped over, and it matched what the teacher was saying on the podium. She was talking about the representative plant in this direction, a legendary plant that no one had yet discovered.
The teacher pronounced the first sound as "enemy" and the second as "seek."
The book describes it as living as a weed in its early stages, growing into a large tree after that—a period of metamorphosis. This metamorphosis doesn't refer to a change in its appearance, but rather to a change in its function. When it's a small weed, it's a poisonous plant, but as it matures, every leaf can be used as a detoxifier. Cutting its bark releases a milky white sap that doesn't solidify; it takes a year to collect less than 100 milliliters, but its effects are far more potent than the leaves.
Legend has it that in ancient times, the tree of the De Chou was a verdant tree whose shade could cover the entire world, even though it only occupied an area of about two hundred meters in diameter at the center of the world. People explained this by comparing it to clouds in the sky; we cannot say that a cloud can cover everyone, but we can certainly say that what covers us is a cloud. Therefore, although the ancients knew that the De Chou had a limited area, they described it as being able to cover the entire world—this is merely a definition of the De Chou, a feeling.
The plants around the village grew beautifully and lushly. Pink flowers, white flowers, yellow flowers, green grass, tender green bushes, birds pecking at red berries, lambs munching on leaves, puppies rolling in the flowers, and cats lazily nestled beside birds' nests. Small fish swam in the stream, their colorful patterns resembling rainbows, and fireflies glowed faintly and crowded together.
Some distance from the enemy, there lies a somber mountain. It was originally grayish-brown, but as the enemy grew, it began to be covered with snow, glistening and beautiful.
Here, there is no human disturbance, nor any invasion from alien creatures. The Tree of Revenge is a tree surrounded by stars, a "Curer" that makes all those who live here grow stronger, their fur shinier, their bodies more robust, and their wills more resolute.
The teacher wrote these three words on the blackboard.
"'The Savior' is a religious translation of the name. People who believe in religion think that the enemy is the seed left in the world by the supreme god to save the world." She explained to us, "A more common translation is 'World Tree,' which is intuitive and clear."
Yes, the World Tree—that was indeed its original name. When it trembles slightly in the wind, one can see that it never sheds its withered leaves. When forced to offer its sap, even in small quantities, it ensures a consistent quality that humans receive each year. "This is a gift from the world!" people say. They firmly believe that the World Tree can help them achieve immortality, realize their grand ideals, and one day reach the gods on the mountain. They see the World Tree as the gatekeeper before the gods, and that plundering it will grant them that qualification. So they begin to gnaw on the bark, the rings beneath, urging it to flower, forcing it to bear fruit. They seek out remedies, believing that a single tree can make one a completely successful and completely happy person.
But there were no gods on the mountain. The distance between the mountain and the thorn tree was neither far nor near; if humans were willing to take a few more steps and climb it themselves, they could quickly reach the top. But no one did so. Day by day they ate the thorn tree, and day by day they watched it wither away, until all the plants beneath their feet died, the animals and insects disappeared, and the mountain revealed its bare earth. The snow was frozen cold on the summit, as if the gods still resided there, coldly watching over the world.
Humanity suddenly realized its mistake. They carefully and tenderly plucked the still-vibrant branches from the thorn, planting them in the most nutritious, magnificent, beautiful, and valuable places they could find. The thorn grew there, but it was weak, so weak that its mere glimmer of life seemed to be forced forth as if in an attempt to give humanity hope.
No one paid attention to this. They were elated that they had used human wisdom to answer the questions posed by the gods, and that they were people approved by the gods.
"Of course, this is just a legend," the teacher said, pausing for a moment. "There are many versions of this story, and this is my favorite, a satirical version about human nature. If you're interested, you can go to the school library after class; there are some compiled materials there. Let's move on to the next page."
Below the dense text were annotations, seemingly related to pronunciation. The teacher had already read them aloud, so I was too lazy to look at them and just flipped past them.
However, I couldn't concentrate on the later classes, which was also due to my overly relaxed mind.
My thoughts drifted involuntarily to the tree of enmity, a strange sense of familiarity washing over me—perhaps I had read its story in my youth. What other story could it possibly have?
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