The scorching sun, sharp as a knife, hung overhead for the fifth day.
The wetlands are no longer shrouded in moisture; the surface is baked with shocking cracks, like the dried-up blood vessels of the earth.
Those once dazzling patterns of light, like stars in the sky, are now as dim as candles flickering in the wind. Most of the silver mycelium, unable to withstand the heat, has retreated deep into the shelter of the soil, leaving only a desolate gray-white landscape.
Xiaoman's heart, like this land, was filled with anxiety.
She led several teenagers, carrying all the wooden buckets and earthenware jars that could hold water, back and forth between the only water source that had not yet dried up and this path of light.
Water splashed onto the scalding soil produced only a desperate "sizzle" before turning into a wisp of white smoke and being instantly swallowed up, leaving not even a trace of moisture.
Sweat and mud clung to the children's faces, their small shoulders were red from being pressed down by buckets of water, and their movements were no longer as enthusiastic as they had been at the beginning, only mechanical and numb.
The results were minimal.
The dimming of the light patterns did not ease at all; on the contrary, it seemed to be angered by this futile struggle, shrinking even more severely.
As dusk fell, the setting sun, like blood, cast a melancholic hue over everything.
The children were exhausted and had fallen asleep in a slumber, but Xiaoman was wide awake.
She squatted alone, looking lost and dejected, in front of a wallflower.
This flower was the only link between her and Lin Yi, but now it was sickly, its petals curled and the edges turning yellow.
With trembling fingers, she gently parted the petals and looked into the inner part of the scene made of light.
The image was blurry, as if viewed through a thick layer of frosted glass. The once upright and sturdy figure was now so faint that it seemed to have completely vanished, as if it could be blown away by the wind at any moment.
A chilling fear gripped her heart instantly, making her feel cold all over.
A thought slipped out, accompanied by a sob that she herself didn't realize: "Was it...was it because we rushed things?"
In order to extend the light path as soon as possible and to find Lin Yi as soon as possible, she urged everyone, including herself, to travel day and night, turning the journey into a grueling race against time.
Could it be that this eagerness for quick success and instant benefits has exhausted the vitality of the light path?
As soon as he finished speaking, a slight commotion suddenly came from the dry soil beneath his feet.
A few strands of silver mycelium struggled to emerge from the crack, slowly piecing together two faintly glowing words before her eyes.
Heart dry.
Xiaoman's breath hitched, and she felt as if she had been struck by lightning.
Heart drought?
It's not the land that's parched, but the heart.
She stared blankly at the two words, her mind reeling.
The scenes of the past few days flashed by: she sternly urged the children to repair the road ahead quickly, she anxiously calculated the distance that was extended each day, she flew into a rage over the slightest delay... She was afraid, she was afraid that the light path would be cut off, afraid that the only hope would be extinguished.
She lowered her head and looked at her hands.
His palms were covered with thick calluses from labor, his knuckles were large, and there were deep red marks left by ropes. Dirt was stuck in his fingernails and could not be washed off.
These hands, once used to caress flowers and plants and feel life, have now become tools that only know how to move forward.
She understood.
She treated walking as a task that had to be completed, rather than the journey itself.
She focused on the finish line, forgetting every step she took.
Her heart had long since hardened and parched during this frantic pursuit, losing the ability to feel the earth breathe.
A wave of overwhelming fatigue washed over her, making it impossible for her to continue.
She loosened her clenched fists and slowly, very slowly, leaned against the wall and sat down on the cracked mud floor.
She closed her eyes, no longer thinking about the distant goal, no longer caring about the dim path.
She did nothing, she just felt.
Feel the lingering warmth from the setting sun on the soles of your feet; the warmth seeps through your straw sandals, faint yet real.
Feel the evening breeze brush past your ears, rustling the reeds in the distance, making a "shush" sound, like an ancient ballad.
Feel the smell of dust in the air, mixed with the scent of withered plants.
Time seemed to stand still at that moment.
Her heartbeat gradually calmed down, and her rapid breathing became long and steady.
She didn't know how much time had passed, but just as she was about to become one with the land, a faint, cool sensation came from the soles of her feet.
She didn't open her eyes, but waited quietly.
That strand of silver hair, like a timid little snake, crawled out from the depths of the soil, cautiously and tentatively wrapping around her ankle, then up her calf, all the way up, and finally gently wrapped around her wrist.
The feeling was like another pulse, faint yet firm, resonating with her heartbeat.
The earth responded to her.
The next morning, just as dawn was breaking.
When Xiaoman woke up, she found that the silver thread on her wrist had disappeared, but an unprecedented peace filled her heart.
Instead of picking up her tools and calling the children to start working as usual, she simply took a pot of warm water that had been left to cool overnight and walked slowly into the wetland alone.
Her steps were light and her movements slow; she no longer deliberately tried to follow the remaining patterns of light.
Like a wandering traveler, she casually stopped beside a clump of almost completely withered grass roots and gently poured warm water from the kettle, drop by drop, onto the roots.
Then, she crouched down, stretched out her fingers, and gently touched a clump of mycelium, whispering in a voice only she could hear, "Don't rush, take a rest."
She walked very slowly, as if she were measuring the texture of every inch of the land with her footsteps.
Sometimes, she would even find a clean stone and sit there for half a day, just watching the clouds drift by and listening to the chirping of insects and birds.
The children watched from afar, their faces full of confusion.
What's wrong with Sister Man today, who's usually more anxious than anyone else?
Only Granny Chen, who had been silently observing, stood at a distance, leaning on her cane, a hint of relief flashing in her cloudy old eyes.
She whispered to the equally confused young man beside her, "She has finally learned how to loosen the soil—only when the heart is at ease can the light enter."
In the afternoon, the sky suddenly darkened and a light drizzle began to fall.
The rain was light, but it was dense and persistent, like a mercy from heaven.
The children cheered and ran back to their makeshift shacks to take shelter from the rain, and Granny Chen also went back inside.
Only Xiaoman remained quietly sitting in the center of the wetland, letting the cool raindrops soak her clothes and hair.
Instead of dodging, she tilted her head back and felt the rain kissing her skin.
Rainwater seeped into the cracked soil, making a soft sound, as if quenching the earth's thirst.
A miracle happened.
Those silver mycelium hidden deep underground, like dormant roots awakened by sweet rain, slowly peek out from the cracks, one by one, strand by strand.
Xiaoman didn't move, but gently placed her palm on the damp mud.
She could feel a faint yet clear warm current flowing from all directions along the mycelium, slowly entering her body through her palm.
Suddenly, centered on her, the silver patterns hidden on the weeds, soil, and rocks throughout the entire area lit up at the same time!
The light no longer surged and spread as urgently as before, but was like a sleeping giant, taking long and steady breaths.
The light slowly shone, then slowly faded, then slowly shone again... The undulating rhythm perfectly matched her heartbeat at that moment.
Grandma Chen was worried and came over despite the rain.
When she saw the scene before her, she was completely stunned.
Xiaoman sat cross-legged in the mud with her eyes closed, surrounded by countless glowing silver patterns. The interplay of light and shadow faintly formed a miniature, breathing light net centered on her.
The old man did not go forward to disturb him.
She simply leaned the old broom she always carried against a large rock not far away.
That was a broom she had used for decades, sweeping the yard and also serving as a crutch as she walked the first path of light.
The bamboo handle of the broom has been in contact with mycelium for many years, and has long been permeated by silver veins, giving it a strange wood-stone texture.
Just as the broom touched the stone, a few strands of silver thread quietly crawled out from the ground, like living vines, and quickly wrapped around the broom handle, tightly coiling three times.
A moment later, the silver threads silently retreated back into the soil, as if nothing had happened.
But Granny Chen knew that the optical network had already "remembered" this new walking object.
After an unknown amount of time, the rain stopped.
Xiaoman slowly opened her eyes, her gaze clear and bright.
She stood up, looked down, and found that the path she had walked today was not illuminated by a clear light as usual.
However, the silvery veins on the wild grasses and mycelium along the path were deeper and more solid than ever before, as if their roots had penetrated into the very soul of this land.
She set off barefoot on her way home.
Each step was taken very lightly and slowly, as if dancing on a thin sheet of ice.
Behind her, the light patterns did not immediately light up with her steps.
However, long after she had walked away, on the empty path behind her, the footprints she had left behind began to emit a warm and lasting glow, one after another, silently and from within.
The light was neither dazzling nor ostentatious, like the earth gently recalling her footprints and imprinting that memory forever.
As Granny Chen watched her receding figure, a profound sense of awe washed over her.
She murmured to herself, "So...so the deepest road only becomes clear after you've walked it all."
At this moment, no one knows.
Thousands of miles away, on a desolate wasteland where no human footprints have ever been, a solitary wallflower, in the silent wind, its silvery stem shimmered almost imperceptibly, causing the entire flower to tremble gently.
This land, which had been silent for thousands of years, seemed to sense something and began to show signs of awakening.
When Granny Chen returned to the shed, the joy she felt from Xiaoman's transformation was still tinged with a faint unease.
What exactly does this optical path, this network, connect to?
What is the connection between Lin Yi's safety and the breath of this land?
As night deepened, she fell into a deep sleep, carrying these questions with her.
Dreams thus become exceptionally deep and long.
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