No one expected Ye Shu to stride boldly to the front, as if she’d appeared out of nowhere, casual as a cat bursting from the shadows.
The soldiers stared at each other, dumbfounded, as if unable to comprehend how someone could present herself so brazenly.
“Sister Yezi?”
Fu Shiyi had just stepped forward before Fu Jingchuan stopped her. “Don’t get in the way. She knows exactly what she’s doing.”
Ye Shu was no fragile creeper; on the contrary, she was an eagle soaring across the skies, her strength unmatched. When it came to force, not one of them could rival her. You didn’t land at the top of a survival game on luck alone—that, Fu Jingchuan understood perfectly.
Ye Shu’s patience wore thin as the wary soldiers sized her up. “Aren’t you after oxygen? Didn’t you uncover a clue? I am that clue. And I want to speak to whoever commands the most authority here. I have a deal to propose.”
After some cautious testing, the soldiers realized they didn’t need oxygen tanks when near Ye Shu—a miracle. They hurried to report every word.
No one was joking here. With this young woman around, they could save precious mouthfuls of breath. On this oxygen-starved planet, Ye Shu might be the only hope. Her value could skyrocket at any moment—they dared not slight her now.
“Heroine Ye…”
Pang Pangzi looked at Ye Shu, calm and collected, but anxiety gnawed at him. He dared not show a hint of it, nor even speak loudly, for fear panic might break out among these survivors, and the suffering would be theirs to bear.
……
Air Raid Shelter, Zone A-01-10.
Ye Shu was brought to a makeshift command office. Without needing confirmation, Song Lian sensed the air grow lighter—removing his oxygen mask, he breathed freely. Truly, with this girl nearby, oxygen shortage ceased to exist.
“Miss Ye, name your terms. I’m Song Lian—just call me Song Lian,” he said, forthright and amiable even before the negotiation began. The soldiers had already relayed Ye Shu’s intent to make a deal.
Ye Shu appreciated a man who got straight to the point. “It’s simple. I’m a practical businesswoman—I never make unprofitable trades. Tell me, Song Lao, what do you think I want?”
“Money? Fame? Power? At a time like this, with the oxygen crisis, those things are worthless. You must want something more, Miss Ye. And yet you’re here of your own accord—does it not worry you what we might do to you?”
“Not at all.”
Her confidence was not misplaced. Not these people, not even the players, could pose a threat to her. With a save point in her hand, there was nothing she needed to fear.
“I trust you’ll act with discretion.”
Wool comes from the sheep’s back—offending her, an oxygen machine in human form, would spell disaster for all.
Song Lian found her attitude almost reckless. Was she too bold, or simply too trusting?
“Money only sours relationships. I’m not greedy,” he ventured.
Ye Shu pressed on. “Let’s be clear—what you want is to know why I can generate oxygen. Well, here’s my secret.”
She opened her palm to reveal plastic-wrapped spores.
“What are those?”
Seedlike, yet inexplicable—Song Lian was puzzled. Could it be that by swallowing such a seed, one could walk freely in a hypoxic world and provide oxygen?
“Spores,” she replied. “Plant these in the soil and the resulting flora will generate oxygen. Let’s run a quick experiment.”
For the first time, Ye Shu held the spirit of plants in her hand: she felt a flutter of nerves as she pressed a spore into a pot of soil. She watered it. Within five minutes, a tender green sprout poked from the earth.
Song Lian’s eyes widened at this marvel.
Ye Shu explained, “Each spore needs nutrients to sprout. It can convert any atmospheric gas into oxygen, within a radius of a meter. I can give you these, but it all depends on your offer, Song Lao.”
“I…”
She cut him off. “Don’t talk to me about love for humanity or grand virtues. Spare me—I’m fresh out.
“Trade for trade. All I want is a bit of your technology—say, that microchip R&D you’ve been developing. Not too much to ask, is it?”
“Trading tech for the lives of our entire nation…that’s more than worth it!”
“These seeds will root and grow in a single day. Tomorrow, the hypoxic window will lengthen to thirty-six hours—humanity needs time to break through the barrier in the sky, which remains impassable for now.”
Ye Shu was never one to play the martyr. Without the plant spirit in her corner, she’d never be brazen enough to make such an offer.
Song Lian struggled for words—she’d left him no room to bargain.
But she was right: trading a bit of tech for the lives of Da Xia’s people—a bargain, through and through.
“So far, only ten thousand spores have been catalyzed—a deposit for you.”
“I’ll bring more tomorrow.”
Ten thousand was the plant spirit’s daily limit, no more. Each spore began generating oxygen the moment it touched soil. Ten thousand spores—a range of ten thousand meters. Enough air for tens of thousands to survive.
Song Lian distributed them immediately: plant them near each bunker; no pots? Use plastic bags, use clothing, whatever it takes.
Ye Shu had barely left the office when sirens blared throughout the shelter.
“Citizens of Da Xia, take heart! We have found a way to survive the oxygen crisis. Don’t lose hope—together, we will overcome!”
“We have discovered seeds that manufacture oxygen. Some will be distributed in the shelters.”
The announcement played again and again.
Some heard the words and rekindled hope. Others were unmoved, numb.
It wasn’t until the soldiers brought out makeshift planters, that people realized—a miracle was happening. Their tanks were empty, but they could still breathe.
“Wait—I can breathe again! What’s going on? Wasn’t the oxygen supposed to run out?”
“Even with the masks off, we’re fine? But the sky’s still black, and that wall remains…so it isn’t over yet.”
“No matter—so long as we survive, breaking that wall’s only a matter of time.”
“It’s true. I can breathe.”
“Oxygen seeds? Are they real?”
Soon, all eyes fell upon the multitude of pots lined up throughout the shelter. Green shoots, visible to the naked eye, unfurled into sturdy sprouts.
But not everyone was jubilant. “Why didn’t these seeds appear sooner?” a middle-aged woman cried, face contorted with heartbreak. “I could have saved my children—my parents—if only they’d arrived in time!” She lunged to hurl a potted seedling to the floor.
“She’s mad!”
“Stop her!”
“Those seedlings give us air! Don’t destroy them!”
Fury and fear surged—no one would tolerate sabotage now that hope had sprouted. The soldiers dragged the woman away, her curses trailing behind her, sharp and indecipherable.
Fu Jingchuan watched, uneasy. Would Ye Shu’s good intentions be repaid with suspicion and spite? The thought disturbed him—until he glanced over at Ye Shu. She was entirely at ease, eating her boxed rations, some ten meters from where the commotion had unfolded.
His worry faded in an instant.
Of course she wouldn’t be so easily shaken.
There she sat, savoring every bite, untroubled by the storm brewing nearby.