Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

Meng Zhaowen leaned against the crater wall with his eyes closed, his palms pressed tightly against the scorching hot soil. Blood seeping from between his fingers mixed with the dirt and dried into a dark brown scab.

His glasses had shattered completely in the tumbling, and sharp shards of glass were embedded in the wound on his cheek. Blood dripped down his jawline and onto the scorched earth, but he seemed completely oblivious to the pain.

The wind blew past, carrying scorching heat, and the lights of the main building in the distance fell on his face, illuminating the dark circles of weariness in his eyes and the deep-seated hatred.

Just then, the static from the loudspeaker suddenly pierced the howling wind, and Song Mingzhang's voice came from the direction of the main building, with a confident ease, like a cat teasing a mouse under its paw: "Liu Zhen, and that friend hiding in the shadows, I know you can hear me."

"I'll give you a way out. Lay down your weapons and come out. I'm very interested in your abilities. As long as you're willing to submit, the past will be wiped clean. Money, power, anything you want, I can give you."

His voice paused, carrying a hint of deliberate seduction, "As for your accomplice, I don't know who you are and I don't want to know, but what are you doing following him to your death? His grudge is his, your life is your own. Step forward now, and I can let you go and forgive and forget."

"I'll give you ten seconds to think it over. After ten seconds, my men will fill in this crater, and then there won't even be any bone fragments left."

"ten."

The countdown sounded like a heavy hammer, striking their hearts.

Liu Zhen didn't answer, but carefully tucked the photo back into his pocket, the electric arc on his fingertips burning even brighter.

He is waiting.

Waiting for Meng Zhaowen's decision.

Meng Zhaowen's eyes remained closed, her consciousness sinking into the ground along her fingertips, passing through the scorched earth, through the compacted and hard soil, through the interlaced layers of gravel, little by little, deeper and deeper.

"Nine."

The voice from the loudspeaker was unhurried, and the footsteps of the mercenaries in the distance grew closer. Bullets grazed the edge of the crater, and mud splattered onto Liu Zhen's face, but he didn't move. Only the arc of electricity on his fingertips shone brighter.

After an unknown amount of time, Meng Zhaowen's fingertips finally touched a fresh pulse.

Those are the roots of an ancient tree.

They have been sleeping deep underground for hundreds of years. Their thick main roots are like the arms of an adult, and their fine fibrous roots are like a spider web covering the entire underground. Their wood has become as hard as rock, yet they are still alive, silently recording the rain, snow, wind, frost, joys and sorrows of this land over the past hundred years.

They have witnessed the rise and fall of dynasties, the smoke of war, and the birth, aging, sickness, and death of countless people here, yet they have never been awakened by anyone.

Meng Zhaowen had never dared to use them before.

These roots are too old and too powerful; the price to pay to awaken them would be too high for him to bear.

But if you don't use it now, you'll never have the chance again.

"seven."

Song Mingzhang's voice continued counting down, and Meng Zhaowen's consciousness, enveloped in those cold roots, spoke in her heart, word by word: "I need you."

no respond.

They are so old that they have almost forgotten how to communicate with living people, and so old that they have lost interest in all the conflicts on the ground.

Meng Zhaowen did not give up; he poured his memories of more than thirty years into the depths of those years like flowing water—

The bruises on his older brother Meng Zhaohui's back from when he fought to protect him when they were little.

The way my brother's eyes shone brightly when he waved to me at the village entrance on the day he got into university.

The clatter of evidence, piled up as high as a person over the past seven years, being thrown to the ground by the judge in court.

The mental hospital had white walls and cold restraints.

The mocking smile that Song Mingzhang gave him from the audience...

There's also that family photo of Liu Zhen's wife and children, forever frozen at the age of twelve.

All the pain, all the hatred, all the unfulfilled fairness, all the crushed dignity, all flowed into those dormant rings of time through consciousness.

The root system shifted slightly.

It was as if I had been awakened by those burning memories, and a subtle pulse rose from the deepest part of the earth, becoming clearer and faster.

An ancient consciousness traveled through his roots into his mind. There were no words, only vague images: What will you give in exchange?

Meng Zhaowen "saw" her own growth rings, thirty-two rings, clearly etched deep in her soul.

Without the slightest hesitation, he answered in his mind: Take as much as you want.

The next second, the roots opened a huge, dark, endless mouth.

"six."

Meng Zhaowen reached her hand inside.

The first year slipped through his fingers, and a strand of gray silently appeared at his temples, like frost falling on his black hair.

In the second, third, and fourth years, gray hair spread from the temples to the top of the head, and nearly half of the originally black hair turned white. The skin began to lose elasticity, and fine wrinkles appeared at the corners of the eyes.

In the fifth, sixth, and seventh years, his cheekbones gradually became more prominent, his eye sockets became deeply sunken, and his back became slightly hunched, making him look as if he had aged twenty years in an instant.

In the eighth, ninth, and tenth years, deep nasolabial folds extended from the sides of the nose to the corners of the mouth like knife carvings, the veins on the back of the hands bulged, and the skin became like dried tree bark.

Every year of his life was lost was accompanied by excruciating pain, as if countless needles were piercing his bones and draining his marrow. Meng Zhaowen's body trembled violently, his lips were bitten until they were bloody, but he never made a sound, and his hands pressed into the soil did not move an inch.

"five."

The roots deep underground emitted a deep rumble, like a satiated beast or a promised ally. Countless fibrous roots began to wriggle excitedly, climbing up the soil like a giant python awakening.

Meng Zhaowen finally opened her eyes.

Two-thirds of his hair had turned white, and his face was covered with wrinkles, making him look like an old man nearing sixty. But his eyes were brighter than ever before, as if two flames were burning inside them.

He moved his dry lips, his voice hoarse, each word laced with blood: "Liu Zhen, give me your electricity."

……

Thirty kilometers away, a modified signal monitoring vehicle was quietly parked in a secluded spot on the mountaintop. Its black body was hidden in the night, and even its headlights were off.

Thick blackout curtains were drawn inside the carriage, and more than a dozen screens simultaneously lit up with a cold white light, reflecting the faces of Wang Hongyuan and Zhong Lin, flickering on and off.

The screen was divided into more than a dozen images—there was a panoramic view from a drone overhead, close-ups taken by hidden cameras around the main building, and real-time footage transmitted from miniature cameras on each mercenary's body, even the bloodstains on Liu Zhen's face in the shell crater were clearly visible.