The wind carried the scent of pine and fresh loam as Lin Feng stood by the edge of the cooperative's south field. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, and a pale gold wash crept slowly across the landscape. With a silent nod, he turned to the workers arriving in pairs, all wearing unbranded clothing and carrying RFID-locked crates.
Today marked the first large-scale batch export of Silverleaf Greens.
But nothing would carry Chen Valley's name.
The packaging bore only the silver leaf logo, routed through two layers of logistics aliases—first to an intermediary warehouse on the edge of Riverbridge City, then to curated high-end restaurants in Suzhou and Hangzhou. These chefs had been carefully selected for their discretion, influence, and appreciation of quality over volume.
Yuhan approached, clipboard in hand. "Trucks are loaded. Final route checks done. Li Tian from Snowtrace is handling the city drop."
Lin Feng nodded. "Any sign of watchers?"
"Just the usual faces. That 'surveyor' from the city came back again yesterday—pretending to check road widening plans. I had him tailed. He met a man from Shengtai Holdings."
"Private equity," Lin Feng said grimly.
Yuhan tilted her head. "Persistent lot."
"Persistent, predictable, and dangerous if underestimated."
She gave him a sidelong look. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
His lips curled faintly. "I enjoy building pressure-proof systems."
---
Later that day, Tang Suyin sat beneath the Inner Realm's camphor trees, her aged fingers tracing the lines of an old notebook Lin Feng had given her—his grandfather's last journal. It had been half-burned in a shed fire years ago, but the surviving pages spoke in a mixture of soil chemistry, philosophical reflection, and esoteric algorithms.
"He wasn't just planting crops," she murmured. "He was planting thoughtforms."
Lin Feng knelt beside her. "Thoughtforms?"
"Root structures that carry memory. Instructions hidden in plant DNA. Epigenetic messages—seeds that know how to grow in response to need."
He frowned. "Like a programmed inheritance?"
"Exactly. You're not just harvesting food, Lin Feng. You're harvesting solutions. Survival strategies."
That night, they ran tests on a new seed batch developed inside the Inner Realm using a combination of camphor mulch and glacier loam substrate. The plants germinated in thirty minutes.
Each sprout emitted faint bioluminescence for five seconds before stabilizing.
Yuhan, watching through the observation lens, whispered, "Is it alive or aware?"
"Both," Tang Suyin replied. "But it's not ready yet."
---
The next morning, Lin Feng received a coded message on his secure line. Only a few people had access to this channel, and this signature was from Professor Meng.
> "Have confirmed botanical anomaly. Silverleaf exhibits 3.5x antioxidant density, responds to harmonics between 430–520 Hz. Seed must be artificially matured. Recommend discretion. Don't publish yet."
Lin Feng stared at the message for a long moment before deleting it. Professor Meng's understanding was advancing—but even he couldn't guess how deep the rabbit hole went.
---
Meanwhile, the expansion of Lin Feng's underground cold-chain network was proceeding ahead of schedule.
The old fertilizer plant—now labeled as a "recycling education center"—had already been converted into a regional distribution node. With soundproofed interiors, biometric access, and AI-monitored power flows, the space was invisible to standard regulatory scanners.
He assigned Liu Qiang the task of managing supply coordination using a rotating driver system, ensuring no single route or schedule ever repeated. Even the crates had built-in time-sensitive passive RFID locks, set to deactivate within hours of receipt.
"You're building an invisible empire," Liu Qiang muttered in awe.
"Not invisible," Lin Feng corrected. "Just indistinct. The moment people look too hard, it becomes a blur."
---
The customer feedback started rolling in.
From Hangzhou, a Michelin-starred chef wrote: "The mouthfeel is impossibly crisp, and the flavor profile changes with each bite. It tastes like the first day of spring."
From Suzhou, another message: "We want to license this leaf for a proprietary salad line. Name your price."
Lin Feng replied with a polite deferral: "Currently not available for exclusive contracts. Thank you for your support."
He sent only enough supply to whet curiosity, never to satisfy.
Yuhan teased him one evening: "You're basically dealing flavor as a narcotic."
He smiled. "Only difference is, this one heals."
---
But not everyone appreciated the secrecy.
At the outskirts of the nearby industrial zone, three men in tailored suits sat in a soundproofed room.
One of them—Zhao Yunhe, the regional director of Shengtai Holdings—tapped his finger against a satellite image on a tablet. The silver leaf logo was just barely visible on a box at a loading dock.
"Find this farm," he ordered.
"We traced the shipping labels. They all terminate at shell companies registered in Hong Kong and rerouted through Wenzhou and Guiyang."
"What about the land registry?"
"All clean. Public-facing farms grow common varietals. The real goods come from somewhere else."
"Someone's playing a deep game."
"Very deep."
Zhao Yunhe leaned back. "I want pressure. Send auditors. Leak news about potential safety concerns. Frame it as consumer protection."
One of the men hesitated. "If it's who we think… he has government allies."
"I don't care," Zhao said coldly. "Everyone wants to eat. Let's see what happens when people wonder if it's safe."
---
Back in Chen Valley, Lin Feng received word through one of his contacts: a minor media outlet had received a tip about "unregulated exotic greens entering elite restaurant supply chains."
He responded instantly.
That night, two crates were quietly delivered to three powerful food safety regulators—along with sealed lab results and bribe-free documentation. All anonymously.
By dawn, the "concerned whistleblower" report had been shelved, marked as "Unfounded. No evidence of hazard."
Yuhan raised an eyebrow. "Preemptive PR with favors?"
"No," Lin Feng said. "Just… insurance."
---
But the most startling development came from within the Realm itself.
A sapling of the experimental Silverleaf strain—planted three weeks ago—had begun exhibiting unprecedented behavior.
It reacted to sunlight angles, shifted leaf angles toward sound vibrations, and even adjusted its own internal temperature by half a degree when exposed to frost-mimicking winds.
It was learning.
Tang Suyin stood in front of it for almost an hour before she spoke.
"This isn't just a crop," she murmured. "It's a bridge. A consciousness grown from soil."
Lin Feng didn't answer immediately.
He stared at the sapling, feeling its presence in a way that transcended thought.
"I think… it's ready."
---
He began quietly distributing tiny pouches of Silverleaf seeds—no more than five grams per pack—to four independent growers across the province.
Each was a trusted node in his web: a retired university agronomist, a monk tending a highland herbal garden, a blind master tea grower, and an old friend running a permaculture retreat.
Instructions were sparse: "Grow in full sun. Observe. Record. No sharing."
He wanted to see how the plant responded outside his control.
Would it behave?
Or evolve?
---
At dusk, Lin Feng and Yuhan walked by the river near the valley.
She skipped a stone across the surface and said, "You've changed."
He looked at her.
"Not in a bad way," she clarified. "But you're not just the quiet guy who fixes irrigation pumps anymore. You're… watching everything."
"I have to."
"And what do you see?"
He paused.
"Veins beneath the surface. Quiet networks. Old knowledge returning. And predators circling."
She nodded. "And us?"
He looked at her, softer now. "You're the tether. You keep me from going too far underground."
She smiled.
"I'll hold the rope. Just don't cut it."
---
That night, he had the dream again.
The silver tree. The wind whispering names. But this time, he walked to its trunk and touched it.
Voices echoed.
But one rose above the others—a male voice, calm and proud.
"Well done, Feng'er. The soil remembers."
He woke with a start.
His pillow was damp with morning dew.
But the window was closed.
---
End of Chapter 35