Famine 139: Floatation Sleep Pods

Floatation… healing…

The bloodfolk all exchanged glances, uncertain and restless.

Amid the gloomy, forbidding [Nest], the sleep pods glowed with their soft white light—a sight so alien, so out of place.

No one dared move for a moment.

Si Zhiyan did not seem rushed, standing in a drift of mist, waiting. After a while, a hesitant voice sounded: “…Please, may I try?”

Si Zhiyan turned—it was Havana.

Accustomed as everyone was to the bloodfolk’s dreadful looks, Havana seemed nothing but plain and honest, almost to the point of timidity. He raised his hand, coughing softly to stifle the blood-flecked gasp that escaped him.
It was clear that Havana harbored doubts, but because Si Zhiyan was with Yan Cheng and the others, he did not want to make things awkward for them.

He was a good man. That such a one should be trapped in the Nest until death was a real pity. Si Zhiyan smiled and bowed his head, opening a pod.

Pop.

The pure white lid swung open.

Instantly, the crowd erupted in astonished gasps.

Up above, a screen manifested in the air, displaying the interior of the pod.

But what drew every gaze was the riotous growth of flowers. White blossoms, somewhat like lilies, bloomed in curious and beautiful clusters, thick and lush, crowding together to fill the healing pod, dazzling in their splendor.

In the center of this flower-bed, layers of soft, gentle boards overlapped each other, and within, a pale blue solution rippled under gentle white light.

This was the tool Nie Du had lent Si Zhiyan—[Celestial Warrior’s Battlefield Communication]—a device to broadcast the pod’s interior for all to see.

And then, the flowers picked by the girls from the flower fields.
The magical flower fields sang songs humans could not hear. Even those who’d never seen such flowers, upon gazing at them, would feel a soft, gentle warmth.

Havana, clad only in thin garments, stepped forward with hesitation, then slowly lay down inside the pod, letting the lid close over him.

——

As it shut, all the noisy clamor from outside vanished at once.

When a bloodfolk entered the pod, their skin still oozed droplets of blood, veins writhing as though countless heated needles twisted beneath, every moment tormented by a ceaseless dull ache.
The pale blue water submerged his cracked and battered skin, buoyed the twisted curve of his back, and gently lifted him up.

Staring at the pod’s ceiling, Havana’s features gradually grew calm, touched by a kind of tranquil confusion.

He felt as if he were a feather, floating atop water.

Is this salt water?… No, it doesn’t sting at all. On the contrary, it’s so gentle, but much denser than plain water…
There was no weight, no pressure anywhere on his skin. It was as if he floated in space.

Outside, it was utterly silent. A familiar bloodfolk crept close, crouched beside the pod, and voiced the question everyone wanted to ask: “How does it feel?”
Perhaps because they were so near, the voice carried softly, a little muffled, through the pod’s walls.

Havana was known as a genuinely decent man—everyone trusted him, and he would never lie.

Bloodfolk Havana’s lips were moist; he could not help but murmur, “So comfortable…”

He lifted his hand—there was no more blood leaking from his fingertips.

The pale blue liquid wrapped his battered body, yet remained perfectly clear and unstained. His wounds floated there, but now, incredibly, showed faint signs of healing.

“How strange… it doesn’t hurt at all. My body feels so light. My mind is getting heavy…mmm…”

Almost without thinking, Havana’s breath slowed, and he gently closed his eyes.

All the pain vanished.
The tattered flesh and twisted joints seemed to smooth out, little by little; every muscle relaxed involuntarily, until his entire being was overcome by a heavy languor.

Drifting in that liquid, at his nose only the faintest scent of flowers, the pure white pod enclosing him as many blossoms hung from the boards above, petals gleaming with firefly-blue bioluminescence.

His eyelids grew heavier and heavier. Every inch of his body was so comfortable, he didn’t even want to open his eyes again.

Almost against his will, he murmured one final, fragile thought—
“…I want to sleep…”

“Can I sleep, sir?”

Si Zhiyan’s gentle voice drifted in: “Of course.”
“The light from the pod is counted as a valid light source. It will last for four hours.”

“Don’t worry about anything. Rest well.”

The last words were already lost to Havana.

Days of dull torment were swept away in a moment, leaving only the comfort of the solution and the scent of flowers, with the faint sounds of water lapping near his ears.

It felt so good. So good, finally, that he couldn’t help but let his eyes close.

Festive blossoms surrounded him, their petals swaying softly in the water.

——

[The Flower Field]
A magical, living field of flowers—no name, no history, just a cluster of frail little beings, timid and delicate, growing in the depths of meadows and woods. Their branches are slender, easily snapped at the slightest mishap.
Wherever families gather in happiness, before long you’ll find a flower field spreading gently nearby.

They must know that’s the safest place.
The more happy people nearby, the larger the field grows, and the stronger its effect.

Today, the farm covers an area for hundreds of thousands of people.
And so the flower fields now run wild over the hills, shimmering gently in the sun.

[Staying in the flower field for over twenty minutes will give excellent healing and restoration to injuries of the mind and spirit.
Just gazing at the sea of blossoms is healing—and for once, perhaps that’s no metaphor.

Besides this, wounds of the body will also, beginning on the surface, gradually heal.
However, the physical benefit is not so great; for those grievously hurt, the flowers can do little.
After all, they are only a field of flowers.]

[Second Stage — The Song of Slumber]
Don’t trouble yourself with anything—just sleep amidst the flowers.
This is a song of perfect quiet and gentle notes—look at the sky and sleep as well as you can.

All harmful effects are cast aside, a peaceful rest granted to every living thing here.
Dearest,
The farm owner longs for your rest.

The second effect is, in fact, already so remarkable as to be quietly uncanny.

Si Zhiyan deliberately guided the evolution of the flower field, cultivating this new property.

The “Song of Slumber” could be activated or deactivated by him at will.

In everyday times, the flower field was always “off”; to all players, it seemed just a normal, harmless field of healing blooms.
Should the farm ever stand at the brink of destruction—should the walls fall—then overnight, the ocean of flowers outside the town would become a major line of defense.

He’d never thought his invention would find its first use here.
But it was, surprisingly, a perfect fit.

A flower field with such purely positive powers could only inspire goodwill.

Si Zhiyan pressed the [Celestial Warrior’s Battlefield Communication], ending the transmission.

At that moment, many of the bloodfolk’s breathing had already grown heavier.

The brother who had previously questioned him stared upwards, unable to look away from the images that faded from the sky.
“Holy hell, that’s pure enjoyment!”

“It looks so peaceful…”

“Is it just me, or did I hear singing? Seems faint, like something… humming, oddly pleasant.”

“That’s Havana, he’s in the early stage of assimilation. He says it doesn’t hurt anymore—truly?”

“This looks just like a fancy spa. Haven’t seen anything this wonderful in ages,” muttered a female bloodfolk, her voice thick with longing. “My joints have long been broken—I ache every day. I wish I could relax…”

“Hush! Xia Ke, what are you saying?” Her companion jabbed her, hissing in warning. “Do you have a death wish?”

Xia Ke started in fright and turned—to find the whole cult delegation just behind her, all faces dark as thunder, exuding a menacing aura.

The cult was not entirely made up of fiends, but they were ruthless and domineering, in charge of most affairs in the [Nest]; no one wanted to provoke them needlessly.

But this time, Xia Ke bit her lip, braced herself, and did not retreat.

“I want to float too!” she shouted, raising a twisted hand and pushing through the crowd.

SPA! Fragrance! Healing floatation pod!!
It reminded her of the beauty salons she’d loved before the apocalypse—the kind of afternoon when all one’s worries slipped away, spent in relaxation and ease. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

Now that the idea was in her head, it would not let her go.

For a moment, the crowd fell silent. Under every gaze, Xia Ke slowly approached, her voice trembling, “Please, is there any condition?”

What if the cult opposed her? In agony, what wouldn’t one risk?
They could kill her for all she cared!

Bloodfolk in the first stage had never paid much mind to the cult anyway. Adopting a “nothing left to lose” attitude, Xia Ke planted herself before Si Zhiyan.

“Of course not.” Si Zhiyan smiled and opened a pod for her. “As you see, tonight is an open tasting event for the farm’s inn. Everything here is free to try.”

“Please.”

The pod opened, a clear scent of flowers washing out. Pale blue water rippled within, while white flowers crowded cheerfully, petals drifting and swaying with each wave.

Even before the apocalypse, such an experience would have come with a price.
No—she had never seen anything this beautiful before.

Without hesitation, Xia Ke dove inside.

Because of the pain in their bodies, and the general lack of full clothing within the [Nest], these first-stage bloodfolk mostly wore the thinnest of things—short sleeves and shorts, perfect for the floating sleep.

From the instant she sank under the water, Xia Ke let out a long and blissful sigh.

Si Zhiyan had just closed the pod’s lid when a dark shadow hurtled at him.

“Let me try!!” a bloodfolk crashed at his feet, nearly knocking him over.

Si Zhiyan, unruffled, withdrew a step and said, “All right—you’re number three. This way, please.”

The crowd suddenly snapped to attention.

There were only fifteen sleep pods!
And there were no restrictions—meaning, first come, first served!

“No, please, let me!”

“I want to sleep! Let me try too!!”

The crowd erupted.

None of the first-stage bloodfolk could resist such temptation.

There were quite a few of them, jostling and shoving over each other in a wild scramble, swarming in to surround Si Zhiyan.

Most had turned up just to watch, not daring to press too close.
Out on the very edge, a bald bloodfolk found himself hemmed in behind the whole cult retinue.

He was stunned for a moment, then suddenly leapt into action.

Desperate, he shouted, “Excuse me! Excuse me!”

But try as he might to squeeze and push, the cult members stood with faces black as thunder, backs turned, wholly unmoved. Standing nearest was one of the cult leader’s close followers, whose look was particularly contemptuous as he swept his eyes over the crowd, not even looking at the bald man as he muttered coldly, “Look at this shameful spectacle.”

The bald bloodfolk gritted his teeth, braced himself, and jumped straight up!

Since first-stage bloodfolk suffered only light transformation, they could still stand straight and were actually taller than the others. And as it happened, the cult was the shortest and most prone to crawling.

The height was just right.

Before the cultist could react, the bald bloodfolk sprang off his head and leapt clear!

“Ah!!” the shocked, angry yell resounded.

But the bald man had no time to care. He charged forward, shouting all the while, trampling across the cultists’ crouched bodies:

“Save me a spot! Save me a spot, AHHH!!”