Famine 172: Song of Space

[Little Flower Field (Stage Three) – Song of Space]
At a certain moment, the bond between you surpassed everything; that shadow reflected in the flower field’s sheen.
The surviving little flowers began to sing, for they could feel the happiness of more and more people.
They had learned the skill of singing the [Song of Space] for a particular person.

Within the area authorized by the farm owner, players could adopt a little flower.
Players could give their flower a name. From then on, this flower was special to you, unlike any other blossom.
It could open up a cubic meter of space just for you and those you allowed. You could place anything inside, taking things in and out as you wished.
The little flower would keep your secrets.

Each player could adopt only one little flower.
If you wished to end your relationship with your flower, you could negotiate peacefully with it. It was a good flower; it would never make things difficult for you.

“…”
Bian Xu stared at the flower’s description, then quietly lifted his head to look at Si Zhiyan.

Si Zhiyan, legs crossed, smiled at him, his knuckles tapping the table. “Bian Xu.”

“Here!” Bian Xu answered.

He had clearly been waiting for this moment. He grinned, hurried over, and looked at Si Zhiyan with unblinking golden eyes, his ears tinged with red, his voice cheerful and bright: “…Are you adopting me, sir?”

“I never said that,” Si Zhiyan replied, lowering his head to drink his milk.

“You did!” Bian Xu protested in a quiet voice, his ears red, sprawled across the table before Si Zhiyan, unruly gold hair dazzling in the light. “I don’t care, I’m already yours! I’m not a good person—I’ll always cling to you.”

Si Zhiyan reached out and patted his tousled blond hair. “I know.”

But clearly, Bian Xu was not the most excited about the upgrade to the Little Flower Field.

Connected through Si Zhiyan’s Holy Grail, Li Cui’e nearly leapt in excitement on the other end.

“This is a huge income, Mr. Si!” Li Cui’e’s tone was fast and urgent, accompanied by the clatter of a calculator. “What is this? This is a whole cluster of absolutely confidential safes we can rent out without the need for any staff management! Sir!”

“Did you know, a large portion of a modern bank’s income comes from safe deposit rentals? Now, we don’t need any security at all; every flower is a trustworthy safe. All we need to do is collect a management fee for these safes.”

“What do you think about a daily rental of 50 credits per flower? Don’t think it’s too little—it’s steady income, every day. Circumnavigate the Circle Town in a week, it’s all within the flower field. How many flowers here? A hundred thousand? Several hundred thousand?…”

“And as it happens, the farm’s transaction volume keeps rising; the current trading hall needs expansion, and its location ought to be reconsidered as well…”

Si Zhiyan couldn’t help but sweat.
As expected from a merchant—so quick and efficient in her thinking.

Players often left the farm to do quests, going out early and returning late, not to mention the long-distance ones, which could last many days. Before, ordinary players rarely had a base camp, migrating with their missions and carrying valuables with them.

Now, suddenly having a safe, stable home made everyone happy, but sometimes brought a little unease.

Although inside the town there were S-level rule-based stories preventing theft, leaving all your possessions somewhere unguarded was still nerve-wracking.
Even the more carefree ones found it a hassle to head home every time they needed combat gear.

On top of this, many transactions were conducted on the trading boards, where buyers and sellers often didn’t want to reveal their identities to each other and needed a reliable intermediary space.

The third-stage flower field was an ideal deposit for valuables and an intermediary trading space.

Little flowers would never betray anyone—they would calmly open a space just for you.

Si Zhiyan put Li Cui’e in charge of contacting city planner Li Tingkai to set aside an area within the flower field for open adoption, specifically reserved for the trading hall. As for how to build a trading platform and run the safe business, that was all left to Li Cui’e.

All Si Zhiyan had to do was wait to collect credits every month.

Bian Xu clapped his hands happily. “As the farm grows, there are more and more ways to earn credits passively. What do you call that? Passive income!”
Si Zhiyan leaned back in his chair, sipping his milk with a smile and a nod.

“But… the original purpose of the Flower Field was for defense and healing, wasn’t it?” Bian Xu scratched his head. “With the trading hall added in, is there enough space?”

“For now—yes,” Si Zhiyan replied.

For now.

The farm currently had boundaries. The outermost border was defined as ten meters beyond the moat; from the highest point of the bone ferry in the air, another thirty meters upward; and from the deepest point of the Circle Town’s underground facility, another ten meters deeper down—it was a sizable space.

At the edge of this space was a wall.

Bian Xu said, “It really feels like a video game… The world ends right here, and that area over there will be open for exploration later! Like that.”

Si Zhiyan shook his head. “And that’s exactly the issue.”

No matter what other entrances may exist, as long as the farm was connected to the main world, more and more players would keep coming in.

Lately, as more players gathered, the main area of the farm had constantly expanded. There was even an “Expand Farm” option in the shop—Si Zhiyan used to buy it frequently. The newly annexed lands came from what used to be the Blackthorn Forest.

Now, outside the current farm area, nothing was left but a void.

“The space in the flower field is growing cramped. If we keep developing, we’ll definitely face even greater territory issues.”

“Though holding twenty thousand players for now is still manageable, we’re ultimately going back to the main world, where we’ll need room for even more. Such demand… is practically limitless, until every Hunger Games player is under the farm’s shelter.”

And that, he thought, would depend on the next upgrade.

Si Zhiyan opened another upgrade menu alongside [Liberalized Personalized Entrances]—[Farm Space Expansion].

“I’m really curious how much backup space the farm system has prepared for us, to match the ‘greatly increased’ it describes.”

Buzz.

The system unfolded. Si Zhiyan and Bian Xu leaned in, and saw—

A giant grid of empty slots.

This so-called [Farm Space Expansion] gave Si Zhiyan no actual new territory, instead only a massive number of [slots].

“…Hmm?” Bian Xu’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Do you recognize it?” Si Zhiyan turned to him.

“Uh-huh. In a way, I do—the energy signature here is very familiar.” Bian Xu nodded, hesitating a moment, rubbing his chin. “This seems like… the breath of Hunger Seeds!”

Catching sight of Si Zhiyan’s puzzled look, Bian Xu added, “Ah, right—you don’t remember the virtual-bei squad’s earlier report.”

Bian Xu cleared his throat and began explaining to Si Zhiyan.

A [Hunger Seed] was a [remnant] left after a world was destroyed.

The [Eyes] serve the main god—with the main god’s promise, a literal “seed” of Tianman’s world is kept intact, meaning the main god does not obliterate the heavenly bloodline, nor does he utterly eradicate all living spirits of Tianman’s paradise.

As for [Hunger Seeds], they come from less merciful worlds, remnants left after the main god absorbed their entire world into the Hunger Games.

The virtual-bei squad had found two Hunger Seeds.

The first, found in the midnight CBD world, was an iron sculpture of a human figure. The protagonist was an adult with glasses, of uncertain gender, well-dressed, clearly well-educated, but his expression was twisted in a way that was deeply disturbing. His body was hunched and deformed, tightly bound to an office chair by countless wires, his legs atrophied and disfigured, degenerated beyond recognition. Several folders pierced his back, nailing both hands firmly onto the computer.

The second, from the Fantasy World, was a gemstone sculpture of a high priest. The priest clutched his chest, bloody tears streaming down his face, yet he wore a distorted and obsessive smile. He was bent under the weight of Pandora’s Box upon his back, kneeling on the ground, tilting his head back in desperate defiance. The box was half open, within it carved wonderfully translucent landscapes—lakes, green mountains, joyful tiny people.

—Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t hard to see these came from the souls who once lived in those worlds.

And yet, there wasn’t the faintest breath of life; they were more like ancient remnants, like mummified shells left behind after the flesh had been devoured.

Such remains were usually found in the [Towers] of those worlds.

“Why are they called ‘Hunger Seeds’?” Si Zhiyan asked.

“…”
Bian Xu fell briefly silent, then smiled, a bit complicated. “You were the one who named them, sir.”
“Ever since we first found the CBD’s Hunger Seed, from its naming, to its disposition, all those decisions were yours alone.”

Bian Xu was never one to sit still—even as he spoke, he hopped lightly onto the table, legs swinging.

“To be honest, it wasn’t until I reached the farm core that I understood why you called it that. Because it just looked like a dried, rigid corpse full of curses…”

He narrowed his eyes, smiling easily.
“…Right up until I fed them to [it], and they transformed into [dimensional space modules], into the CBD space and Fantasy Paintbrush… That’s when I knew you could never be wrong, sir.”

…

Was it my decree?

Si Zhiyan arched a brow ever so slightly.

That question crept into his mind again—what kind of person had the former “me” really been?

“Sir, if we… put a Hunger Seed in this slot…” Bian Xu leaned in, his golden eyes shining in the light,
“—will it take root and sprout again?”

“Will a tiny fragment of dimensional space grow into an entire world?”

“And is there a chance, for the High Priest of the Fantasy World, the holy knights who followed him to death, the remnant souls of CBD’s office drudges—for those already perished spirits, is there still some way to live again?”

Bian Xu’s voice invariably possessed a contagious energy—even if he didn’t mean to, he spoke with a kind of bright curiosity, as though everything in the world was interesting and full of hope.

Si Zhiyan found himself affected, his heart beating a little faster, genuine anticipation rising as he smiled and sighed, “It’s worth a try.”

For now, putting CBD aside, the Fantasy World’s High Priest had nearly managed to forcefully kill even the [Eyes]. He was a previous victor who endured to the end of his game, far more powerful than any living player. If they could secure his help, the farm’s strength would rise yet another level.

All the more so if it were possible to meet the High Priest in person… Si Zhiyan, too, wished to thank him.

Could those lost souls ever return, even in part? Si Zhiyan was not optimistic, but couldn’t help feeling some hope.

Bian Xu nodded vigorously, but then drooped a little and said with a sigh:
“But, I already ate the Hunger Seeds… There’s no way for us to retrieve what’s already been digested, is there?”

Si Zhiyan hesitated for a moment, glancing toward the door.

“That depends on what we achieve today.”
“If the Hephaestus Castle lives up to its reputation as the universal craftsman… then perhaps the ore from the mine will give us an answer.”

Outside the window, the grass was lush and green, the sun already high.

“It’s time to go talk with Miss Alice.”