Before heading to the 16th floor, she remembered to leave the seeds she carried on the 15th floor. Only then did she go up to the 16th floor to collapse.
Strangely, whether she was exhausted or injured in the past, the house would always heal her gently. But this time, even with the house helping her recover, she felt no relief at all—just a complete emptiness, a bone-deep fatigue.
She tried to ease the symptoms herself, to mobilize the ability she had sensed earlier.
But whereas before she had simply lost control, now she couldn’t even feel it.
Without the strength to shower, Green Ivy wrapped its leaves around her, absorbing and cleaning the bloodstains and dirt on her body. Then it spread over her stomach like a small blanket, as though afraid she would catch a chill.
Fu Erdie couldn’t help but laugh.
Oh well, it wasn’t a completely unproductive day. She had felt her ability!
Summarizing her findings: first, blood. Blood could promote mutations, but only when it was shed from accidental injuries or unavoidable self-inflicted wounds. The effect of this mutation seemed primarily related to healing.
Second, based on her observations, she could draw a preliminary conclusion: plants mutated not because of her, but because of the house.
When she bled, it promoted the house’s evolution, making the already-mutated house stronger. At the same time, as noted in the first conclusion, the house acquired healing abilities because of her blood.
This led to a third conclusion: her ability wasn’t “creating something from nothing”; it was enhancing what already existed.
She couldn’t make a car mutate directly, not with her blood or her ability.
The only thing that could “create something from nothing” was her house.
Fu Erdie even vaguely speculated: did her ability itself originate from the house? If that were true, her house was frighteningly powerful!
Moreover, if she continued to bleed and return to the house to heal, just how massive would the house eventually evolve?
Raising her hand, she gently stroked the wall. In response, the wall began to shimmer faintly with white light.
Fu Erdie smiled.
“How about I find you and the plants a teacher to teach you words? Then we can communicate!”
The white light on the wall paused, then slowly gathered into lines.
Fu Erdie widened her eyes as she saw a simple, somewhat clumsy smiley face appear on the wall: [^-^].
Fu Erdie: !!!
Right! Why hadn’t she thought of that? The house couldn’t speak, but it could draw! At the very least, it could express emotions.
She decided that once she could move tomorrow, she would draw a series of expressions for the house.
Yes, teaching the plants to read was also necessary. She couldn’t provide a systematic education for now, but she could teach them pinyin so they could identify the correct pronunciations on a pinyin chart.
In both this building and Building 6, she had seen dictionaries while searching for supplies. She could grab an elementary school dictionary, tear out the pinyin pages, and use those to teach.
Having settled her thoughts, Fu Erdie lay down to sleep.
But she couldn’t.
Despite her exhaustion, she was unable to fall asleep. Her body and mind were utterly drained from experimenting with her ability, yet sleep refused to mend her.
She and Sang Wenhao had agreed on a routine: one day exploring and searching for livestock, one day clearing the residential area.
Though today’s afternoon exploration turned into experimenting with her ability, tomorrow they still needed to continue clearing the community to see if there were any useful supplies.
Once she recovered, she planned to continue experimenting with her ability. She had a nagging feeling there was more to discover. For example, drawing energy from the succulent and transferring her own energy—besides improving the recipient’s physical state, what other effects could it have?
Could she exchange energy not just with mutated plants but also with the house or people?
And why did she feel like the energy was increasing during the transfer?
If the energy she drew from the succulent was 10, then after she returned 11, she should feel worse off.
But it seemed she had returned 20, or even 30, before suddenly reaching a critical point and collapsing into extreme fatigue.
It was her first time using her ability, so she couldn’t precisely estimate the numbers, but the difference was significant. Why had it made her feel better?
She couldn’t figure it out and desperately wanted to experiment further to find a way to go search for her parents.
The more anxious she was to sleep and recover, the more restless and frustrated she became.
When she opened her eyes again, the clock on the TV stand read 5:00 AM.
It was already time to wake up.
Normally, she would be running, jumping, and patrolling Building 7 at this hour.
Fu Erdie tried to push herself up, but her limbs were so weak that even this simple action was difficult.
The dog jumped onto the sofa and nudged her hand as if to help her up.
Fu Erdie did use the dog’s back for support, slowly shifting into a sitting position.
Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.
If she was anxious, the only thing to do was work through it. What else could she do?
The issue lay in her overuse of her ability. So she would force herself to “reclaim” it.
Not knowing how to do so, she would try everything.
Calming herself, she focused deeply.
Ten minutes passed, and she still couldn’t sense her ability.
Taking a small knife from the coffee table, she cut a shallow wound on her arm and closed her eyes to focus once again.
Her ability was closely tied to her blood. When she had first sensed it during the day, it was when she had bled from the wound on her back.
Maybe blood could stimulate the flow of her ability.
Fu Erdie decided to take a gamble.
She won.
The faint ripples of her ability were recaptured, drawn out from the depths of her body.
It was like an artificial limb that had been installed in her body after birth. If she didn’t know it was there or had never actively used it, the “limb” wouldn’t obey her commands. The first step was to perceive the full scope of this artificial limb.
With her mind calm and steady, she slowed down, patiently sensing the faint, scattered threads of energy that flowed through her body.
This time, she discovered why she felt so weak.
Her ability was like her blood, flowing through her entire body. Overusing it was like hypoglycaemia—once she dropped below the critical level, she would feel dizzy, faint, and even face life-threatening consequences.
Her ability had already fused with her flesh and blood, closely intertwined with her daily activities. She could climb stairs, carry supplies, and drag zombies with intense physical strength, far surpassing her pre-apocalypse state. This wasn’t just the house’s conditioning; her ability had been silently supporting her all along, subtly improving her body.
Even though she hadn’t been aware of it, her ability had been quietly working for the past six months of the apocalypse.
And now, she had completely drained it.
For someone with hypoglycaemia, eating sugar could restore their blood sugar. Where could she find her “sugar” to recover?
She placed her hand on the wall. The house immediately understood, gathering its white light into her palm to begin healing.
This time, the healing wasn’t for her body—it was for her ability.
Neither the house nor the succulent could actively exchange energy with Fu Erdie. Only Fu Erdie herself could do that.
Carefully, she began gathering her dispersed energy, which had scattered like loose grains of sand, back together in her palm.
She could clearly feel her body outside her hand becoming more exhausted as she worked. Even her waist, propped against the sofa, nearly gave out.
It was only with the dog and Green Ivy supporting her on either side that she didn’t collapse.
Feeling the warmth of the dog and Green Ivy’s refreshing presence, she let out a breath and focused entirely on the connection between her hand and the wall.
Slowly, slowly, the energy of herself and the house successfully connected.
She was like a small beast, suffocated for too long and now suddenly breathing in fresh air. She greedily absorbed the energy she was missing.
She didn’t take too much; as soon as she returned to a normal state, she stopped. Despite not having slept the entire night, she didn’t feel that tired anymore.
Fu Erdie asked the house if it was okay. The house responded with the same simple smiley face: [^-^].
By the time daylight arrived, Sang Wenhao and the elderly woman had already prepared breakfast and were waiting for Fu Erdie.
Today’s breakfast was chilled cucumber salad with millet porridge.
While picking up vegetables, Fu Erdie explained her ability.
“I want to keep testing the succulent with the most energy today. I probably won’t go out this morning. Can I leave the search of Building 8 to you?”
Sang Wenhao looked a bit happy. Fu Erdie was finally beginning to trust him. She told him about her progress with her ability and trusted him to search an entire building on his own.
“Sure, I’ll do a thorough search.”
Fu Erdie nodded.
If she had known Sang Wenhao’s thoughts at that moment, she would have said: “If I don’t tell you about my ability, how would I test it on you later?”
The other residential buildings hadn’t been fully searched yet, but they were relatively clean, with few corpses or swarms of bugs.
This was because Fu Erdie had placed dandelions on nearly every floor.
Dandelions didn’t extend their roots deeply, and their leaves didn’t spread widely. But among all the mutated plants, they had the strongest reproductive ability. Their delicate seeds danced beautifully in the wind. Even if only one in a thousand mutated seeds sprouted, with dozens of waves of seeds drifting each day, a couple of ability seeds would inevitably take root.
These ability seeds monitored their surroundings and waited for the right wind to carry them. They would drift gently to their intended spots—usually around garbage or rotting corpses—take root, secrete corrosive fluids, and slowly consume the organic matter to grow.
When Sang Wenhao arrived at Building 8, he could see small, newly grown dandelions sprouting on many of the corpses.
They hadn’t fully digested their food yet; instead, they had wrapped the corpses in corrosive fluid. From a certain perspective, Sang Wenhao even thought it looked a bit artistic.
Additionally, the mutated tomato plant was another reason why Building 8 was relatively clean.
The entire building had one vine of mutated tomatoes, and it was very content.
But for some inexplicable reason, a sense of crisis drove it to grow wildly. It seemed to believe that if it didn’t grow fast enough, some long, green, ghostly plant would come and take its territory!
The tomato plant didn’t care about quality, only quantity. It worked desperately, turning its root tips into thin threads that extended into every room from the ground floor.
Sang Wenhao: …
To him, this was like a Chihuahua marking its territory—barking fiercely, but any mutated plant or even a regular bird could snap its roots.
Shaking off these thoughts, Sang Wenhao began clearing Building 8.
Meanwhile, Fu Erdie explained the special nature of her ability to the succulent. After obtaining its consent, she began absorbing its energy.
Unlike yesterday, where she stopped when the succulent grew tired, today she was testing its limits.
When the energy link formed between them, Fu Erdie could faintly sense the succulent’s condition. As she approached the critical threshold, she immediately stopped absorbing and pushed all the energy back.
This push also allowed her to test her own limits. After marking this boundary, she absorbed energy again.
For two hours, she repeated this push and pull, carefully recording the condition of both herself and the succulent. Then, she made a surprising discovery.
Both her energy and the succulent’s energy had increased.
It wasn’t a huge increase—only about 5%—but it was real.
She didn’t know why this happened, but it was definitely a good sign.
Taking a small knife, she gently cut her arm. Directing her own ability to the wound had no effect. But when she connected her energy with the succulent’s, the wound healed quickly.
She looked at the succulent, seeking its opinion with her gaze. She wanted to cut it and conduct an experiment using the same method.
The succulent could feel touch but didn’t experience pain, so it generously stretched out its fleshy leaves for her to cut.
Fu Erdie held up the knife and made a light scratch—there wasn’t even a mark.
Fu Erdie: “…”
Alright, the succulent’s defence must have improved recently.
She tried again, using a bit more force, but still couldn’t cut it.
Fu Erdie: ?
Wasn’t the succulent supposed to feel soft? Why did scratching it now feel like sawing through wood?
This time, she applied even more force and finally managed to create a small cut.
Before she could inject her ability into the succulent, it healed itself immediately.
Fu Erdie: “…”
The succulent looked at her pitifully.
Fu Erdie sighed. “Class time! All of you, it’s time for class! We’re starting pinyin literacy education right now!”
Because communication was still challenging, Fu Erdie had to rely on trial and error—plus experimenting on herself again.
She cut herself once more, allowing the succulent to directly treat her. Its fleshy leaves covered the wound and quickly stopped the bleeding.
While the scar remained, it was clear that the succulent now had the ability to stop bleeding and cover external injuries.
Fu Erdie’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
Previously, due to various circumstances, the succulent had never been exposed to the blood she shed from an accidental injury. Therefore, it had never developed healing abilities until now.
This mutation had been newly triggered!
It turned out the conditions didn’t have to be so strict—she could give the plants healing abilities after all!
Abandoning the succulent as her test subject, she turned to the other plants and exclaimed, “I think I can give mutated plants healing abilities. Who’s willing to volunteer and try this next?”
The plants that had been watching eagerly surged forward, all volunteering themselves.
Fu Erdie scanned the group and chose the cucumber plant, which loved fighting and always seemed to be injured.
But as soon as she made her decision, the tomato plant exploded in outrage!
The caretaker was favoring his archenemy! The caretaker was mean!
The cucumber plant was also furious! Obviously, I’m more refined and delicious than this round tomato! What’s there to argue about?
The two vine plants immediately started fighting again.
Fu Erdie tapped Green Ivy’s leaves. Green Ivy understood instantly and grabbed both of the squabbling plants, separating them.
However, the two plants, now fully enraged, attacked Green Ivy as well. Within moments, they had tied Green Ivy into a bundle like a zongzi (rice dumpling wrapped in leaves).
It was the first time Fu Erdie had seen Green Ivy falter, and she burst out laughing.
It probably wasn’t appropriate, but it was just too funny—hahaha!
Green Ivy gave Fu Erdie an aggrieved look, then deliberately severed the leaves tangled by the vines. From the walls on both sides, two massive leaves emerged—each the size of a bedsheet.
The leaves wrapped around the tomato and cucumber plants like two giant hands, kneading them into balls. Then, with an effortless motion, Green Ivy shoved the two troublemakers into a large cabinet and locked it shut.
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