379: Chapter 380 Five Years and "Those Trees"

In the fifth year since Little Girl's return, the New Homeland had taken on a new look.

The city was larger, the population had grown, and the buildings were taller. The streets were lined with silver-blue trees, descendants of "tiny brighty" transplanted from the forest—people called them "Yaya Trees" because they were the offspring of the trees Little Girl had named back then.

The Yaya Trees had a unique feature: they could glow.

It wasn't the entire tree that glowed; instead, tiny specks of light would form on the leaves and branches, like fireflies. Every evening, those specks of light would brighten, illuminating the entire city in a dreamlike way.

Children loved to play under the trees, chasing the specks of light. The elderly enjoyed resting in the shade, chatting and dozing off. Young people liked to go on dates under them because the specks of light would flicker with the rhythm of their heartbeats—it was said that if two people's hearts raced at the same time, the lights would turn pink.

"Really?" someone asked.

"Of course it's real, I've tried it!"

"With whom?"

"...I'm not telling you."

Zhao Iron Pillar's blacksmith shop had expanded threefold, becoming "Iron Pillar Workshop." He had taken on seventeen apprentices, and Han Zheng was the Senior Brother.

That's right, Han Zheng.

Five years later, Han Zheng was no longer that cowering "sinner." He managed logistics by day, forged iron by night, and even helped in Auntie Liu's fields on weekends, making himself one of the busiest people in the New Homeland.

His "sin" remained. He saw the 3,721 names carved on the Memorial Tower every day on his way to and from work.

But he was also making amends.

Over these five years, he had personally forged 1,300 farm tools and given them away for free to farmers clearing new land. The material allocation System he designed had increased the efficiency of food distribution for the entire city by thirty percent. He had also trained seven apprentices, all of whom had become backbones of the Logistics Department.

"Brother Han, you should take a break," someone urged him.

He shook his head. "Break for what? It's only been five years; there are still five more to go."

"What will you do when the ten years are up?"

Han Zheng thought for a moment and smiled.

"I don't know. Maybe... just keep working."

Little Girl was now fourteen.

She was no longer the Little Girl who ran around hugging Bright Fur Ball; she had grown into a graceful young lady. But her eyes were still as bright and her smile as warm, and people greeted her wherever she went.

"Little Girl! Are you here to water the trees again today?"

"Yeah! tiny brighty has been a bit wilted lately, so I came to check on it."

"That Old Ancestor tree is still there?"

"It is, and it's doing very well!"

tiny brighty had grown into a massive tree, standing much taller than the surrounding Yaya Trees. Its branches hung down like a giant umbrella, casting a large area of shade.

Little Girl walked under the tree and reached out to touch its trunk.

"How have you been lately?"

The branches swayed gently, as if in response.

"Did someone give you another name?"

The branches swayed more vigorously, and a few leaves fell, as if it were laughing.

Little Girl smiled too.

Behind her, Bright Fur Ball squatted on the ground, lazily sunbathing. Huahua was nearby chasing butterflies—after five years, it was still just as rambunctious, but Bright Fur Ball had grown used to it and would occasionally play with it for a while.

Chirping sounds came from the distance as the specks of light on the Yaya Trees began to glow.

Evening had arrived.

On this day, Wang came again.

He was still wearing that faded gray robe, his hair was completely white, but his back was still as straight as ever. Those eyes—one black and one silver—were still just as profound.

He came to find Wen Youyi.

"There's news."

Wen Youyi put down the manuscript in his hand—his book was nearly finished and he was doing the final polishing.

"What news?"

"Within the Heavenly Court, another thirty-seven people have begun to 'hesitate'."

Wen Youyi raised an eyebrow. "That many?"

"The group from three years ago is starting to have an effect," Wang said. "They are spreading word internally, telling more people that 'there is light behind the door.' These thirty-seven are just the latest batch. There will be more later."

Wen Youyi was silent for a few seconds before asking, "Can we handle them?"

Wang looked into the distance, where Little Girl was playing with Bright Fur Ball under the tree.

"That child has grown up," he said. "The door has grown too. Not just thirty-seven, she could handle three hundred and seventy."

"The problem is what happens after we bring them over," Wang paused. "Can the New Homeland accommodate so many people?"

Wen Youyi thought about it and smiled.

"In five years, we haven't found anyone we couldn't accommodate."

Wang was stunned for a moment, then he smiled too.

"You've changed."

"How so?"

"Before, you calculated everything. Now..." Wang shook his head. "Now you believe."

"Believe in what?"

"Believe in the human heart."

Wen Youyi said nothing.

He looked at the Yaya Trees in the distance, the children playing beneath them, the crowds coming and going, and the silver-blue flame that burned eternally atop the Memorial Tower.

Five years.

3,721 people had been sacrificed for all of this.

Was it worth it?

He didn't know.

But he knew that their names were carved on the tower, planted in the trees, and remembered in hearts.

They would not be forgotten.

Never.

Another five years passed.

Little Girl was now nineteen.

She stood beneath the Memorial Tower, looking at the names carved upon it.

3,721.

She could already recount everyone's story—how the Blood Fiend Old Demon dragged a Star Lord down with him, how the Sword Maniac struck his final blow, how nameless Mortals used pots and pans to block the Heavenly Sting Unit, and how those trees used their bodies to protect her.

"Little Girl." A voice came from behind her.

It was Han Zheng.

He too stood beneath the tower, looking at the names.

"It's been ten years," he said.

Little Girl turned to look at him.

There were a few more wrinkles on Han Zheng's face, and his hair had grayed a bit, but his eyes were brighter than before.

"The ten years are up, right?" she asked.

"They are."

"What do you plan to do?"

Han Zheng thought for a moment and smiled.

"Keep working."

Little Girl smiled as well.

"I knew you'd say that."

From afar, Zhao Iron Pillar's voice drifted over: "Old Han—! Get over here! I need you to sign for this new batch of Ore—!"

Han Zheng called back, waved to Little Girl, and strode away.

Watching his back, Little Girl suddenly remembered the first time she saw him ten years ago—covered in wounds, face bloodied, kneeling on the ground and not daring to look up.

Now, there was a spring in his step.

She turned back to look at the Memorial Tower.

Those names shimmered in the sunlight.

"Can you see this?" she said softly.

The wind blew gently, as if in response.

A long, long time passed.

So long that Little Girl herself had become a white-haired grandmother.

So long that those Yaya Trees had grown into a true forest.

So long that the population of the New Homeland had grown from a hundred thousand to a million, and then from a million to ten million.

So long that the Heavenly Court became a legend, and the Creation Heavenly Court became just an entry in history books.

So long that the great battle became a story the elderly told children.

"Grandma, Grandma, tell us about that battle again!"

"I've told it so many times, and you still want to hear it?"

"We still want to hear it!"

The old grandmother smiled. She sat beneath a massive Yaya Tree, with a small silver beast squatting beside her—a descendant of Bright Fur Ball, though she didn't know which generation it was, it was still fluffy and loved sunbathing.

"Alright, alright, one more time."

"A long, long time ago, a group of bad people wanted to take over our home..."

In the distance, the Memorial Tower still stood.

The names on the tower were still clear.

The flame atop the tower still burned.

Those were the eyes of 3,721 people.

Watching, always.

(The End)