1
The next morning, Tomás went to Wei Chen's house with his notebook full of questions.
Wei Chen was unrolling scrolls by the window, letting the morning light illuminate the old characters. He looked up when Tomás entered and smiled.
You have that look again. The one that says you discovered something.
Tomás sat on the mat across from him.
I think I did. Or at least, I think I'm starting to understand something.
He opened his notebook to the pages from yesterday, with the drawings of the língniǎo and the guǒshù and the new plants growing from the droppings.
This is what I saw. The birds eat the fruits. The fruits have líng. The birds carry the seeds to new places. New trees grow. The birds get stronger. The trees spread. Both benefit.
Wei Chen studied the drawings carefully.
Yes. This is how it works. The old people say the birds are the trees' legs. The trees cannot walk, so the birds walk for them.
Tomás smiled at the poetry of it.
That's a good way to say it. In my world, we call this symbiosis. Mutual benefit. Two different living things helping each other.
Wei Chen repeated the word slowly: "Sym-bio-sis." He wrote it in the air with his finger.
Your world has many words for these things.
We had to. We studied them for a long time.
Wei Chen was quiet for a moment. Then he said:
In our world, we have words too. But different. We say "tiān dì" for heaven and earth. We say "wàn wù" for the ten thousand things. We say "zì rán" for nature. But we do not have a word for... for what you describe. For the helping between different things.
Tomás wrote the new words in his notebook: tiān dì, wàn wù, zì rán.
Zì rán - he repeated - Nature. That's close. In my language, nature is everything. The trees, the birds, the soil, the water. And the helping between them is part of nature.
Wei Chen nodded slowly.
Yes. But we do not think of it as... as something to study. We think of it as something to accept. The birds help the trees. The trees help the birds. That is how it is. That is zì rán.
Tomás understood. It was the same difference he had seen before: asking "what" versus asking "why." The villagers accepted the patterns. He wanted to understand them.
Do you have texts? - he asked - Old writings about zì rán? About how things work?
Wei Chen looked at him for a long moment. Then he stood and walked to the corner of his house, where a large chest sat against the wall. He opened it and began to pull out scrolls, old and yellowed, tied with faded ribbons.
These are my family's scrolls. Passed down for many generations. Some are about plants. Some are about medicine. Some are about... - he hesitated - ...about things I do not fully understand.
He brought them to the table and began to unroll them one by one.
2
The first scroll showed a diagram of a mountain, with labels marking different zones. At the bottom, near the base, plants with short names. Higher up, different plants. Near the top, a single character: "líng."
Tomás studied it carefully.
This is about where plants grow? At different heights?
Wei Chen nodded.
Yes. The old ones wrote that each height has its own plants. Low places for common things. High places for rare things. The highest places... only líng grows there.
Tomás thought about this. Altitude zones. Temperature gradients. Soil changes. It made sense. Even on Earth, different plants grew at different elevations.
He pointed to the top.
Has anyone been up there? To see these líng plants?
Wei Chen shook his head.
Too dangerous. The mountains are full of beasts. Strong ones. Only cultivators go there. And they do not share what they find.
Tomás wrote this down. Cultivators. The powerful ones. They went to the high places, took the líng plants, and kept them for themselves. That explained why the village had so few spiritual resources.
The second scroll showed a network of lines connecting different things: plants, animals, insects, even weather symbols. It looked almost like a food web diagram from one of his ecology textbooks.
What is this? - he asked.
Wei Chen studied it, frowning.
I am not sure. My grandfather said it was about "the way things connect." But he did not understand it either. He said the old knowledge was lost. Only fragments remain.
Tomás looked at the diagram with growing excitement. It was crude, imprecise, but the idea was there. Connections. Relationships. A system.
He pointed to one line, connecting a plant to an insect.
This means the insect eats the plant?
Wei Chen shrugged.
Maybe. Or maybe the plant needs the insect. The old writings are... like dreams. You have to guess.
Tomás smiled.
In my world, we had the same problem. Old texts, hard to understand. But we kept trying. We kept asking questions. Eventually, we started to understand.
Wei Chen looked at him.
And that is what you want to do here? Understand the old texts?
Tomás shook his head.
I want to understand the truth. The texts are just... clues. Hints. The real truth is out there. In the forest. In the fields. In the plants and the birds and the soil. I just need to observe. And ask why.
3
They spent the morning going through the scrolls.
Some were practical: lists of plants and their uses, written in clear characters. Tomás copied these eagerly, adding them to his notebook. Others were philosophical: discussions of "qì" and "dào" and "yīn yáng" that he could barely follow.
But one scroll caught his attention.
It was smaller than the others, almost hidden at the bottom of the chest. The characters were different, older, harder to read. And at the top, a title: "The Way of the Ten Thousand Things."
Wei Chen saw him looking at it and hesitated.
That one... my grandfather said it was dangerous. Not dangerous to read, but dangerous to think about. It asks questions that have no answers.
Tomás looked at him.
What kind of questions?
Wei Chen unrolled it carefully. The first line read:
"If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears, does it make a sound?"
Tomás stared at it. Then he laughed.
I know this! We have this question in my world too!
Wei Chen looked surprised.
You do?
Yes. Philosophers asked it for hundreds of years. The answer is... complicated. But the fact that you have it here... that's amazing.
He read further. The scroll was full of such questions, written in a poetic, almost riddling style:
"If a seed becomes a tree, is it still the same thing?"
"Does the bird know it helps the tree, or does it only know it is hungry?"
"When a plant takes líng from the soil, does the soil become less?"
"If líng flows through all things, why do some have more and some have less?"
Tomás felt his heart beating faster. These were not just random questions. They were the same questions he had been asking himself. About change, about identity, about resources, about distribution.
He looked at Wei Chen.
Who wrote this?
Wei Chen shook his head.
No one knows. It is very old. Older than my family's records. Some say it came from the immortals themselves. Others say it was written by a madman who lived in the mountains.
Tomás looked back at the scroll.
He wasn't mad. He was thinking. Asking the right questions.
4
That afternoon, Tomás sat by the Shenmu, thinking.
The scroll had opened a door in his mind. The questions were not just philosophical. They were scientific. If líng flows through all things, then it was like energy. And if energy flows, it can be measured. Tracked. Understood.
But how?
He took out his notebook and wrote:
Questions from the old scroll:
*1. If a seed becomes a tree, is it still the same thing? (Identity through change - relevant for plant development?)*
*2. Does the bird know it helps the tree? (Consciousness in symbiosis - probably not, but interesting)*
*3. When a plant takes líng from the soil, does the soil become less? (Resource depletion - testable!)*
*4. If líng flows through all things, why do some have more and some have less? (Distribution - ecology!)*
Hypothesis: Líng is a resource. Like water, like nutrients. It is in the soil, in the plants, in the animals. It moves through the ecosystem. Some things have more because they are better at getting it, or because they are at the right place in the system.
I need to test this. I need to find a way to measure líng. But how? I have no instruments. I have only my eyes, my hands, my notebook.
Maybe that is enough. For now.
He looked up at the Shenmu, with its thousands of leaves and its countless golden dots.
You have a lot of líng, old friend. Where do you get it? From the soil? From the air? From something else?
The tree did not answer. But the wind moved its leaves, and for a moment, Tomás imagined it was listening.
5
That evening, Xiao Wang found him.
Tomás! Tomás! I found something!
The boy was out of breath, his face red from running. He grabbed Tomás's hand and pulled.
Come! Quick!
Tomás followed, half running, half stumbling. Wang led him past the last houses, past the fields, to the edge of the forest. Then he stopped and pointed.
There. Look.
Tomás looked. At first, he saw nothing. Just grass, bushes, the usual edge of the forest. But then he saw it.
A small plant, low to the ground, with thick leaves arranged in a rosette. And on those leaves, faint golden dots. Not as bright as the Shenmu's, not as dangerous-looking as the língzhī cǎo's. But there. Definitely there.
Tomás knelt beside it, his heart pounding.
Wang. This is... this is amazing. Where did you find it?
Wang pointed to a spot a few meters away.
There. I was looking, like you taught me. Looking at everything. And I saw this one. Different. So I followed. There are more.
Tomás looked where he pointed. And yes, there were more. A small patch of the same plant, spread across the forest edge, maybe a dozen in total.
He took out his notebook and began to write, his hand shaking with excitement.
"New plant discovered by Xiao Wang. Similar to língzhī cǎo but smaller, dots fainter. Growing in patch at forest edge. Need to identify. Need to test for líng content. Need to..."
He stopped and looked at Wang, who was watching him with obvious pride.
Wang. You did it. You observed. You found something new. This is exactly what scientists do.
Wang beamed.
I am scientist now?
Tomás laughed.
Yes. You are a scientist now. We both are.
6
They walked back to the village together, Wang chattering excitedly about his discovery. Tomás listened, smiling, but his mind was already working.
A new plant with golden dots. Not deadly like the língzhī cǎo, not sacred like the Shenmu. Something in between. Something that might be... usable. Studyable. Growable.
He thought about the scroll, about the questions, about the líng that flowed through all things. Maybe this plant was the key. Maybe he could learn to cultivate it, to measure its líng, to understand how it worked.
Wei Chen was waiting by the fire. When he saw them, he raised an eyebrow.
You look different. Both of you. What happened?
Wang spoke before Tomás could.
I found a plant! With dots! Golden dots! Tomás says I am a scientist now!
Wei Chen looked at Tomás, who nodded.
It's true. He found something new. A plant like the língzhī cǎo, but smaller. Less dangerous, maybe. We need to study it.
Wei Chen was quiet for a moment. Then he smiled.
A scientist. In our village. Who would have thought?
He looked at Wang with new respect.
Tomorrow, you will show me this plant. And Tomás will teach us both what to do with it.
Wang nodded, too happy to speak.
That night, Tomás wrote in his notebook:
Today, Xiao Wang became the first scientist of Clear Springs Village. He found a new plant. He observed, he questioned, he discovered. This is how it starts. With one person, one observation, one question.
The líng is everywhere. In the Shenmu, in the língzhī cǎo, in this new plant. It is in the birds, in the trees, in the soil. It is a system. And I am beginning to see it.
Tomorrow, we study.