He was a disabled military officer who doted on his research work in the Northwest.

System prompt:

[The externally bound land ecosystem has collapsed. The space-land symbiotic chain has broken. Spiritual spring water reserves: 3%. The space has entered a dormant repair period. Spiritual spring water production has reached zero. Estimated recovery time: Unknown.]

unknown.

Not three days, not a week, and not a month.

There is no time limit.

Shen Tang's fingers clenched tightly in the soil.

Growing vegetables, making medicine, providing dietary therapy, helping Mu Qinghan recover, and providing Chinese medicinal herbs—all depend on the spiritual spring water in the space and the accelerated growth.

And also—Teacher Lu.

A few days ago, in order to make the medicine, the only living sample in three years was handed to her.

"Saving lives is the priority. I've waited three years; a few more days won't matter."

What she said at the time, she patted her chest and promised—"Once this is over, I will definitely help you come up with that hypothesis."

What gave her the confidence to say that?

It is space.

As long as there is space, she can grow new samples. Quickly, in large quantities, and with stable quality.

But now?

The space is ruined. The spiritual spring has dried up.

What can we use to help him? What can we use to make a hypothesis?

What can make up for the teacher's lifelong obsession?

Shen Tang suddenly felt dizzy and her vision blurred.

She then realized that she hadn't eaten anything properly since yesterday afternoon.

After more than ten consecutive days of working through the night to treat the wounded, holding daily clinics, and teaching classes, my body was already on the verge of its limit.

The collapse of space was just the last straw that broke the camel's back.

She tried to stand up, supporting herself on her knees.

My legs went weak, and I slumped to the side.

Her shoulder slammed against the brick edge of the vegetable patch, and she hissed in pain. But then a wave of dizziness washed over her, and she no longer had the strength to get up.

My forehead was burning hot.

My limbs are cold.

The cold winter wind from the Gobi Desert blew in from outside the courtyard wall, cutting into her face, which was covered in cold sweat, like a razor blade.

The last thing I saw in my field of vision was that gray, withered vegetable patch.

White mold spots. Withered yellow leaves. Blackened roots.

Then my vision went black, and the strain of overworking my body for days—like a string stretched to its limit—finally snapped with a "snap".

……

Mu Qinghan finished early today.

The matter at the machinery factory has finally come to an end.

The investigation team took away those who needed to be taken away, the cleanup of the ruins was coming to an end, and most of the injured were transferred to the rehabilitation period. Mu Qinghan stayed at the temporary command post for nearly a week—coordinating the aftermath, cooperating with evidence collection, and signing and approving documents—and was finally able to go home.

Come back home.

As he silently repeated those two words in his mind, the corners of his mouth unconsciously relaxed slightly.

He and Shen Tang barely saw each other during the week.

The last time he saw her was at the awards ceremony. He noticed then that her chin was more pointed and she had faint dark circles under her eyes, but she still had that carefree attitude when she laughed.

Mu Qinghan sat in the back seat of the jeep, leaning on her cane, watching the Gobi Desert rushing past the window.

Coming.

He wanted to see her, to keep an eye on her, and to prevent her from getting sick from exhaustion.

……

Military compound. Mu family courtyard.

The jeep was parked at the door. Xiao Li jumped out and opened the door.

"Commander, we've arrived."

He walked from the front yard to the main room with a cane—now he can walk more than twenty steps with a single cane. His steps are not very steady, but every step is firm.

As he passed the main room, he glanced at the wall clock.

5:40.

Shen Tang should be back soon.

Did you go to the backyard?

Mu Qinghan picked up her cane and headed towards the backyard.

The December night wind was biting.

There were no lights in the backyard. Only the streetlights from the camp outside the yard shone through, casting a pale, bluish-white light on the ground.

The smell was the first one he detected.

Sour and rotten. Overly sweet. Abnormal.

Then--

He saw a figure near the vegetable garden.

Shen Tang lay motionless beside the brick edge. One hand was still stuck in the soil, while the other hand clutched the bracelet on her wrist.

Mu Qinghan's pupils suddenly contracted.

"Shen Tang!"

The sound of the iron bend on the blue bricks became rapid—"clatter clatter clatter"—he practically dragged himself across.

He couldn't squat down; his legs wouldn't allow it.

He tossed his cane aside, braced himself against the edge of the brick with one hand, and reached out with the other to feel her forehead—

Scalding hot.

"Shen Tang!" he called out again.

She didn't react. Her brows were furrowed, her lips were pale, and her whole body was trembling slightly.

Mu Qinghan's hand paused on her forehead for a second.

Then he bent down, slipping one hand under her knees and supporting her back with the other—

Gritting his teeth.

stand up.

A sharp, tingling, and stinging sensation shot through my legs—my right leg was okay, but my left leg was practically screaming.

But he did not let go.

He carried her, step by step, from the backyard to the east wing.

It's less than thirty steps away.

It took almost two minutes to walk.

Every step felt like walking on a knife's edge.

But he didn't stop for a moment.

……

East wing room.

When Mu Qinghan put her on the bed, her forehead was covered in sweat.

Her left leg was shaking so badly she almost lost her balance—he steadied himself by holding onto the edge of the bed, then pulled the blanket over her.

She was terribly hot.

Mu Qinghan turned around, picked up the phone on the table, and dialed Dr. Chen's office.

"Old Chen, come over here now. To my house."

Doctor Chen immediately sensed something was wrong with his tone. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"It wasn't me. Shen Tang has a fever. She's very hot, and she's not quite lucid."

"I'm coming right away."

The phone hangs up.

Mu Qinghan put down the receiver and turned back to look at the person on the bed.

She huddled under the covers, her brows furrowed, her lips moving incessantly.

He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to brush away the stray hairs on her forehead that were damp with sweat.

"Tangtang," he called softly.

She did not wake up.

But he managed to utter a few words indistinctly—

"...The vegetables...can't die...Teacher...I'm sorry..."

Mu Qinghan's hand stopped on her forehead.

He didn't know what she was talking about.

But he could hear the anxiety and self-blame in her voice. Even when she was burning up and unconscious, those things were still on her mind.

He looked up and gazed at the backyard through the small window of the east wing.

Dusk had completely fallen, but by the dim light filtering through the camp's streetlights outside the courtyard wall, he could still see the outline of the vegetable garden in the backyard—a desolate, gray, withered patch covered in white mold.

More than three months.

She managed to grow greenery from a barren, saline-alkali land.

Those vegetables were more than just vegetables; he knew they were the raw materials for her medicine to save lives, and also the basis for her scientific research collaboration with Lu Yanzhi.

Now it's all gone.

She was so exhausted, and the vegetable garden was ruined.

Mu Qinghan withdrew his gaze and looked down at her flushed face.

My fingers gently traced her cheek. Hot. Dry.

"Get well sooner rather than later," he said in a low voice. "As for the rest—I'll figure something out."