Chapter 17: Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17: THE PRICE OF GROWTH

The bloodvine tendrils wrapped around my forearm pulsed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the abyss sun. Three days had passed since we planted the first batch of abyss crops in the surface soil of Green Valley, and the results were... unsettling.

"What the hell is that?" Xiao Mei pointed at the center of the field, her voice flat in a way that meant she was trying not to panic.

I squinted through the morning mist. The crops we'd planted—moonrice, deeproot carrots, and shadowleaf cabbage—had grown overnight. Not just grown. *Evolved.*

The moonrice stalks stood seven feet tall, their heads drooping with grains the size of my thumb, each one pulsating with a faint silver light. The deeproot carrots had split the earth around them, creating cracks that spread like veins across the planting beds. And the shadowleaf cabbage... the leaves had turned black. Not dark green. Pure, light-absorbing black.

"They're supposed to do that," I said, pulling the book from my jacket. The leather felt warm against my palm, almost alive.

"You're lying." Xiao Mei grabbed my wrist and turned my arm over. The bloodvine pattern pulsed stronger now, reaching past my elbow. "You have no idea what's happening, do you?"

I wanted to argue, but the book had gone silent. The last page I could read was still the one about basic cultivation techniques. Everything after that was gibberish—symbols that shifted when I tried to focus on them, rearranging themselves like living things.

"We need to harvest," I said, pulling free. "Before the villagers see."

"Too late."

I followed her gaze. Old Man Zhang stood at the edge of the field, his walking stick frozen mid-step. Behind him, three other villagers had stopped their morning chores, staring at the towering crops like they'd witnessed a miracle or a curse.

"Master Chen," Old Man Zhang's voice cracked. "What sorcery is this?"

"No sorcery." I stepped in front of the moonrice, blocking his view. "Just... advanced farming techniques. From the mountains."

The old man's eyes narrowed. He'd been a farmer for sixty years. He knew bullshit when he smelled it.

"Those stalks are seven feet tall," he said, pointing with his stick. "Moonrice takes four months to reach maturity. You planted these three days ago."

"I used fertilizer."

"What fertilizer?"

I opened my mouth, but Xiao Mei cut in. "Trade secret. Master Chen's family has been perfecting it for generations."

Old Man Zhang stared at her, then at me, then at the pulsating crops. His face cycled through expressions—disbelief, anger, fear, and finally, something that looked like desperate hope.

"Can you teach us?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "My granddaughter hasn't had a full meal in two weeks. The blight took everything we had."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I'd been so focused on surviving, on figuring out the abyss and my connection to it, that I'd forgotten why I was supposed to be here. These people were starving. The surface world was dying. And I had a book that could grow food faster than anything they'd ever seen.

"I'll teach you," I said. "But first, I need to understand what's happening myself."

That night, I sat alone in the barn, the book open on my lap and a single moonrice grain in my palm. The grain pulsed with silver light, casting strange shadows across the walls. I'd tried to eat one earlier. The taste was... wrong. Not bad, but not right either. Like eating something that existed in a space my body wasn't designed to process.

I focused on the book, willing it to show me the next page. The symbols writhed and twisted, forming patterns that hurt to look at. But this time, I didn't look away. I let the pain burn into my eyes, let the patterns sear themselves into my memory.

And then I understood.

The words didn't translate into English or Chinese or any human language. They translated into *intent*. Pure, raw meaning that bypassed my conscious mind and went straight to something deeper.

*The blood must be fed. The price must be paid. Growth demands sacrifice.*

I slammed the book shut, my heart pounding. The bloodvine on my arm had spread while I wasn't looking—now it reached my shoulder, tendrils branching across my collarbone like a roadmap of veins.

"What price?" I whispered to the empty barn.

The moonrice grain in my palm pulsed brighter, and I felt it. A pull. Not physical, but something deeper. Like my soul was being gently tugged toward the abyss.

I threw the grain across the room. It bounced off the wall and landed in a pile of hay, still pulsing.

"That's not rice," I said. "That's a fucking anchor."

The barn door creaked open. I grabbed my knife, ready to fight, but it was only Xiao Mei, her face pale in the moonlight.

"We have a problem," she said.

"When don't we?"

She held up her hand. On her palm, a small mark had appeared. A spiral pattern, identical to the one on my bloodvine, but smaller and fainter.

"I touched the crops this morning," she said. "Just for a second. It started growing an hour ago."

I grabbed her wrist, examining the mark. It was warm to the touch, pulsing with the same rhythm as my vine. The same rhythm as the moonrice grain.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. But it's spreading."

I thought about the book's message. *The blood must be fed. The price must be paid.* The vine had grown from my blood. The crops were connected to the vine. And now Xiao Mei was connected to the crops.

"I need to go back to the abyss," I said.

"Are you insane? We barely made it out last time!"

"The book was trying to tell me something. The crops aren't just food—they're part of something bigger. A network. And if I don't understand how it works, it's going to consume everything."

Xiao Mei's hand trembled in mine. For the first time since I'd met her, she looked genuinely scared.

"If you go back, I'm coming with you."

"No. Someone needs to stay and protect the village."

"Protect them from what?"

I looked out the barn window. The moonrice stalks swayed in the wind, their silver glow casting long shadows across the fields. In the distance, I could see the villagers' lights flickering in their homes. They had no idea what they'd invited into their lives.

"From the crops," I said. "If I don't come back, burn the fields. Burn everything."

I left before she could argue, the book clutched to my chest and the bloodvine pulsing hot against my skin. The abyss entrance was three hours away, hidden in the ruins of an old temple. I'd marked it on my first day in this world, a desperate escape route I'd never needed.

Until now.

The forest grew darker as I walked, the moonlight filtering through twisted branches that seemed to reach for me. The air changed too—thicker, heavier, carrying the scent of something ancient and hungry.

By the time I reached the temple, my bloodvine was glowing. Not just pulsing—actually emitting light, like a living lantern. The spiral pattern on my arm had spread across my chest, and I could feel it reaching for my heart.

The temple entrance was a gaping hole in the earth, stairs leading down into absolute darkness. I'd descended these steps once before, three weeks ago, when I'd first fallen into this nightmare. Back then, I'd been a delivery driver with no skills and no hope. Now I was... what? A rancher? A farmer? A sacrifice?

I took a step down. The darkness swallowed me whole.

The abyss didn't feel like a place. It felt like a living thing, pressing against my skin, breathing in rhythm with my heartbeat. The bloodvine responded immediately, tendrils extending from my arm, reaching into the void like feelers.

I followed them.

The tunnel twisted and turned, branching into paths that seemed to shift as I walked. But the bloodvine knew where it was going. It pulled me forward, through passages too narrow to crawl through and chambers too vast to see the ceiling.

After what felt like hours, I emerged into a clearing.

And I froze.

The scene before me was impossible. The abyss was supposed to be a wasteland—dead earth, corrupted creatures, toxic air. But this place was alive. Lush vegetation covered every surface, plants I'd never seen before glowing with bioluminescent light. The air smelled sweet, almost intoxicating.

At the center of the clearing stood a tree. Not a normal tree—this one was made of crystal, its branches reaching toward a ceiling that didn't exist, its roots plunging into the earth like veins. And embedded in its trunk, pulsing with silver light, was a single moonrice grain.

No. Not a grain. A seed. A seed that was growing, sprouting, becoming something new.

The bloodvine on my arm went rigid. The tendrils pointed at the tree, trembling with anticipation.

*Feed me,* a voice whispered. Not in my ears. In my mind. *Feed me, and I will feed you.*

I took a step forward. Then another. The tree's branches swayed, reaching for me, brushing against my face with a touch that was almost gentle.

*You are the first,* the voice said. *The first to understand. The first to accept.*

"Accept what?"

*The truth. The abyss is not your enemy. It is your garden. And I am its gardener.*

The tree's trunk split open, revealing a hollow space inside. Warm light spilled out, carrying the scent of soil and growth and something else—something that smelled like home.

*Step inside. Let me show you what you can become.*

The bloodvine pulled at my arm, urging me forward. I could feel the power radiating from the tree, could taste it in the air. If I stepped inside, I would never be the same.

But if I didn't, the crops would keep growing. The mark on Xiao Mei's hand would spread. And eventually, the abyss would consume everything.

I looked at the book in my hands. The cover was warm, almost hot. When I opened it, the pages were blank.

No. Not blank. They were waiting. Waiting for me to write the next chapter.

I closed my eyes and stepped forward.