1
Hunter Shi arrived at dawn, as always, without warning.
Tomás was already awake, sitting by his small hearth, reviewing his notebook. He had learned that Shi did not knock. The man simply appeared and waited. So when he heard the soft footsteps outside, he stood, grabbed his bag, and opened the door.
Shi stood there, looking at the sky. He nodded once.
Qīngliáng cǎo - he said. More.
Tomás nodded. They needed more of the herb. The villagers had started asking for it after Chen Guang's reluctant approval. Three families now wanted to try the "green water" on their own sick plants.
They walked through the village while the sky turned from black to gray. The Shenmu loomed above them, its leaves whispering in the morning wind. Tomás looked at the golden dots, faint in the dim light, and wondered again what they were.
Past the fields, past the wild grassland, they entered the forest. Shi took a different path this time, not the one to the qīngliáng cǎo clearing, but a deeper route, into older trees.
Tomás followed, trusting.
2
The forest changed as they walked.
The trees grew taller, their crowns blocking more light. The air became cooler, damper. Strange plants grew on the trunks: mosses that glowed faintly green, fungi in colors Tomás had never seen. He wanted to stop and examine everything, but Shi walked with purpose, and he did not want to fall behind.
After twenty minutes, Shi stopped and pointed.
Qīngliáng cǎo.
They had reached a small clearing. Here, the qīngliáng cǎo grew in abundance, dozens of plants spreading across the damp ground. More than Tomás had ever seen in one place.
He crouched to examine them. The leaves were the same: thick, round, with that strong alcanforado smell. But here, in the deeper forest, they seemed... healthier. Bigger. More vibrant.
He looked at Shi, questioning.
Shi pointed to the trees above, then to the ground, then made a gesture of water.
More shade. More wet. Good for plant.
Tomás nodded and wrote in his notebook: "Qīngliáng cǎo grows best in deeper forest, more shade, more humidity. The ones near the forest edge are smaller, probably stressed by sun and drier soil."
He began to harvest, taking only a few leaves from each plant, the way Granny Liu had taught him with mushrooms. Take a little, leave most. Let the plant live.
Shi watched him work, saying nothing.
3
They were finishing when Tomás heard it.
A sound like bells, high and clear, coming from the trees above. He looked up and saw them: birds. But not like any birds he had known.
They were small, maybe the size of sparrows, with feathers that shimmered in shades of blue and green. But their tails were long, almost as long as their bodies, and at the tips of those tails, small lights glowed. The same blue light as the deer's antlers. The same líng.
Língniǎo - Shi said quietly.
Tomás wrote the word immediately. Língniǎo. Spiritual bird.
He watched them, fascinated. There were maybe a dozen, flitting from branch to branch, their bell-like calls echoing through the forest. They seemed to be... eating? Pecking at something on the trees.
He looked closer. The trees they were on were not the same as the others. They had a different bark, smoother, with small fruits growing directly from the trunk. The birds pecked at these fruits, swallowed, and moved on.
Tomás pointed to the trees.
Shénme shù? What tree?
Shi thought for a moment, then said:
Guǒshù. Fruit tree. But not for people. For birds.
Tomás nodded and wrote: "Guǒshù. Fruit tree. Fruits grow from trunk. Eaten by língniǎo."
He watched the birds for a long time, noting how they moved, how they called, how they seemed to prefer certain trees over others. Then he noticed something else.
Where the birds had been, small droplets of something fell to the ground. Droppings, probably. And where those droppings landed, small plants were growing. Tiny, just sprouts, but unmistakable.
He pointed to the ground.
Look. New plants. From the birds.
Shi looked, then nodded slowly.
Yes. Bird eat fruit. Bird... leave seed. New plant grow.
Tomás felt a thrill of recognition. Seed dispersal. Classic ornithochory. Birds eat fruit, seeds pass through their digestive system, they deposit them elsewhere. It was basic ecology.
But here, with these glowing birds and these strange trees, it felt like discovering it for the first time.
He wrote furiously in his notebook:
"Língniǎo (spiritual birds) feed on fruits of guǒshù. They disperse seeds through droppings. New guǒshù plants grow where birds have been. This is seed dispersal - same as Earth! But with líng component. Do the seeds carry líng? Do the birds gain líng from the fruit? Need to investigate."
He looked at Shi, who was watching him with that patient expression.
Xièxiè - Tomás said - This is important.
Shi nodded once. Then he pointed to the sun, visible now through the canopy.
Go back. Late.
Tomás looked at his notebook, then at the birds, then at the small new plants on the forest floor. He wanted to stay, to observe more, to understand. But Shi was right. They had what they came for.
They walked back in silence, Tomás's mind buzzing with questions.
4
That evening, he found Wei Chen by the fire.
I saw something today - Tomás said, sitting beside him - In the forest. Birds. Língniǎo.
Wei Chen looked up, interested.
Língniǎo are rare. You were lucky.
Tomás nodded.
They were eating fruits from a tree. Guǒshù. And where they left their droppings, new trees were growing.
Wei Chen smiled.
Ah. You saw the protectors.
Tomás frowned.
Protectors?
Wei Chen pointed to the forest, then made a gesture of connection, of mutual help.
The birds eat the fruits. The birds carry the seeds to new places. The trees spread. And the birds... the birds get something too. The fruits have líng. Small líng, but enough. The birds eat, and they become stronger. Healthier. Their lights glow brighter.
Tomás wrote this down quickly.
So it's... symbiosis. Both benefit.
Wei Chen did not know that word, but he understood the meaning.
Yes. They help each other. The tree and the bird. Without the bird, the tree cannot spread far. Without the tree, the bird cannot get líng. So they are... together.
Tomás thought about this. Symbiosis. Mutualism. Classic ecological relationships. But here, with líng as the currency, the connection was even deeper.
Is it always like that? - he asked - Plants and animals? Helping each other?
Wei Chen considered the question.
Sometimes. Not always. Some plants give nothing. Some animals take without giving back. But the strong ones... the ones with líng... they often have partners. The língzhī cǎo, the dangerous one you saw? It has no partner. It keeps its líng for itself. That is why it is dangerous. It does not share.
Tomás nodded slowly. A plant that hoarded its líng. That made sense, in a way. If líng was energy, or nutrients, or something valuable, then sharing it would be a strategy. Hoarding it would be another strategy. Both could work.
He looked at Wei Chen.
How do you know all this?
Wei Chen shrugged.
Old stories. Old texts. The village has lived here for many generations. We learn what is safe and what is not. We learn which plants to use and which to avoid. We learn which animals help and which harm. But we never asked why. We just... learned what.
Tomás smiled.
And now you're asking why.
Wei Chen nodded slowly.
Yes. Because of you. You ask why. Now I ask too.
5
Later, alone in his house, Tomás wrote in his notebook.
He wrote about the língniǎo, the guǒshù, the seed dispersal. He drew diagrams of the relationship, trying to capture it visually. He wrote questions: Do the seeds carry líng? How much? Does the líng pass from tree to bird? What happens to it? Can it be measured?
Then he wrote something else. A thought that had been growing for days.
I have been thinking about líng as if it were magic. Something mystical, beyond understanding. But today, I saw something familiar. Seed dispersal. Symbiosis. These are biological concepts. They work the same here as on Earth. The only difference is that here, there is an extra element. Líng. But maybe líng is not magic. Maybe it is just another resource. Like water, like sunlight, like nitrogen. Something that plants and animals use, compete for, share.
If that is true, then I can study it. I can observe it, measure it, understand it. Not as magic. As biology.
I need more data. I need to find plants with líng and see how they grow. I need to find animals with líng and see what they eat. I need to see the whole system.
But slowly. Patiently. One observation at a time.
That is what I do.
He closed the notebook and lay down.
Outside, the Shenmu whispered. And for the first time, Tomás felt like he was beginning to understand what it was whispering about.