1
A week had passed since Tomás moved the líng cǎo under the Shenmu.
Every morning, he visited it. Every morning, he wrote in his notebook. And every morning, the plant looked a little better.
The leaves were firmer now. Greener. And the golden dots, those mysterious little points of light, were coming back. Not as bright as in the forest, but close. Much closer than when it was alone in the sun.
On the seventh day, Wei Chen came with him to look.
It is better - the scholar said - Much better.
Tomás nodded.
Yes. The shade helps. But I think something else is helping too.
Wei Chen looked at him.
What?
Tomás pointed to the ground, to the soil around the plant.
This soil. It is different from the soil in my pots. The Shenmu has been here for hundreds of years. Its roots go deep. There must be things in this soil that are not in the village soil.
Wei Chen considered this.
Things? What things?
Tomás thought about how to explain.
In my world, we know that plants are not alone. In the soil, there are tiny living things. So small you cannot see them. Some are bad, they make plants sick. But some are good. They help the plants. They share food. They protect the roots.
Wei Chen's eyes widened.
Tiny things? In the soil?
Yes. We call them... in my language, some are bacteria, some are fungi. The good fungi, we call mycorrhizae. They connect to the roots and help the plant take water and nutrients. And the plant gives them food in return.
Wei Chen was silent for a long moment. Then he said:
The old texts say that the earth is alive. That the ten thousand things are connected underground. I thought it was poetry. But you say it is real?
Tomás nodded.
Real. And important. I think the líng cǎo has these helpers. In the forest, it has them. Under the Shenmu, it has them too. But in my pots, with village soil... maybe the helpers are not there. So the plant struggles.
Wei Chen looked at the Shenmu with new respect.
So the tree is not just a tree. It is a... a home for these tiny things. And they help the small plant.
Yes. That is my guess.
2
That afternoon, Tomás went to find Granny Liu.
She was in her house, sorting dried mushrooms. When she saw him, she smiled and gestured for him to sit.
You need something? - she asked.
Tomás nodded.
I need to see the soil. The good soil. Where things grow well.
Granny Liu looked at him curiously.
Soil? Why?
Tomás tried to explain. Tiny things in the soil. Helpers for plants. He pointed to the forest, to the Shenmu, to the fields.
Granny Liu listened. Then she stood and motioned for him to follow.
They walked to a place Tomás had not seen before. A small garden behind her house, hidden by bushes. It was full of plants, healthy and green, growing close together.
This is my garden - Granny Liu said - I have been planting here for sixty years. The soil is good.
Tomás knelt and looked. The soil was dark, almost black, crumbly in his hands. It smelled rich, alive.
He took out his small digging stick and carefully lifted a little soil, placing it on a piece of cloth. Then he looked closer.
There were tiny white threads in it. Almost invisible, but there. Filaments, like very thin roots.
His heart beat faster.
Granny Liu, what are these? The white threads?
She leaned in to look.
I don't know. Always there. In good soil.
Tomás nodded, trying to stay calm.
In my world, we call these fungi. Good fungi. They help plants.
Granny Liu looked at him with interest.
You know many things, foreigner.
Tomás smiled.
I am learning.
3
From Granny Liu's garden, Tomás went to the forest edge.
He found the líng cǎo patch and took a small soil sample from there too. Then he went to Chen Guang's field and took a sample from the area that had been sick.
Three samples. Three different soils. He wrapped them carefully and carried them back to his house.
That evening, he examined them.
He had made a simple tool: a drop of water on a piece of clear crystal, held over the soil. It was not a real microscope, but it magnified a little. Enough to see differences.
The soil from Granny Liu's garden had the white threads. Many of them.
The soil from the líng cǎo patch also had white threads, though different. Thinner, maybe.
The soil from Chen Guang's field had almost none. Just brown dirt, small rocks, dead roots.
Tomás wrote in his notebook:
Soil samples compared:
1. Granny Liu's garden: dark, rich, many white filaments (fungi). Plants healthy.
2. Líng cǎo patch (forest): dark, moist, white filaments present. Plants healthy.
3. Chen Guang's field (sick area): lighter color, fewer filaments. Plants sick.
Hypothesis: The white filaments (mycorrhizal fungi) are important for plant health. They may help plants get nutrients, resist disease, maybe even process líng.
The líng cǎo under the Shenmu is recovering because the Shenmu's soil has these fungi. The líng cǎo in my pots (village soil) does not have them, so it struggles.
Next step: Test this. Grow líng cǎo in soil with fungi and without. Compare.
He put down his pen and looked at the samples.
Hongos, he thought. Siempre los hongos. Fungi. Always the fungi.
4
The next morning, he shared his idea with the children.
They gathered under the Shenmu, their usual classroom. Tomás showed them the soil samples and explained what he had seen.
There are tiny things in the soil. So small you need this - he held up his crystal - to see them. They help plants grow. I think the líng cǎo needs them.
Xiao Wang leaned in.
Can we see them?
Tomás handed him the crystal. Wang held it over the soil, moving it back and forth.
I see... little white lines? Very small?
Yes. Those are the helpers.
Mei took the crystal next.
In Granny Liu's garden, there are more?
Yes. Her soil is very healthy. Many helpers.
Li Wei wanted to see too. Tomás showed him how to hold the crystal.
They look like... like tiny roots.
Yes. But they are not roots. They are fungi. Different.
Little Feng just wanted to look through the crystal at everything. The soil, his hand, a leaf. The other children laughed, but Tomás let him explore.
When they finished, Tomás told them his plan.
I want to do another experiment. I want to take more líng cǎo from the forest. Some I will plant in soil with helpers. Some in soil without. And we will watch.
The children nodded seriously.
We can help - Wang said.
Yes. You can help. You are good at watching.
5
They walked to the líng cǎo patch, the children following like a small army.
Tomás carefully selected three small plants, trying not to damage the roots. He placed each in a separate pot, keeping the soil around the roots intact.
Then he collected more soil. From Granny Liu's garden (with helpers). From the líng cǎo patch itself (with helpers, different kind). From a barren area near the fields (no helpers, probably).
Back in the village, he set up the new experiment.
Pot A: Líng cǎo in its own forest soil (control).
Pot B: Líng cǎo in Granny Liu's garden soil (different helpers).
Pot C: Líng cǎo in barren field soil (no helpers).
He placed all three in the same spot, under the Shenmu, so light and water would be the same.
Now we wait - he said - And we watch.
The children nodded, already planning their observation schedules.
6
That evening, Wei Chen found him by the fire.
The children told me about your new experiment. Soil helpers.
Tomás nodded.
I think it's important. I think the líng is not just in the plants. It's in the whole system. The soil, the fungi, the trees, everything together.
Wei Chen was quiet for a moment.
In the old texts, they say that líng flows through all things. Through the earth, through the water, through the air. They say that some places have more líng because the earth is rich. They call those places "spiritual lands."
Tomás felt a thrill.
Spiritual lands? Where the líng is strong?
Yes. Usually near big trees, like the Shenmu. Or in mountains. Or where many plants grow together.
Tomás thought about this. Spiritual lands. Places where the whole ecosystem was healthy, where the fungi thrived, where plants grew strong. It matched his hypothesis perfectly.
Wei Chen, this is important. Your ancestors knew. They just didn't have the words to explain it scientifically.
Wei Chen smiled.
And you have the words.
Tomás nodded.
I have some. But I am still learning. Every day, I learn more.
They sat in silence, watching the fire.
Then Tomás said:
Tomorrow, I want to see more old texts. Anything about spiritual lands. About how líng moves. About the connections.
Wei Chen nodded.
I will find them.
7
Later, alone in his house, Tomás wrote in his notebook.
He wrote about the soil samples, the white filaments, the new experiment. He wrote about Wei Chen's words: spiritual lands. He wrote about the connections he was beginning to see.
Then he wrote:
I think I am starting to understand. Líng is not magic. It is not a mystery. It is a resource. Like nitrogen, like phosphorus, like carbon. It moves through the ecosystem. Plants take it from the soil. Fungi help them get it. Animals eat the plants and get it. Everything is connected.
The Shenmu is not just a big tree. It is the center of a whole system. Its roots spread wide, connecting to fungi, to other plants, to the soil itself. The líng flows through it all.
And the líng cǎo, this small plant with its golden dots, is part of that system. It cannot live alone. It needs the helpers. It needs the connection.
I need to prove this. The experiment will help. But I also need to see more. To understand how líng moves. To measure it, somehow.
Pero todo a su tiempo. But everything in its time.
He closed the notebook and lay down.
Outside, the Shenmu whispered. Somewhere under it, three small plants waited in their pots, ready to reveal their secrets.
Mañana, más. Tomorrow, more.