Apocalypse: I Can Upgrade Everything

Chapter 207: The Ideal Seeds

Rewind ten minutes.

Big Head Village Chief plucked a mundane-looking potato from the tray, holding it up like a holy relic.

“The New Century 72-Type Potato No. 1,” he began. “The ‘New Century’ designation signifies its viability in the post-apocalyptic era.”

He surveyed the group, his large head tilting slightly. “I’m sure you’ve noticed the shift. Since the Fall, the biological world has warped. Traditional crops have suffered catastrophic yield failures. Some are already extinct.”

“Professor Liu theorizes that a fundamental shift in planetary energy has rendered pre-Fall seeds incompatible with the current climate and soil toxicity,” the Chief continued.

Chen Ye’s mind drifted to the pathetic, rotted mess he’d seen in Ding Dong’s van. She had poured her soul into those tubers for weeks, only for them to turn into blackened sludge. He had initially blamed the vibrations of the road, but the Chief’s words suggested a more systemic failure.

Mutations were everywhere. The serpents of the Wu River, the ethereal spirits of Fairy Lake—the natural order was being rewritten in blood and shadow. It was only a matter of time before the flora caught up.

“Professor Liu belongs to the Botanist Sequence. He possesses an innate sensitivity to plant life,” the Chief said. “Ever since we reached Shenxiang Village, he has been obsessed with engineering a crop that can survive the now. Half a year ago, he finally stabilized two strains: this potato and a variety of lettuce.”

“The New Century 72-Type Potato No. 1 and the New Century 36-Type Lettuce No. 1…”

Good god, the old man is repetitive, Chen Ye thought, his face remaining a mask of boredom. He had enough experience to keep his internal monologue behind his teeth.

The Chief noted their attention. “As I said, ‘New Century’ marks the era. The number ’72’ represents the maturation window. From the moment the seedling is planted, it reaches full maturity in approximately seventy-two hours.”

The silence that followed was absolute. Then, a collective, mental thrum shook the outsiders.

Seventy-two hours. Three days from soil to stomach.

It sounded like a fever dream of pre-apocalypse science fiction. It defied every law of agricultural science.

Chu Che’s eyes locked onto the tuber in the Chief’s hand. If this was true—if a crop could truly be harvested in three days—it was more than a discovery. It was a god-tier Artifact.

Chu Che’s own Divine Concealer ability provided a three-day window of safety. Seventy-two hours. The synergy was perfect. It meant they could stop the suicidal scavenging runs into infested cities. They could lead a migratory life without the constant threat of starvation. This wasn’t just food; it was the spark required to restart human civilization.

Sun Qianqian and Ding Dong were equally transfixed. Even Iron Lion, despite his simple mind, sensed the shift in the air. He glanced nervously at Chen Ye, then back at the mud-caked potato. He could sense the heat radiating from Chen Ye, even behind those dark sunglasses.

“The seventy-two-hour window isn’t absolute,” the Chief added. “Under ideal laboratory conditions at the Base, it can be shorter. In extreme toxicity, it may take longer. I see the skepticism on your faces. Su Mansheng, if you please—bring the pots.”

The beautiful broadcaster entered, carrying two earthen pots. The Chief meticulously cut the potato into six sections, burying them in the soil and dousing them with a measure of water. He then moved to the lettuce.

“The New Century 36-Type Lettuce No. 1,” he said, repeating the procedure. “As the name suggests, it matures in thirty-six hours—a day and a half. These strains are drought-resistant, frost-tolerant, and immune to the most common blights. More importantly, they are shock-resistant. They can survive the vibrations of a moving convoy.”

“Professor Liu calls them the Ideal Seeds. He’s currently working on rice, sweet potatoes, and sorghum, but the stabilization process is… difficult.”

The more the Chief spoke, the thicker the greed became in Chen Ye’s lungs.

Chu Che felt his own skin crawl with desire. If the motorcade had this…

“Wait, Village Chief,” Ding Dong interrupted, her voice tight. “If these seeds are as perfect as you say, why does Shenxiang Village still look… malnourished?”

She didn’t mince words. Despite the greenery, the villagers were gaunt, their skin sallow with the tell-tale signs of long-term nutrient deficiency.

The Chief placed the pots on a side table. “I’ll be honest with you—that is the drawback. Not every tuber harvested is a ‘qualified’ seed. The success rate for generating a second generation of Ideal Seeds is tragically low. Even we have very few to spare.”

The outsiders nodded, the logic finally clicking.

“And that field we saw earlier?” Ding Dong pressed.

“The planting Base is a different beast,” the Chief explained. “Those crops are force-ripened by Professor Liu’s personal power. They require his constant, manual intervention. They are not the same as these self-sustaining seeds.”

As Ding Dong continued her interrogation, Chu Che’s attention snapped to Chen Ye.

Behind the dark lenses of the “hero’s” sunglasses, a faint, rhythmic pulse of crimson light was visible. It was the same look Chen Ye had before he’d systematically dismantled Mo Huairen’s operation.

Chu Che didn’t hesitate. He took two swift steps forward, placing his body between Chen Ye and the Village Chief.

Sun Qianqian and Ding Dong reacted a split-second later. Sun Qianqian moved to Chen Ye’s right, her hand hovering near her blade. Ding Dong shifted to his left.

They formed a human cage around him.

Chen Ye’s greed was a physical weight, a screaming hunger for the future those seeds promised. If I take them… if I take the Professor… I can control everything.

Then, the ice set in.

Chen Ye was a predator, but he was a rational one. Attacking a Village Chief in the heart of a village of a thousand people—atop a mountain-sized elephant—wasn’t a raid. It was a suicide.

Besides, he noted the two Sequence users standing behind the Chief. The “silly” old man was far from defenseless. The village had survived months in the wastes; they had more teeth than they were showing.

The crimson glow in his left eye faded. The murderous intent vanished as quickly as a blown-out candle.

Sun Qianqian glanced at him, her eyes searching. Chen Ye gave her a sharp, imperceptible nod: I’m back.

The three teammates exhaled in a silent, synchronized wave of relief. They knew Chen Ye’s record. They knew he was a monster on a leash, and the leash had just come dangerously close to snapping.

Even the sloppy Daoist across the square seemed to relax, his posture returning to its usual, boneless slouch. He offered them a greasy, knowing grin.

“So,” Chen Ye said, his voice flat and clinical. “What’s the price?”