books44 Chapter 291 [Empire] Bribery
Chapter 291 [Empire] Bribery
I sat in the corner of the classroom, breaking off a gingerbread man and popping small pieces into my mouth. The sweetness and spice melted in my mouth, and it was even better than I'd imagined. The red and green pattern on the packaging was a bit comical, like a child's doodle, but it somehow gave the cookie a touch of warmth and fun.
On the table, a few pine branches I'd casually plucked from the campus Christmas tree were piled in a small pile. Emerald green needles, with a faint scent of pine resin, lay quietly beside the young saplings. I shook my head, finding the scene a bit comical.
"What's this, a Christmas treat for you?" I muttered, poking the inconspicuous little plant with my finger. It didn't move, as if it had no interest in my "Christmas dinner".
"You have got something in your eyes, right? The pine branches are not given for free." I continued to talk to myself, with an exaggerated expression as if I was forcing a stingy rich man to donate.
The seedling's leaves trembled slightly in the light, but ultimately there was no noticeable reaction. I sighed, picked up a pine branch, twirled it between my fingers, and then dropped it next to the seedling like a gift.
"Whatever you want, it's a waste if you don't eat it." I leaned back in my chair in despair and continued chewing the gingerbread man in my hand. I always felt that the scene on the table was a bit awkward. On one side was a miniature Christmas scene with piles of pine branches, and on the other side were strange green seedlings. No matter how I looked at it, there was a sense of strange absurdity.
After a while, I casually glanced at the seedlings on the table and noticed that the pile of pine branches had disappeared. The seedlings, once radiant green, now showed an unusual change. The green seemed to be mixed with tiny specks of red, like accidentally spilled paint.
I blinked and gently rubbed the corners of my eyes, wondering if I had seen it wrong. After staring for a few seconds, the color of the seedlings returned to its original green, as if everything just now was just an illusion.
"Dazzling?" I muttered to myself, the sweet taste of the gingerbread man still lingering in my mouth. I don't know if it was the atmosphere or the change in the seedlings, but I suddenly felt a little uneasy and couldn't help but drum my fingers on the table a few times.
The seedling stood there quietly, like an innocent little plant, showing no signs of anything unusual after swallowing the pine branches.
I muttered softly, "Is this how you celebrate the holidays?" There was an indescribable complex emotion in my tone.
Regardless of whether this red light is real or just my illusion, I always feel that its existence is a sign of some kind of danger.
The teacher walked into the classroom, pushing a cart piled high with lab materials and holding a pot of steaming, moist soil. She looked as if she had embarked on a challenge destined to fail.
He stopped in front of the podium, coughed twice, looked around at the students, and then announced seriously: "Today, our experimental topic is - mung beans."
The classroom was silent for three seconds before it fell into a murmur of whispers.
"The teacher's expression makes him look like he's going to the battlefield." Someone whispered.
"Maybe it's true. Look at our previous soybean experiment, it has become a 'famous scene'." Another student agreed in a low voice.
I silently shifted my gaze to the seedlings on the table. They still looked smug, as if declaring their absolute dominance in this "planting arena." I sighed and secretly lit a candle for these innocent green beans.
The teacher was clearly aware of our reaction, but he simply distributed the mung beans to everyone calmly, his face still etched with the resolute expression of a warrior who never returns. He probably also knew that the fate of these mung beans he brought would be no better than that of the soybeans.
"Plant well." The teacher said in a deep voice, "This is our last chance. Don't let me down."
As I stared at the plump green beans in my hands, I felt a headache - it was another experiment that was destined to fail, and I really didn't know how this class would end.
I felt a little headache and tried to bribe the seedling. I took out a combat plant fruit that I had picked during military training from the space.
I sighed inwardly and gently placed the battle plant fruit into the bookcase, wondering if this "transaction" would go smoothly. The fruit's surface had a dull luster, yet it exuded a strange energy fluctuation, and it was surprisingly large.
The seedling seemed to have smelled something delicious, its branches and leaves trembling slightly, as if it were stretching lazily, or nodding gently. A green halo flashed and disappeared, and I actually felt its faint sense of satisfaction.
I looked at it tentatively. It didn't show the same rejection of the plate of mung beans as before. Instead, it became much "quieter", as if it had temporarily restrained its willfulness for the sake of this bribe.
Is this considered... a successful cooperation?
I pursed my lips, feeling that my behavior was a bit ridiculous, but I couldn't control the urge to seek some balance in this tense state. After all, it was so rare that this seedling finally stopped being a troublemaker.
The teacher was still explaining the key points of mung bean cultivation. I listened absentmindedly, my hands mechanically flipping the planting tools, but my eyes couldn't help but drift to the fruits in the book box and the unnaturally quiet seedling.
"As long as it doesn't cause any more trouble, this class may be able to go smoothly." I comforted myself.
Sure enough, the bribe worked. After planting the mung bean seeds, the seedlings remained peaceful, showing no signs of discontent or fighting. This long-awaited peace brought a sigh of relief, but at the same time, I couldn't help but wonder: Just how powerful was that battle plant fruit that it could have fed this creature so satiatedly?
I glanced sideways at the bookcase. The fruit looked duller than before, its surface seemingly devoid of vitality, though it hadn't completely withered. The seedling's leaves shone with a soft sheen, swaying slightly, as if it were dozing lazily after a meal.
"Can it really be fed?" I muttered, my fingers tapping unconsciously on the desk. After all, this "appetite" had already taught me to be cautious after the soybean tragedy.
The buried mung bean seeds showed no signs of abnormality; the instruments indicated their growth was normal. Perhaps the seedlings, still reveling in the afterglow of a full stomach, hadn't yet begun to "forage." Thinking of this, I smiled wryly. This balance was achieved through "feeding."
The teacher continued to explain the details of planting at the podium, occasionally glancing in my direction, perhaps worried that I would cause another upset for the entire class. I pretended to take notes diligently, but my hand rested on the edge of my bookcase, ready for any unexpected event.
"I hope this silence can last." I prayed silently, and at the same time I had some vague expectations: How big will this strange seedling grow before I can really see its full appearance?