Chapter 350: Quirks

After nearly four months of research, Pandora had gradually uncovered a peculiar characteristic:

The Cloud Crested Currant, a special plant gifted to her by Amanda, defied even the most meticulously tailored initial conditions. No matter how favorable the setup, it simply refused to thrive as expected.

Favorable conditions could improve germination rates. They could extend survival time. They could enhance the vigor of the seedlings.

But an invisible bottleneck always loomed, impossible to break through.

Yet, as time passed, their growth steadily improved.

Under identical conditions, the first batch’s germination rate fell below five percent. The second batch climbed to eight. The third reached twelve...

It was almost as if... they, too, were gradually adapting to this world.

They seemed to be learning how to survive here.

What further confirmed this hypothesis for Pandora was a controlled experiment she had conducted.

She had attempted to replicate the exact same cultivation conditions from a previous batch—conditions proven to yield only mediocre results—and apply them, unchanged, to the next set of seeds.

No improvements to lighting. No adjustments to humidity. No replacement of the cultivation soil.

Every variable held perfectly constant.

And the results were better than expected.

What did that mean?

It meant the conditions hadn’t changed. The seeds themselves had.

On the surface, each Cloud Crested Currant appeared to be an independent fruit. But in truth, the growth experience of one could be inherited by the next, through some means even Pandora struggled to perceive.

This was not genetic inheritance—every batch of seeds came from the same source.

Nor was it environmental improvement—she had rigorously controlled the variables.

It was something deeper. Something more fundamental.

Something that transcended the individual—a memory and adaptation belonging to the “population” itself.

Even with no changes to any conditions, the next batch’s growth consistently outperformed the last.

On the surface, it was the laboratory’s three months of relentless optimization that had achieved superior cultivation of the Cloud Crested Currant.

In reality, it was more as though the Cloud Crested Currant had actively adapted to this world.

Of course, that was not to say her efforts had been meaningless.

Exposing the Cloud Crested Currant to different combinations of elements had, in itself, contributed to its adaptive process.

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Those failed experiments, the discarded condition sets—each one was a “sample” through which the Cloud Crested Currant came to understand this world.

Had she not cultivated batch after batch without pause, the Cloud Crested Currant could never have achieved true adaptation.

Still, one thing was certain:

Beyond the influence of this “adaptability,” optimal cultivation conditions did genuinely exist.

Adaptability defined the lower limit. Cultivation conditions defined the upper.

………………

Her thoughts flowed, then receded.

Before Pandora, the young researcher had retrieved a glass test tube—roughly the size of an adult’s middle finger—from a locked iron cabinet.

Inside was about half a finger’s depth of pale green liquid. It resembled water, yet was thicker; it resembled oil, yet clearer.

When gently tilted under the light, a thin film slowly coated the inner wall of the tube, then gradually slid back down.

“Boss, this is our first official culture medium. Designation NM-001.”

The researcher handed the test tube to Pandora, his tone carrying a note of gravity.

“We’ve applied it to a specific section of the test field. Take a look over there...”

He pointed toward a far corner of the greenhouse, and Pandora’s gaze followed.

It was the most vibrant area in the entire greenhouse.

Compared to seedlings in the surrounding zones, the plants in that section had noticeably thicker stalks and greener, fuller leaves. Faint vein patterns were even visible on the leaf surfaces.

This was the laboratory’s most direct achievement over the past three months—the first-generation culture medium.

Even with the peculiar “population adaptation” at play, superior conditions still held meaning.

It was like a person blessed with a strong constitution—good diet and living conditions could still make their body healthier.

What puzzled the researcher, however, was this:

“Boss, there’s something I still don’t quite understand.”

He chose his words carefully before continuing.

“The nutrient profile required to cultivate this plant is significantly broader than that of ordinary flora.”

“Certain compounds considered toxins or contaminants for other plants actually serve as growth promoters for this particular species.”

“For instance, the copper ion concentration in this medium would be lethal to ordinary plants. But for this one...”

He gestured toward the thriving section.

“It makes the leaves even fuller.”

“In some respects, this plant is rather delicate. Yet it is also extraordinarily resilient.”

“Its characteristics are... somewhat contradictory. Almost illogically so.”

The researcher shared his observations on the phenomenon with Pandora—the bewilderment of a scientist confronting the inexplicable.

Pandora merely inclined her head slightly, unsurprised.

The Cloud Crested Currant was never an ordinary plant to begin with.

As Amanda had put it, they were “little darlings” with the potential to transcend the mundane and reach the extraordinary.

A plant capable of bridging the chasm between the common and the supernatural having a nutrient profile beyond conventional reason was only to be expected.

As for its contradictory nature—both delicate and tenacious...

Perhaps that was the very paradox inherent to “the extraordinary” itself.

Pandora did not pursue the matter further.

She gently placed the test tube back into the researcher’s hand and turned toward the exit.

“Good.” Her voice was calm and brief.

“You’ve done well.”

“This quarter, bonuses for all laboratory personnel are doubled.”

The researcher’s head snapped up, scarcely believing his ears.

“D-Doubled?”

His mouth opened. He thought he had misheard.

Pandora did not repeat herself.

She was already leaving, Phoebe at her side, heading for the exit.

The researcher stood frozen for two seconds before his face flushed crimson, his voice trembling with excitement.

“Th-Thank you, Boss!”

“I’ll tell everyone right away!”

“Thank you, Boss!”

He bowed repeatedly, bending nearly at a right angle, too overwhelmed to even wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Pandora said nothing more.

The specifics of the subsequent work adjustments were matters between her and the laboratory director. No need to elaborate further here...

The night deepened.

They exited the laboratory, passed through the corridor, and arrived at the elevator.

The iron grille gate was pulled open with its familiar creak.

The three stepped inside. Crocodile pulled the gate shut.

The lift descended slowly, gears and chains rumbling with a muffled roar.

The laboratory’s lights and that expanse of verdant vitality were sealed away behind them, layer by layer.

But Pandora’s work for the night was not yet finished.

Leaving the modern laboratory in the city center, she took Phoebe and Crocodile back to the Orchard Outpost base, housed in the old academic building.