18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 522

Chapter 522

Rosie was the embodiment of diligence, faithfully watering her fledgling garden

twice a day. Yet despite her efforts, more than half of the grass and trees withered away within days. The scorching heat and lack of water were concerns, but the real enemy was the soil itself.

Stella was no agro-scientist, yet her optimism remained unshaken. "Don't worry, we've still got half left," she said with a reassuring smile.

The sound of hailstones relentlessly pummeling the RV was like a relentless drumbeat. There was only one home-a precious sanctuary-that Stella cherished dearly, and she swiftly ushered everyone inside Arcadia for shelter.

After a couple of hours, they emerged to find the hail mostly melted away. But the storm took another third of the plant life with it. It wasn't the impact that killed them, but rather their inability to adapt during their transplanting phase, as they faced the relentless assault of extreme weather. Even humans would struggle under such conditions.

from experience. Instead of planting directly into the alkaline soil, she transferred the plants into pots with their original earth, gradually exposing them to the harsh elements and retreating them to Arcadia when the weather turned

pitiful-a sad, wilted sight that seemed on the brink of giving up the ghost. The

is home to mulberry trees, cypress, winter squash,

mystery-whether it had been land before or part of the seabed. The soil wasn't saline, and the alkalinity levels seemed manageable. Stella could

the initial shock to their systems. On mild mornings and evenings, the canine couple would race across the

the time they had stabilized, over a month had passed. At sunset, the two would stroll along the beach. Stella glanced back frequently, pondering, "Has the mountain grown taller?" It felt further from the sea than when

pointing to a distant rock, mused, "It's possible." The rock that was once at the sea's edge was now over 50 meters inland. Neither of them were geologists, so whether it was the mountain rising or

harsh, but

spotted a hint of green. A single weed. It was only half an inch tall, but the moist seaside air had nourished it well. It likely sprouted from the seeds they had scattered on the mountains, carried to the shore by the wind. That single

know where it ended. But hiking was tough; just half an hour of uphill and downhill sapped their

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