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.

she planted a fresh batch. This time, she learned from experience. Instead of planting directly into the alkaline soil, she transferred the plants into pots with their original earth, gradually exposing

the plants survived. Their growth was pitiful-a sad, wilted sight that seemed on the brink of giving up the ghost. The dandelion seeds in

Jasper was the picture of patience, poring over books and resources. "Arcadia is home to mulberry trees, cypress, winter squash, and wheat. They're ideal for saline-alkaline soil. We

had been land before or part of the seabed. The soil wasn't saline, and the alkalinity levels seemed manageable. Stella could afford the setbacks thanks to her resources. So, the third planting

and her pups persevered, regaining their vigor despite the initial shock to their systems. On mild

two would stroll along the beach. Stella glanced back frequently, pondering, "Has the mountain

rock that was once at the sea's edge was now over 50 meters inland. Neither of them were geologists, so

harsh, but as long as land remained, hope would spread like wildfire. On the rocky shore, she planted a few cypress seeds, watered them, and left some fertilizer

nourished it well. It likely sprouted from the seeds they had scattered on the mountains, carried to the shore by the wind. That single plant lifted Stella's spirits, and that night they feasted heartily. Life had taken root in this barren

half an hour of

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