Chapter 1

After almost drowning once, I started hearing plants talk.

Ever since, weeding sounded like a slaughterhouse, and pruning branches felt like watching an amputation.

Yet because of it, I fell head over heels for all things green, spending every waking moment surrounded by flora.

After graduating with a degree in horticulture, I landed a job at the prestigious state botanical garden.

On my very first day, the head master arborist decided to cut down a hundred-and-twenty-year-old heirloom tea tree in the conservatory.

He let out a heavy sigh. "It's completely dried up and dead. Rip it out and replace it."

The groundskeepers grabbed their saws and chainsaws, but a furious roar blasted straight into my brain.

*"Who's dead?! I'm just exhausted, damn it! I wanted to nap for a year!"*

*"Hey! Get that chainsaw away from me! Piss off!"*

I hesitated for a second, then stepped forward anyway.

"Let me try. I can bring it back to life."

My voice sounded thin and fragile across the open nursery.

The master arborist, Marcus Vance, lifted his eyelids, his gaze behind his wire-rimmed glasses cold as winter well water.

"You?"

He looked me up and down, from head to toe. I knew that look all too well—it was like a grocer eyeing a wilted head of lettuce on clearance.

"You're the new hire this year? What was your name again?"

"Chloe Shen."

"Where did you graduate from?"

"State Forestry University, Landscape Horticulture."

"State Forestry?"

He scoffed, tossing his pruning shears onto the metal workbench with a harsh clatter. "Bachelor's or Master's?"

"Bachelor's."

"Bachelor's," he repeated, not bothering to hide the thick condescension in his voice—sour and sharp like aged vinegar.

The surrounding groundskeepers exchanged glances.

A middle-aged woman wearing a sun hat covered her mouth, her shoulders trembling with stifled laughter.

Marcus unhurriedly pulled out a pack of cigarettes, stuck one between his lips, but didn't light it.

"Little girl, this heritage tea tree has lived for a hundred and twenty years. I've worked in this garden for thirty-eight years, rising from an apprentice all the way to chief director. I've handled thousands of heritage trees."

He patted the cracked, rough bark of the trunk, as casually as one would pat a dead fish.

"Its nutrient transport stopped last fall. The root system has rotted, the cambium layer is parched, and the xylem is completely desiccated. To put it plainly, it's dead as a doornail. And you, a fresh college graduate, are telling me you can revive it?"

Without waiting for my answer, he shook his head with mock pity.

"Youthful passion is great, but don't confuse passion with actual skill. This isn't one of your college term papers where you can fudge a few numbers and call it a day."

A few groundskeepers snickered out loud.

I balled my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms.

The tea tree's furious bellow was still ringing in my ears.

*"Tell him to get his dirty paws off me! What's he groping around for! Does he think my bark is free for him to touch?!"*

*"Hey girl, don't just stand there! Chase away these bastards with the chainsaws! I'm telling you, I just bore over four hundred pounds of tea seeds last year and burned myself out! I just want a one-year break, and by next spring I swear I'll be bursting with lush green shoots for you!"*

I took a deep breath, lifted my chin, and met Marcus's gaze directly.

"Director Vance, I respect your diagnosis, but I genuinely have a method to revive it."

"Oh? Pray tell, what method?"

He crossed his arms, settling in like he was watching a circus clown perform.

I couldn't say it was because the tree told me it was merely tired.

Saying that out loud would get me exactly one thing: an involuntary psych ward hold.

"I need to inspect the root condition, balance the soil's pH, and adjust the trace mineral profile. Its cambium layer might still retain viability—it could just be in deep dormancy."

I made it up on the fly, blending seventy percent science with thirty percent intuition.

Marcus clearly hadn't expected such a technical response. His eyebrow twitched slightly.

Still, he quickly slipped back into his condescending smirk.

"Deep dormancy? Ha! I've been doing plant diagnostics for thirty-eight years. You think I can't tell the difference between dormancy and death?"

He tapped his unlit cigarette, as if flicking invisible dust off himself.

"Fine. Since you're so confident, I'll give you a shot."

He pointed at the massive tree.

"Revive it. If you succeed, I, Marcus Vance, will bow and apologize to you in front of the entire staff. But if you fail—"

His voice suddenly dropped, heavy as a boulder splashing into mud.

"You write your resignation letter, pack your crap, and get lost. I have no room for arrogant half-wits on my payroll."