Dark copper in color, much heavier than the previous one.
Lu Yuan took it and put the old key back into his inner pocket.
The new lock turned twice, and the door opened.
A warm breath spilled out through the crack, like stepping into a room with a lit fireplace in winter.
Lu Yuan walked inside.
The room had changed.
The original copper-faced workbench had been pushed into a corner.
In the center stood a glass enclosure half a man's height tall, mounted on a thick copper base covered in densely packed isolation inscriptions.
The copper box that had once held the Seed sat in the corner by the wall.
Its lid was open, and it was empty inside.
It clearly could no longer hold it.
Lu Yuan walked up to the glass enclosure.
Inside, the Seed rested quietly.
But it was completely different from a few days ago.
Its shell was no longer gray. The rough stone-like surface had faded away, replaced by a pale golden sheen like polished amber.
The tentacles—or rather, shoots and leaves—emerging from the cracks had grown much taller since the last time he saw them.
Warm orange in color and faintly translucent, they swayed slowly in the windless room.
As if they were breathing.
The entire room was filled with a warm presence.
In Lu Yuan's perception, that warmth spread outward from the Seed in layer upon layer, rippling through the room.
It was a kind of pure "warmth" Lu Yuan had never encountered before.
At that moment, the Symbiotic Link suddenly stirred.
Deep in his left eye, the Worm of Knowledge moved.
The little thing swam out of his eye socket.
It was not the drooling excitement it had shown when devouring Von Linde's core, but something more like contentment.
The Worm of