The residential area occupied only a small part of the farm. A main street ran through it, laid out much like a typical small town, except the houses looked older, with no high-rise buildings—three stories at most, usually commercial establishments.

The population was less than ten thousand, and everyone knew each other well. Mr. Griffin's little car crawled along like a snail, because he had to greet so many people, sometimes even stopping to get out, shake hands, and exchange pleasantries, then enthusiastically introduce Miss Bennett.

To keep up her smile, Miss Bennett's face grew stiff, but she was genuinely happy to have the chance to blend into Mr. Griffin's social circle.

Early the next morning, the two of them went together to pay their respects to the elderly family member. According to seniority, Mr. Griffin had to call him great-grandfather.

At least two hundred people were lined up to offer birthday wishes, the queue stretching from the front hall all the way into the courtyard, winding around in several loops.

Having grown up in the city, Miss Bennett had never experienced anything like this. She felt uneasy, and it showed on her face. Mr. Griffin put his arm around her shoulders and whispered reassuringly, “Don’t worry, it’s simple. Just follow my lead.”

It really was simple. Great-grandfather was so old that he had lost most of his bodily functions, like a zombie, or a puppet connected by springs, nodding tremulously and making wind-like murmurs in his throat, showing no change of expression no matter who he saw.

Mr. Griffin and Miss Bennett bowed three times, handed over a red envelope, placed it on the coffee table in front of great-grandfather, then stepped aside. The whole process took barely more than ten seconds.

Only then did the real gathering begin. Only a small portion of the family lived on the farm; most, like Mr. Griffin, had made a special trip back from elsewhere, partly to celebrate the elder’s birthday, partly to reconnect with relatives.

Within the family, Mr. Griffin was still the dazzling figure, never idle for a moment. Even while waiting in line, he was constantly nodding greetings to others. After the ceremony, as soon as he returned to the courtyard, he was surrounded by a group of young men and women, talking nonstop, ushering him to meet other elders.

Since they’d met, it was the first time Miss Bennett felt neglected, but she took it well, treating it as a brief separation. Soon enough, he would return to her side.

Miss Bennett waved to Mr. Griffin in the distance, indicating she was going out for a walk. Mr. Griffin smiled and nodded, then quickly turned his attention back to a woman he was speaking with.

The woman was very young. With a tinge of jealousy, Miss Bennett walked out the door, but soon regained her cheerful mood. If young Miss Bennett had a motto, it would be: Everything in life is external, only your mood belongs to you, so you must take care of yourself.

In a small town where everyone was related in some way, outsiders felt even more alone, so Miss Bennett deliberately avoided the town’s only main street, choosing instead to walk in quieter places. Rather than people-watching, she preferred to enjoy the scenery.

Aside from the ocean-like expanse of solar panels, the town had no special sights, but everywhere was different from a big city, which Miss Bennett found rather interesting. For example, many houses here used solar panels directly as building materials, repainted in other colors, and there were almost no signs—outsiders could hardly tell which were residences and which were shops.

Miss Bennett liked the town’s tranquility and friendliness, but she was determined that if she had to choose, she would rather give up Mr. Griffin than her own “home”—that noisy, chaotic city, where people were suddenly warm, then suddenly cold, where last night’s drinking and weeping together could turn into strangers the next day. That was the life she wanted.

The path led her to the riverbank. The river wasn’t wide, but looked quite deep. Sparse trees grew on both sides, with weeds thriving between them, apparently rarely trimmed. Only around the benches had patches of ground been trampled clear.

Strolling along, Miss Bennett was soon drawn to a scene across the river—a forest of tall, straight trees, all strangely dead, not a single green leaf.

“What is that?”

Miss Bennett asked herself, not expecting an answer, but a voice replied, telling her, “That’s the Genesis Forest.”

Startled, Miss Bennett looked around. It turned out the benches here were back-to-back, one side facing the road, the other the river. Just a few steps away, a young man poked his head out from behind a bench to look at her.

The man was probably in his twenties, looking a bit thin and scholarly, as if he hadn’t yet graduated from school.

This wasn’t Miss Bennett’s type, nor was he someone she’d be afraid of, so she lifted her chin slightly. “That’s quite a name—Genesis Forest.”

The man stood up—indeed, he was thin—and was actually holding a rare paper book, something Miss Bennett hadn’t seen since before she was ten. He said, “When Guangye Farm was still in its automated phase, before humans had immigrated to Zhaiwang Star, machines scattered large quantities of plant seeds to increase oxygen levels, and a vast forest grew. That’s why it’s called the Genesis Forest—because it arrived before humans did.”

“Oh? Then why did it wither?”

“Because the oxygen was sufficient, and any more would be harmful. So humans destroyed most of the Genesis Forest. Some were cleared away completely, some were left as relics. The one across the river is such a relic—the second largest on this planet, by area.”

“Why keep the relics? As a memorial?”