The Farming Saint in the Starry Wasteland (Elizabeth Schofield) novel Chapter 54

Chapter 54 The Miracle of the Potato

The moment his eyes landed on the fresh scratch across Fiona’s face, pain and self–loathing flooded in. His voice came out cracked but clear. “Fiona… I’m sorry… Did I… hurt you again?”

That single lucid “Fiona” shattered her completely.

She flung herself into his arms, crying tears of pure, desperate joy. “No! You didn’t hurt me! Melton! Are you… are you okay? You’re really awake?! Oh God–oh God—”

Melton patted her back gently, soothing her, but his brow furrowed. “How long… was I gone this time?”

lash left him weaker. And they were lasting longer.

her head wildly, face alight with belief. “Not long at all! Just… just one hour! start to now–one hour! Look!”

he held up her wrist, showing him th

Melton stared at the display, shock

His previous episodes had neve for ages; weak, racked with he

He felt tired, yes. But his one that clung to him

Then, he noticed

He held up h

Fiona re

him

on her device.

n across his face. “One hour?… That’s impossible.”

less than half a day. And afterward, he’d be bedridden s but nothing like this.

s startlingly clear. Even that constant, gnawing ache–the site–had dulled significantly.

ue on his hands. The unfamiliar sweetness lingered on his lips.

ying the yellow crumbs. “Fiona… what did you give me?”

dirt lumps.” She snatched up the last remaining one and thrust it at ut. “It was a girl! A stranger–she was just passing by–she threw these arted getting better right after you ate them-”

mud–caked tuber and examined it under the recycling station’s pale light.

the dirt, revealing its true form

and disbelief washed over his face. He murmured, “This is… a potato?”

was meant new land was needed.

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11:33 Fri, May 8

Chapter 54 The Miracle of the Potato

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Elizabeth drew up plans to clear a much larger section next to her existing plot–dividing it into separate beds for potatoes, sweet potatoes, and her newly acquired strawberry, watermelon, and apple seeds.

Grand plans. The reality, however, was a mess.

Her current plot had been the cleanest patch in the area, with the least garbage.

Everywhere else? A single shovel would hit a solid ten inches of compacted waste.

Step one: surface clearing.

It was, without question, the filthiest, most exhausting, most nauseating manual labor imaginable.

Elizabeth changed into her most durable work clothes, strapped on her handmade mask and gloves, took a deep breath, and went to war.

She started at the edges, dragging out large metal frames and panels by hand or with improvised hooks and pry bars, sorting them into piles.

These counted as “valuable” trash. Once she had enough, she could haul them to the recycling station for a few stellar coins.

Next came the tedious part–sifting through the fine, tangled layer of mixed debris.

Corroded parts, snapped pipes, filthy rags, hardened sludge. Every piece had to be sorted by hand.

The stench that erupted with each shovelful nearly knocked her over, mask or not.

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