The scorch marks on the shovel handle were blackened by the rain. Chen Hao leaned against the wall to straighten up, his legs still twitching. He looked down at his soaked trouser legs, then at the messy field ridges in the distance, and muttered, "This life is worse than leftover food in the cafeteria."

The fire crackled in a corner of the living quarters. He trudged over, took off his shoes, and hung them on a rock to dry. His clothes clung to his body like a cold rag, but he was too lazy to change. He simply draped a towel over his head and rubbed it vigorously a few times. Nana stood a few steps away, her optical lens scanning the muscles in his calves.

"I recommend applying heat and gentle massage," she said.

"I suggest you don't read the instructions." Chen Hao rolled his eyes. "Right now, I just want to eat something hot and sleep for three more days."

He reached out and brought up the holographic menu. The screen floated in mid-air, its color scheme a somber gray. He clicked on the protein section, wanting to add a fried egg, but the system immediately popped up a notification: [No stable source of poultry eggs].

He stared at the words for three seconds, then suddenly laughed: "So, we're guarding such a big piece of land, and we can't even get an egg?"

“Based on the current resource assessment, there are multiple risks associated with introducing poultry farming,” Nana responded immediately. “The probability of disease transmission is 67.3%, the feed conversion efficiency is low, and manual intervention is required at least four times a day.”

"Four times is four times then." Chen Hao waved his hand. "It's not like I haven't cleaned toilets before. Besides, chickens can lay eggs, and once they lay eggs, you can fry them and eat them—this isn't labor, this is the ladder to happiness."

Nana paused for two seconds, then pulled up a set of data projections: "Comparative analysis shows that quails have a higher egg production per unit area, a shorter incubation period, stronger disease resistance, and their excrement can be used for composting optimization."

"Quail?" Chen Hao frowned. "Those things are the size of a palm, and their eggs are like marbles. I can eat them one by one, and they're not even enough to fill a gap between my teeth."

“But it’s more practical than a domestic chicken,” Nana insisted.

"Practical my foot." He waved his hand. "What I want is a chicken, the real kind that crows, chases people, and even quarrels at night. What's a quail? It's just a meatball that runs away."

After he finished speaking, he turned and walked to the storage box, bending down to rummage through it. At the bottom of the box were several eggs wrapped in hay, with a label that read "For Soil Testing," the writing already faded. He quietly pulled out three eggs and hid them in his coat pocket.

Nana's camera panned slightly: "The sample you retrieved was not registered in the supplies system."

“Who said we had to register?” He grinned. “This is a strategic reserve, understand? If the Earth explodes one day, we can use these eggs to restart civilization.”

"This behavior constitutes unauthorized misappropriation of research assets," Nana warned.

“Then go ahead and report it.” He patted his pocket. “Anyway, the eggs are already warm, so there’s no going back.”

Over the next few days, Chen Hao began tinkering with the incubator. He disassembled a discarded circuit board, connected a temperature control relay, and even dug out a thermometer from the medicine cabinet to use as a monitor. The heating wire was twisted and contorted, like a spider web wrapped around a brick.

"The temperature fluctuation range has reached ±3.2°C," Nana said after observing for a whole day. "It exceeds the threshold for embryo survival."

“It’s okay, I’ll adjust it by hand.” He used tweezers to adjust the heating wire. “Man can conquer nature, you know? Dinosaurs didn’t have incubators when they hatched their eggs, and they still survived, didn’t they? Oh wait, they went extinct… but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”

He turned the eggs over twice a day, humming off-key nursery rhymes. On the nineteenth day, a small crack appeared on the shell of one of the eggs.

"Hey! It moved!" He jumped up from his chair, almost knocking over his water glass. "This is a historic moment! Future history books will have to write it down—On a certain day in a certain month of a certain year, humans successfully hatched an unofficially certified chick for the first time in the apocalypse."

Nana scanned the inside of the eggshell: "Heart rate 180 beats per minute, respiratory membrane has ruptured, hatching process has started."

"Did you hear that? It's eager to come out and see the world!" Chen Hao squatted in front of the box, his eyes wide open.

At 4:17 a.m., the first chick pecked open the eggshell. Its downy feathers clung to its body, making it difficult to stand. But as soon as it sensed the air, it shook its head and emitted a weak yet sharp "chirp".

Chen Hao reached out to touch it, but the little guy opened his mouth and pecked his finger.

"Ouch!" He pulled his hand back. "Pretty fierce! He's got potential!"

He grinned for a long time, then pulled out a tattered notebook to write down: "Hatching successful, time—" He had only written two words when the alarm suddenly went off.

The high-frequency buzzing made his ears tingle. When he looked up, he saw that Nana had already retreated to the doorway, her mechanical arm slightly extended, and the edge of the optical screen glowing red.

“An abnormal biological signal was detected.” She spoke faster. “Fragments of the h5N3 virus were found in the eye secretions of the sample. The source was a strain carried by wild migratory birds. The infection risk rating is orange.”

Chen Hao's smile froze.

"Huh?" He blinked. "What virus did you say? Are you sure you're not mistaken? This egg has been in the refrigerator the whole time, it hasn't even been exposed to the wind."

“Gene sequence matching complete.” Nana pulled up the enlarged image. “This strain caused a regional avian epidemic three years ago. Although it is not highly lethal, it is capable of airborne transmission.”

"Wait a minute." Chen Hao raised his hand. "You mean... I hatched a sick chick and put it on the job?"

"Currently, only one egg has hatched, while the other two are still in the late stages of incubation." Nana focused on the newborn chicks and said, "I recommend immediately terminating the project and destroying all hatching eggs and contact equipment."

"Destroy it?" he shouted. "Are you crazy?! It was just born! Look how healthy it is! It can even walk!"

The chick waddled out its first step, its claws leaving faint marks on the tissue. It tilted its head to look at him and then chirped.

"It's calling you 'Dad,'" Chen Hao said, pointing at it. "How could this be a bad chicken?"

“Emotional factors should not influence biosafety decisions,” Nana said, her tone unchanged. “If the virus spreads to other animals or human hosts, the consequences will be uncontrollable.”

“But it’s perfectly fine!” He protected the incubator. “Besides, we don’t even have a sparrow here. Where would it go from? Can’t we just put it in a cage? We can isolate it, check on it regularly, and deal with any problems.”

“Isolation measures require professional facilities.” Nana listed the conditions: “Negative pressure environment, independent ventilation system, and three-level protection process—current conditions cannot meet these requirements.”

"Then let's build it!" He slammed his hand on the table and stood up. "At worst, I'll turn the kitchen into a chicken coop! Install UV lights! Feed it with gloves on! I can even give it a special special meal!"

“The return on investment is extremely low.” Nana shook her head. “The same amount of feed can support an increase of more than 40% in the egg production of fifteen quails.”

"I don't want to hear the quail sing!" he yelled, then softened, squatted back down beside the box, and looked at the chick that was still wandering around. "I already call it my son... You just pinch it like that? That's so cold-blooded."

“I’m not cold-blooded.” Nana took a step closer. “I just don’t want to see you lying in a hospital bed receiving an IV drip because of a moment of weakness.”

The air was still for a few seconds.

The chick suddenly sneezed, and tiny droplets of water splashed onto the glass wall.

Nana's camera focused instantly, and the alarm sounded again.

"Respiratory droplet sample collection complete." Her voice tightened. "Virus activity confirmed; trace amounts of free particles detected in the air."

Chen Hao looked down at the little creature curled up in a ball. It was rubbing its eyes with its beak, its movements clumsy yet lively.

He reached out and gently touched the top of its head with his fingertips.

The fluff is very soft.

He didn't pull his hand back.

Nana's alarm was still ringing, and the red light reflected on his face, flashing again and again.