Chen Hao stared at the crack on the edge of the control panel, carved by a meteorite fragment, his fingers unconsciously tracing its surface. Just moments after Nana announced that "the species with the greatest evolutionary advantage in the ecosystem is no longer human," the room had become as quiet as a refrigerator without power.

He didn't move or speak, but simply placed the now-cold cup of coffee back on the counter. The liquid sloshed around, leaving a brownish ring along the inside of the cup.

The next second, a pop-up notification appeared on the screen from the Interstellar Agriculture Forum's trending topics: "Genetic weapons appear on a barren planet? 'Anti-entropy crops' may threaten the interstellar ecosystem."

Below the title are three edited videos—one showing radioactive wheat standing upright in the dust, captioned "This isn't a plant, it's a spore dispersal device"; the second showing the spiral structure of a silkworm spinning silk, with a somber narration: "They are recording, and they are spreading." The third is simply the entire process of a batch of purple wheat grains being intercepted by customs on a certain planet, the camera panning across the fluctuating radioactivity levels on the detector, marked in red: "Seventeen times above the standard."

"Good heavens." Chen Hao grinned. "I'm growing grain, but they've interpreted it as a declaration of biological warfare."

Nana's voice came from above: "In the past six hours, seventeen colonies have announced a suspension of receiving all crops from their planets. The Interstellar Ecological Protection Alliance has issued an emergency proposal recommending that 'radiated wheat' be included in the list of high-risk genetically modified crops."

"Oh, then I'll give up farming and become a terrorist instead." He reached for a bag of flattened potato chips, took a bite, and said, "My size is perfect for hiding bombs."

The robotic arm rotated gently, bringing up a comprehensive online public opinion map. The densely packed nodes resembled a gleaming spider web, with their desolate planetary base, designated F-49, at its center.

“The main concerns are focused on three points,” Nana said calmly. “First, whether the process by which crops absorb radiation and convert it into bioenergy has a chain reaction characteristic; second, whether their root exudates can irreversibly change the soil microbial structure; and third, whether there is a risk of cross-species gene transfer.”

Chen Hao swallowed the last crumb of potato chips, crumpled the packaging bag into a ball, and threw it into the recycling bin. "In other words, they're afraid that our wheat can survive on nuclear waste, and even thrive, so they'll eventually turn other land into their canteen."

"The logical deduction holds true."

“Then let’s not explain.” He leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “The more you explain, the more guilty you seem. Let’s do something decisive—go public.”

"What do you mean?"

"Upload all the data." He pointed to the regulatory bureau's interface, "Cultivation logs, environmental parameters, cell metabolism curves, even whether there was methane in my fart yesterday. Let them check until their eyes are sore."

Nana paused for a second: "This operation cannot be reversed. Once shared, any registration agency can access the original records."

"I'm afraid they won't look," Chen Hao sneered. "I'd be more happy if there were more people watching. Real gold isn't afraid of being tested by fire, but fake goods are afraid of being scanned."

Three minutes after the command was issued, the agricultural sharing platform automatically generated a QR code for the "Full Record of Radiation Wheat Cultivation" and simultaneously pushed it to public information platforms on various planets. Some media outlets immediately took screenshots and forwarded them, with the caption: "The most transparent crop in history is born."

The situation seems to have taken a turn for the better.

But Nana immediately followed up with a report: "The transport ship has set sail, carrying the first batch of 500 kilograms of finished wheat grains, heading towards the G7 interplanetary port. An unregistered spaceship has been detected following it at a distance of 30,000 kilometers, and its track has locked onto the cargo hold."

Chen Hao squinted at the navigation chart. The small dot remained stuck to the rear of the transport ship, neither getting close nor leaving, like a slug that he couldn't shake off.

"Did it recognize it?" he asked.

"The ship's hull characteristics match those of the 'Green Shield,' an unofficial patrol vessel of the 'Interstellar Ecological Protection Alliance,' which has intercepted unauthorized genetically modified crop transport missions three times using methods including electromagnetic interference, waterway blockade, and forced boarding inspection."

"Heh, the extras are in place." He stroked his chin. "Not going for the hardcore this time?"

"Attack mode is not currently activated; we are only maintaining a monitoring status."

Chen Hao suddenly laughed: "Alright, since they want to see, let's let them see as much as they want."

He pressed the public channel button, his voice clear: "Hey, aren't you tired after following us for so long? We welcome your supervision, but please keep a safe distance. We are willing to accept full monitoring."

After saying that, he cut off the communication and turned to Nana, saying, "Start the live stream."

"The cargo hold panoramic camera has been activated." The robotic arm quickly connected to the signal source, "playing the real-time status of the wheat plants, the operation of the temperature control system, and the anti-radiation packaging process."

The image immediately transmitted back to the control center's large screen: the wheat seedlings inside the sealed box were growing quietly, their leaves gleaming with a metallic purple light, and their roots entwined with faint, electrically charged fluorescent threads. Below, scrolling text displayed the current radiation absorption rate, oxygen release, and gene stability index.

Within ten minutes, multiple neutral media outlets reposted the live stream, and the comment section began to flood with comments.

[This data is too clean, isn't it?]

[They dare to broadcast it, but you don't dare to watch it?]

[I just checked, and all indicators are within safe thresholds, even more stable than ordinary wheat.]

As Chen Hao watched the public opinion curve slowly decline, he curled the corners of his mouth and said, "Sometimes the eyes of the masses are indeed discerning."

Then Nana spoke up again: "The Eco Conservation Alliance issued a statement through a third party, still insisting on a complete blockade of the interplanetary circulation of this crop, citing 'potential uncontrollable evolutionary risks'."

"Oh, still not giving up?" He scratched his head. "Do these people think that anything that's been modified must be bad? By that logic, my wearing glasses is also a case of failed genetic defect correction."

He stood up, paced around the control panel twice, and suddenly stopped: "Wait, aren't they afraid? Afraid of losing control, afraid of pollution, afraid that the Earth... oh no, that the entire universe will be taken over by purple wheat."

"Yes."

“Then let’s put it another way.” He slammed his hand on the table. “Tell them that this wheat isn’t a destroyer, it’s a cleaner.”

Please explain the specific plan.

“Make a diagram,” he gestured. “Just say it eats dirty things, and the higher the radiation, the better it grows. Planting a plot of land here is like building a natural purification plant. Add a few comparison pictures—on one side is a barren nuclear wasteland, and on the other side is our purple wheat field with waves of wheat swaying in the wind.”

Within five minutes, a concise and clear science infographic was generated. The title read: "Radiation Mic: Not a Threat, But a Salvation."

After Chen Hao personally reviewed it, he pushed it along with the live stream link to the alliance's public mailbox.

Then he walked to the porthole, looked at the small spaceship that was faintly visible in the distance, took a deep breath, and turned on the full-frequency broadcast.

"Everyone," he said calmly, "I know what you're worried about. I'm afraid too. I'm afraid no one will believe in science, afraid the truth won't outrun rumors, afraid that what we've worked so hard to grow will end up being used as a source of disaster."

He paused.

"But we don't want special privileges, we just want an opportunity—for your people to come and inspect in person. The cargo ship's route has been announced, and it is expected to arrive at G7 port in 72 hours. You are welcome to board the ship for random inspections. Bring your equipment, your experts, and your skepticism. As long as you dare to come, we dare to open the door."

After he finished speaking, he turned off the broadcast and turned to Nana: "Prepare for the next stage."

"Automatic tracking mode has been set up to continuously monitor public opinion and the movements of the frigates." The mechanical eye flashed blue light slightly. "A new wave of information is expected in the next four hours."

Chen Hao nodded, picked up the cultivation plan on the table, flipped through a couple of pages, and then put it down. He stared at the two parallel dots on the navigation map—one was his own transport ship, and the other was that stubborn surveillance ship.

The distance between them remained unchanged.

They didn't get close either.

Like a silent standoff, it continues.

He grabbed a freshly opened bag of cookies and took a bite.

Crumbs fell onto the keyboard.