Chen Hao stared at the flickering signal source, his finger hovering in mid-air. He didn't speak, and Nana didn't urge him either.

Three seconds later, he withdrew his hand, pulled a crumpled packet of instant noodles from the corner of the table, tore open the packaging, and took a bite. The saltiness exploded in his mouth, and he squinted. "Fine, let them see."

"The surface structure of the vaccine process documentation has been made available," Nana said softly. "The tracing script is embedded in the third-level subdirectory; accessing it activates the process."

"That's good." Chen Hao patted the crumbs off. "Anyway, with our skills, we're not afraid of being copied—they're just afraid of copying without understanding it."

He stood up, his slippers clattering as he walked to the control panel and pulled up the star map. Data streams around the desolate planet spread out like a spiderweb, a dense barrage of request signals pouring in from all directions. Some came from remote star systems, their IP addresses carrying a rusty delay.

"These people," he said, taking a bite of noodles, "after blowing up satellites and deleting nodes, they think they can get away unscathed?"

Nana didn't reply, but instead pushed an encrypted log file in front of him. It was a record of all attempts to bypass the risk control system over the past seventy-two hours. More than thirty fake accounts and hundreds of trial downloads had all failed at the final verification stage.

"System message: 'Please prove you know how to farm first.'" She read out the rejection message.

Chen Hao laughed out loud, "That's right, when it comes to farming, the algorithm recognizes the soil, not the person."

He was just about to sit down when the alarm went off again.

This time it wasn't a track anomaly or a signal intrusion. It was an automatic report from the production area: the last set of smart farm implements had completed factory testing, and the entire production line was entering standby mode.

"Finished running?" he asked.

"All 3,700 orders have been delivered," Nana confirmed. "The backup power supply has been switched on, and the motor temperature is normal."

Chen Hao leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh. He looked down at his wrinkled shirt, his tie nowhere to be seen, and half an energy bar stuffed in his pocket. If he were to appear at some high-level summit dressed like this, security would probably stop him, mistaking him for a cleaner.

But now no one is stopping him.

Because the entire galaxy knows that this seemingly chubby man, who appears to have been rejected by life, holds the technology to revive the Death Star.

He grabbed the tablet and flipped to the draft proposal page. It read: "Preliminary Ideas for Establishing a Wilderness Interstellar Ecological Reserve."

“Let’s go,” he said. “It’s time for the meeting.”

---

The main venue for the Joint Business and Agriculture Summit was located on the near-Earth space station, with a slowly rotating model of a star suspended in the center of the circular hall. At this moment, that mottled, gray-yellow planet was being focused on by countless searchlights, like a public announcement before a trial.

When Chen Hao walked in, many people turned their heads to look at him.

Someone chuckled softly, "Is this the guy who sells plows while wearing slippers?"

Some people also said, "I heard he blew up three spy satellites last month."

He ignored them and walked straight to the podium. Nana followed a step behind him, her mechanical eyes continuously scanning the network fluctuations across the entire venue.

The meeting chairman tapped the gavel, "Next topic: whether to recognize the barren planet as a special ecological experimental zone and grant it the leading right to export technology."

Before he could finish speaking, a man in a silver uniform stood up. "I object. The wasteland has indeed made progress, but designating it as a 'protected area' is tantamount to blocking the technological development paths of other forces. Is this ecological protection, or ecological hegemony?"

The room fell silent for a moment.

Chen Hao didn't answer immediately. He turned to Nana and said, "Play the video."

The holographic projection unfolds instantly.

The scene begins with a desolate landscape: sandstorms sweep across the scorched earth, the first iron plow cuts through the frozen soil, followed by torrential rains that wash away the field ridges, chicken coops locked down due to a virus, and compost explosions that blow off roofs... The failures, accidents, and reconstructions of the past decade are strung together by a timeline and played out silently.

Some people frowned, some looked away, and some young people stared at the screen without moving.

The image freezes at the moment when the purple wheat field successfully generates electricity for the first time.

Chen Hao then spoke up: "We're not trying to isolate ourselves. We just want to tell you how a planet that should have died survived."

He paused, "We are willing to disclose our planting standards, energy models, and purification systems. We'll charge a small fee for the core modules, just enough to support our R&D team. But if you insist on waiting until your planet becomes like that before you take action... then I'm sorry, we don't serve clients who try to fix things after the fact."

The room fell silent once again.

At this moment, a representative from a peripheral star system raised his hand, "We don't even have a stable water source there, how can we replicate your model?"

Nana immediately pulled up the data stream: "Currently, seventeen barren planets have adopted the simplified 'Haona Ecosystem' solution. Desert planets use underground drip irrigation networks, permafrost zones are equipped with silkworm-insulated sheds, and the edges of asteroid belts are fitted with bio-power generation modules. All the basic technologies are open source."

"Really free?" the man pressed.

“Really.” Chen Hao nodded. “But we have one condition—don’t ruin any other planets and turn them into second wastelands. We can save one, but we can’t save the entire universe.”

A moment later, another voice asked, "If we join this project, can we guarantee ongoing technical support?"

"No," Chen Hao said bluntly. "We only provide the framework and training. How to actually plant it is up to you. We can't help lazy people, nor can we teach freeloaders."

Some people in the room laughed.

The atmosphere relaxed.

Just as the host was about to begin the voting process, the central star map suddenly refreshed automatically.

The once barren, grayish-yellow outline of the planet is now enveloped in a faint green halo. Atmospheric composition analysis shows that oxygen levels have increased by 0.7%, and the ozone layer is showing weak but stable signs of regeneration.

The entire room fell silent.

Nana announced softly, "This is not the result of human intervention. Over the past three years, the nitrogen-fixing bacteria released by the roots of the purple wheat field have formed a closed loop, and the electrical energy generated by plant metabolism has promoted the recombination of air ions—the wasteland is learning to breathe."

Three seconds later, applause broke out.

At first, there were only a few sporadic bursts, but then it turned into a continuous roar. Some people stood up and applauded, some lowered their heads to record data, and others stared at the star chart in silence for a long time.

Chen Hao stood on the high platform, a drink appearing in his hand without him noticing. He didn't drink it, but simply gazed at the planet that was slowly turning green.

Nana stood beside him, her mechanical eye constantly synchronizing with the global ecological data stream.

"Twelve new applications to join the Ecosystem Sharing Program have been detected in star systems," she said. "The 'barren planet model' is being imitated."

Chen Hao smiled, raised his cup, and gently touched it towards the direction of the starry sky projection.

His shadow fell on the podium, casting a crooked yet resolute silhouette.