After the ground cracked open, Chen Hao plopped down on the bench and didn't move.

The crack was only half a meter long, with uneven edges, as if something had pushed it from below. He stared at it for three seconds, then turned to Nana and asked, "Is this place still habitable?"

Nana's camera panned across the crack, and data streamed rapidly inside. "Shallow displacement, no sustained vibration," she said. "It's not a precursor to a collapse."

"That's good." Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought our lousy base was going to sink."

“Not at the moment.” Nana turned and walked toward the main control panel. “But we need to increase daily structural inspections.”

"Alright." Chen Hao stood up, leaning on the table, his nose starting to itch again. He took off his temporary mask to rub it, but then sneezed twice, almost bringing tears to his eyes.

"The allergy symptoms haven't completely subsided." Nana glanced back at him. "I suggest we treat it immediately."

“I can tolerate it.” Chen Hao took a breath. “Let’s see if there’s any possibility of eradicating that flower.”

“It’s not feasible.” Nana pulled up the surveillance footage. “The roots of the plants have become entangled with the drainage pipes. Forcibly removing them will affect the irrigation system.”

"Then we'll have to take precautions." Chen Hao wiped his face. "Didn't you say you wanted to make a filter cover?"

“The design is already in progress.” Nana opened the materials list. “I need you to provide the face measurements.”

"My face is swollen now, so I can't take accurate measurements."

"Wait until the swelling goes down before taking another test."

"When will we get here?" Chen Hao rolled his eyes. "Why don't you just do it to the pig's head standard? It won't make a difference if you do it a day or two."

Nana didn't reply, but turned around and took a glass jar from the locker. Inside was a pale yellow, viscous liquid with tiny bubbles on the surface.

“This is the honey we collected last time,” she said. “Tests show it contains natural antibacterial components.”

"You're going to use this to treat me?" Chen Hao was stunned. "I'm not coughing, this is an allergy."

“Local inflammatory response,” Nana said. “Honey can reduce tissue redness and swelling, and its effect is even better when combined with anti-inflammatory herbs.”

"You really have wild ideas." Chen Hao leaned closer to take a look. "Isn't this thing for eating?"

"Resources are limited." Nana unscrewed the lid. "It's better to try than to just let it drag on."

She used tweezers to pick up a small pinch of purple powder and stirred it into the honey. The powder came from purple-stemmed chrysanthemums picked from the eastern hillside, dried and ground into a fine powder, and had a mild analgesic effect.

The mixed paste becomes darker in color and thicker in texture.

"Where should I apply it?" Chen Hao asked.

“The old wound area on the outside of his arm.” Nana pointed to a scabbed scratch near his elbow. “Testing penetration and reaction speed.”

"Okay." Chen Hao rolled up his sleeves. "Let's go."

Nana used a plastic spatula to take a small amount of ointment and applied it evenly around the wound. Ten minutes later, the red area of ​​the skin had visibly shrunk.

“It works,” she said.

"It is a bit cold," Chen Hao nodded. "But can that cure a swollen face?"

“The principle is the same.” Nana began marking the ratios, “1:3 is the current optimal ratio.”

"Then do more." Chen Hao stretched his arms. "I can't look in the mirror until my face goes down."

Over the next few hours, Nana worked at her workbench preparing samples of varying proportions. The three vials were labeled A, b, and c, with slightly different colors of their contents.

Chen Hao sat beside him, dozing off, waking up every few minutes to blow his nose before going back to sleep.

As it was getting dark, he woke up and found that his right arm was a little numb.

"Nana." He raised his hand and looked at it. "Why does my arm feel so numb?"

Nana scanned the area immediately. "When did you apply the medicine?"

"What?" Chen Hao was taken aback. "I didn't apply it."

“But there’s residual medication on your right arm.” She moved closer to examine it. “The concentration is extremely high, almost like pure herbal powder.”

“…I got up in the middle of the night,” Chen Hao recalled. “I saw there was still some left on the table, and thinking that applying more would help it heal faster, I just grabbed the blackest bottle.”

“That’s Group C, undiluted.” Nana pulled up the data. “The active alkaloids are six times the standard, causing temporary inhibition of nerve endings.”

"So I'm poisoned?" Chen Hao tried to clench his fist, but his fingers were stiff.

“It’s not poisoning,” she said. “It’s protective paralysis caused by overstimulation, and it will recover within two hours.”

"You should have said so earlier!" Chen Hao exclaimed anxiously. "I thought it was just a worsening of my allergy!"

"The label says 'For external use only, do not exceed the size of a soybean each time,'" Nana said calmly. "Didn't you read it?"

"Who can read a label in the dark!" Chen Hao glared. "Can't your robots type the text bigger?"

"Next time, you can add voice prompts." Nana took out the resin glue and dripped it into the newly mixed solution. "This time, I added a slow-release ingredient to prevent it from being absorbed too quickly."

“You should have done this a long time ago.” Chen Hao leaned back in his chair. “My arm feels like it was borrowed right now.”

Nana reconstituted three sets of standard ointments, each with a label clearly indicating the applicable wound type, dosage, and shelf life.

“Don’t try things on your own in the future,” she said. “Medical procedures must be followed.”

"I know I was wrong," Chen Hao muttered. "Who told you to make it without instructions?"

"Now we have it."

After the ointment was applied, Nana asked him to remeasure her face. This time, she used a soft measuring tape around her nose and cheekbones, and then entered the data into the system.

"The filter can be installed tomorrow," she said. "Tonight, I'll apply a low-concentration ointment to my face to reduce the swelling."

"Apply it to your face?" Chen Hao hesitated. "Won't it make your face numb again?"

"Formula D, increase the proportion of honey, and dilute the herbs to a safe level." Nana handed over a new bottle. "Only apply a thin layer."

"Okay." Chen Hao carefully took it. "I'll make sure I see it clearly this time."

He returned to his room and applied a strip of cream to each cheek before turning off the light. It felt cool to the touch, without any stinging sensation.

Not long after lying down, my breathing became easier.

The next morning, the first thing Chen Hao did after waking up was to touch his face.

The swelling has gone down, but the tip of my nose is still a little red.

"Looks like I'll have to apply some more." He opened the D-group ointment and applied it again.

Nana is assembling the filter cover frame. The motor and fan blades are already fixed, and the activated carbon mesh is also installed.

"Where's the mask?" Chen Hao asked as he walked over.

“Printing,” she said, pointing to the 3D printer. “It’ll be finished in ten minutes.”

"Then I'll put this ointment away first." Chen Hao picked up several bottles of finished products from the workbench and prepared to put them into the first-aid kit.

He casually washed the empty can and turned it upside down on the rack to dry.

“That bottle doesn’t need to be washed,” Nana suddenly said.

Which one?

"The group d you just used."

Why?

“There are trace amounts of residue inside, so I need to do a stability test.”

"Oh." Chen Hao put down the bottle. "You're really serious about this."

"Medicines must have a confirmed expiration date," Nana said. "Otherwise, they're just useless."

"Just like us," Chen Hao grinned, "Making use of waste."

“You said that before.” Nana looked up. “Repeating jokes isn’t funny.”

"You remember this so clearly?" Chen Hao asked in surprise. "I thought you only stored useful data."

“Even mundane conversations are recorded,” she said, “to analyze human language patterns.”

"So what conclusion did you draw?"

"Your words lack originality."

"Hello!"

Nana ignored him and continued adjusting the equipment parameters. A few minutes later, the 3D machine beeped, indicating that the facial filter cover had been formed.

The white casing has a honeycomb-shaped filter element embedded in the middle and adjustable straps on both sides.

“Give it a try,” she said.

Chen Hao put them on; they were a little tight, but they didn't press on his ears.

“It looks like a pig fed by bees,” he said.

"The appearance doesn't affect the function." Nana turned on the fan, "Positive pressure circulation on."

A clean breeze blew out of the filter, carrying a faint resinous smell.

"That feels good." Chen Hao took a deep breath. "Finally, I don't have to smell that pollen anymore."

"Change the filter daily and clean the outer casing every three days," Nana said. "Apply the ointment twice a day, morning and evening, for three consecutive days."

"Received." Chen Hao gave an OK sign. "I feel like I can live for another ten years now."

“Not necessarily.” Nana looked down and tidied her first-aid kit. “If you continue to use medication indiscriminately.”

"I admit I was wrong, okay?" Chen Hao sighed. "Can you please stop harping on this?"

“No.” Nana placed the three new bottles of ointment into the designated compartment. “Because you’ll forget.”

Chen Hao rolled his eyes and sat down at the control panel to look through the user manual. He wrote down today's medication record stroke by stroke: 8:00 AM, Group D ointment, half a finger's width on the left cheek.

After finishing writing, I looked up and saw Nana entering a new entry into the database.

[Preparation Process of Natural Compound Anti-inflammatory Ointment]

- Ingredients: Wild honey + Dried purple stemflower powder

- Ratio: 4:1 (topical application), 1:3 (deep wound)

Storage conditions: Store in a cool, dark place. Valid for seven days.

- Contraindications: Not for use on open, large-area wounds; for internal use only.

"You actually take it seriously," Chen Hao said.

"This is the first homemade medicine." Nana closed the interface. "In the future, I may make painkillers and fever reducers."

"Then why don't you just open a clinic?"

"Insufficient resources."

"Whenever we find a pharmacy, I'll be the first one to rush in and grab the medicine."

"Move the equipment first," Nana said. "It's not the pills."

"It's all the same." Chen Hao stretched. "As long as it makes me suffer less."

He looked down at his arm; the numbness had long since disappeared, and his skin had returned to normal.

"Speaking of which," he suddenly thought, "since honey can cure diseases, could it be considered a strategic resource in the future?"

“I guess so,” Nana nodded. “From today onwards, the beehives will be designated as a level-two protected area.”

"We can't even eat whatever we want anymore?"

"Each person is limited to 50 grams per week."

"You're too cruel!" Chen Hao exclaimed. "Then my water won't taste sweet anymore!"

“You can endure it,” Nana said, closing the system. “Just like you endure an allergic reaction.”

"I really brought this on myself." Chen Hao slumped in his chair. "I should have known better than to plant those flowers."

"You said you wanted to beautify the environment."

"Beautify my nose, my foot!" Chen Hao exclaimed, his eyes wide. "It beautified my nostrils!"

Nana didn't respond further and went to the window to check the air vent filter.

The wind blew in from outside, carrying a faint smell of dry earth.

Chen Hao sat in front of the control panel, holding the medication log he had just filled out.

The pen tip stopped at the last line.