Chen Hao's feet were stuck in the rubble at the edge of the crack, the soles of his shoes digging painfully into them. He didn't move, staring at the fissure that ran across the earth, as if someone had slashed the ground with a dull knife, the crack stretching crookedly into the distance. A gust of wind swept up a handful of sand from the low-lying area, hitting his calves, burning hot.
He glanced down at the hoe in his hand, then looked up at the sky. The grey sun hung overhead, its heat making his forehead buzz. His backpack was still slung across his shoulder, half a bag of seeds weighing heavily against his back like a brick that refused to be removed.
"Nana," he suddenly spoke, "can soil still absorb water?"
Nana had already slid to his side, her optical eyes scanning the ground, a flash of blue light: "Current soil moisture content is 9.3%, below the plant survival threshold. Drought warning activated."
"That means if it doesn't rain soon, we won't even be able to grow weeds."
"To be precise, effective rainfall must be replenished within 72 hours, otherwise all surface seeds will fail to germinate."
Chen Hao grimaced, his chapped lips stinging slightly. He didn't say anything more, plopped down on the ground, tossed his backpack in front of him, unzipped it, and pulled out the half-full bag of mixed seeds. A thin layer of dust had accumulated on the bag's seal; he patted it twice, sending the dust flying and swirling in the sunlight.
"Fine," he muttered to himself. "I can't be picky about the land, and I can't be picky about my life. I can't let the seeds lie down with me."
He unscrewed his water bottle, took a sip to moisten his throat, then poured the rest onto the seeds and shook the bag. "Let's wet them, at least it'll feel like a ritual."
Nana glanced at him: "This will not help the germination rate in any substantial way."
“I know.” He grabbed a handful of seeds and stuffed them into his pocket. “But I have to make myself feel like I’m still useful.”
After saying that, he stood up, tucked the seed bag under his arm, and began running along the field ridge. He didn't sow the seeds in a proper manner, nor did he follow any row or plant spacing; he just ran and tossed the seeds, flipping his hand to send them flying, like throwing confessions into the wilderness, delivering them one by one, even if no one received them.
"The heat flow is intensifying from the southeast," Nana's voice chased after him. "Strong winds are expected to arrive within three minutes."
"Then run faster!" he shouted, panting. "Get the seeds out there before the wind picks up!"
He staggered further and further as he ran, his plump body swaying as if springy, his shoes crunching on the cracked ground. Each step felt like stepping on an eggshell; the heavier he touched, the more the cracks widened. But he didn't care, he kept scattering seeds and running until half the bag of seeds was gone.
The last one was a mix of beans and mustard seeds. He threw it exceptionally high, head tilted back, his arm swung out in a wide arc, as if he were defying the heavens.
"Take it!" he roared. "Long or short, I'm broadcasting it anyway!"
The wind came earlier than predicted.
A blast of scalding air suddenly rushed up from behind the sand dunes, like someone had flung open an oven door. Grass clippings, broken leaves, and a few pieces of rags he had used to build the sunshade were all swept up into the air, swirling and drifting northward.
Just as Chen Hao stuffed the empty seed bag into his pocket, the wooden frame that he had painstakingly arranged collapsed with a "crash." The straw mat flew up like pieces of paper, and a crossbeam hit his feet, bounced twice, and rolled into a crack and disappeared.
He froze for a second, then lunged forward to try and pull back the other support. Just as he grabbed the rope, the entire shed was blown off by the wind, uprooted, and spun more than ten meters away, where it hung on a rock, shook twice, and then completely disintegrated.
He squatted on the ground, panting like a leaky bellows, his fingers still clutching the broken rope. His lips were dry and cracked; he licked them, and the taste of rust spread in his mouth.
“It’s over,” he said. “We can’t even keep out the sun for three days.”
Nana had already pulled up the holographic weather map, which was scrolling rapidly in front of her. "There are signs of disturbance in the troposphere," she said in an unchanged tone. "The probability of localized rainfall has risen to 78% in the next two hours. But condensation nuclei are needed to induce it."
"Then why don't you hurry up and build a cloud?"
"A miniature smoke generator has been activated to release carbon particles to simulate a dust cloud. We also advise you to stay away from the main air duct to avoid inhaling irritating particles."
Chen Hao waved his hand, plopped down next to the dilapidated shed, and leaned his back against a rock. He took out an empty seed bag from his pocket, crumpled it into a ball in his hand, unfolded it, and crumpled it again.
"What do you call this?" his voice was hoarse. "Immediate emergency care? Or end-of-life care?"
Nana didn't answer. The robotic arm slowly rose, pointing towards the sky. Her optical eye continuously updated the data, flashing blue light.
"The cloud cluster is gathering and descending in altitude. Preliminary assessment indicates it is a cumulonimbus cloud structure with ample water content."
Chen Hao raised his head.
The sky, which had been a hazy gray, suddenly cracked open, and dark clouds spread out like ink dripping into water. The wind suddenly stopped, the air became thick and suffocating, making one's chest tighten.
He used the stones to support himself as he stood up. His legs were a little weak, but he still took a few steps forward and stood in the center of the field where seeds had just been sown.
The first raindrop landed on Nana's shoulder armor with a soft "plop".
The murky water droplets slid down the metal surface, creating a small crater in the dust.
The second and third drops fell in succession, hitting the remaining protective shield and splashing up tiny mud droplets. A few drops landed on Chen Hao's face; they were cool and had an earthy smell.
He didn't dodge or move; he just tilted his head back, letting the rain run down his forehead, into his eyebrows, and then down to the corners of his mouth.
"It really rained?" he murmured. "Just because I sowed some seeds? Or because you emitted a plume of black smoke?"
Nana scanned the cloud movement speed: "This is the result of a combination of natural weather processes and human intervention. The rainfall is currently limited in scope and is expected to last no more than forty minutes."
"That's enough." Chen Hao wiped his face and smiled. "As long as we go down, it's not a dead end."
He bent down to pick up the hoe that had fallen to the ground, leaned on it, and stood on the cracked earth, watching the raindrops grow denser and denser, hitting the dry soil and creating circles of light-colored halos.
Suddenly, he remembered something and pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from his inner pocket—a planting layout diagram he had drawn up the night before. The edges were worn and the charcoal writing was a bit smeared, but he still unfolded it and held it above his head.
The rain quickly soaked through the paper, the ink lines blurred, and the spacing between lines and plants became a smudged mess. He didn't put it down; he just held it up like that, as if showing God his last will and testament.
“Look carefully,” he said to the sky. “I was originally going to farm properly.”
The paper was completely soaked and collapsed. He casually tossed it aside, letting it float into the muddy water and slowly rot from the rain.
Nana suddenly said, "We detected that the groundwater content is starting to rise, and the water absorption rate of the surface soil is in line with expectations."
"That's good." He stretched his stiff shoulders. "At least the seeds won't die of thirst on the spot."
He stood still, gazing at the barren land battered by the rain. The cracks were still there, and the wind hadn't completely gone away, but he felt as if something was different.
It's not about how high the hopes are, but rather—at least the work wasn't in vain.
The rain intensified, and the water droplets on the protective shield formed continuous lines. The outlines of the distant sand dunes blurred in the rain, while the nearby soil began to darken, resembling pieces of old cloth just turned over.
Chen Hao suddenly bent down and dug a bean out of the mud that hadn't been washed away. It had been swollen from being soaked in the rain, and a small crack had appeared in its seed coat.
He held it, looked at it for two seconds, then squatted down, dug a small hole next to his footprint, buried the bean in it, and pressed it down.
“If you survive,” he patted the dirt off his face, “we’ll consider this a win.”
Nana stood behind him, her robotic arm in a vigilant stance, her optical eye continuously tracking the cloud data stream. Water was still dripping from her shoulder armor, drop after drop, falling into the cracks at her feet and disappearing.
Chen Hao looked up, rain streaming down his chin. He suddenly said, "Do you think... after the rain stops, I should go and check under that metal plate again?"
Before the words were even finished, a gust of wind swept across the field carrying sand, swirling the freshly fallen grass clippings into the air.
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