The light flickered and then went out.
Chen Hao stared at the last glimmer of light, his hand still resting on the computer case. That brief flash of light seemed like a joke, but the current had indeed flowed into the system. He looked down at his fingers, which were covered in mud and blood, didn't wipe them, but just wiped them on his pants, then turned and walked towards the tool shed.
“Don’t wait for the weather to clear up,” he said. “Let’s start now.”
Nana stood in front of the control panel, her mechanical eyes scanning the terminal data. The bioelectrical input was stable, the voltage had returned to a safe range, and the main control system had entered scalable mode. She pulled up the inventory list and projected it onto the wet floor.
"There are 237 sets of metal brackets, 480 meters of wire, and 12 waterproof connectors remaining," she reported. "Based on standard wiring density, it's only enough to cover ten acres of core area."
“Let’s start with ten mu.” Chen Hao squatted down and drew a crooked square on the mud with a broken pencil stub. “The main trunk goes down the middle, the branches spread out to both sides, and we’ll start with the strongest wheat. We don’t aim for the whole company, we just want to get it done quickly.”
He stood up, patted the mud off his butt, and said, "It's like preparing for an exam; focus on the key questions and leave the rest for later."
Nana didn't respond to the analogy, but quickly generated a wiring topology diagram. Three minutes later, the first construction plan was projected onto the rainproof panel on the side of the control panel: starting from the existing southern slope of the wheat field, a "well"-shaped drainage network was constructed, with the main nodes located at the intersection of three high-yield areas.
“I recommend prioritizing connections in the third quadrant,” she said. “This area has the highest mycelial network density, with an average output of 0.63 watts per plant.”
“Okay, whatever you say.” Chen Hao picked up a roll of old electrical wire, slung it over his shoulder, and said, “Anyway, I’ve never studied electrical circuits. You can tell me where to light up.”
The rain was still falling, not heavy, but enough to sink half an inch into the mud with every step. He walked forward on the slippery paddy field ridge, his foot slipped once, and he almost fell over, only managing to steady himself by holding onto an observation post.
"This ground is harder to navigate than a treadmill in a gym," he muttered, continuing to move forward.
The two split up. Nana was responsible for calibrating the sensors and synchronizing them with the main controller, while Chen Hao plunged into the field to begin laying the first batch of diversion piles. He inserted metal probes into the soil and then tightened the wiring ports with pliers. His movements weren't exactly skillful, but he never stopped working. His fingers were cut several times by splinters, but he didn't even look at them, just tore off a piece of tape, wrapped it up, and kept going.
By noon, the first set of main lines had been connected.
"Give it a try?" He wiped the rain off his face and called out to Nana.
She nodded and remotely started the detection program.
A few seconds later, the console screen lit up with a green waveform line—the current was successfully introduced, and the output power was displayed as **8.7 kilowatts**.
"It's done!" Chen Hao plopped down in the mud, tilting his head back to let the rainwater splash on his face. "Does this count as us upgrading from an agricultural household to an energy company?"
"Currently, it's only an experimental grid connection," Nana said. "An energy storage buffer mechanism has not yet been established."
"It's nothing." He waved his hand. "Generate electricity first, then store it, and finally count the money. The process can't be messed up."
He propped himself up on his knees and walked to the main node pile to check the grounding. He found a loose screw and immediately tightened it. After just two turns, he felt a slight vibration in his fingertips.
"Huh?"
He stopped what he was doing and carefully felt it. The vibration wasn't coming from the machine, but from underground; it was regular, like some kind of signal.
"What are you sensing?" Nana walked over.
“I don’t know.” He squatted down and placed his palm on the damp soil. “It seems… the wheat is ‘talking’?”
“Low-frequency electromagnetic pulses were detected.” She confirmed after scanning. “The frequency is concentrated at 4.2 Hz, which is consistent with the energy exchange rhythm of the root system. It is speculated to be a collective physiological coordination response.”
"So they can really communicate with each other?" Chen Hao grinned. "Then I'm basically installing broadband for the whole village?"
“The analogy isn’t accurate,” she said, “but you are indeed building their energy transmission channels.”
He didn't refute it; instead, he became even more enthusiastic. At 2 PM, the second batch of 600 meters of power lines was connected, expanding the coverage area to eight acres. The total power generation climbed to **21 kilowatts**, enough to support the restart of the main control system, lighting circuits, and some irrigation modules.
“At this rate, the entire south slope will be connected by tomorrow.” He stood on the edge of the field, looking at the distant expanse of twilight. “If anyone ever says that farming has no future, I’ll bring them here to see for themselves.”
Before the words were finished, a flapping sound came from the sky.
A flock of birds landed on the cable rack in the field, their grayish-brown feathers wet from the rain and clinging to their bodies. Instead of flying away, they lowered their heads and began pecking at the exposed wire insulation.
"Hey! Don't eat that!" Chen Hao waved his hand to shoo them away.
A few birds took flight in fright, but others soon landed. One of them grabbed a section of insulation and yanked hard, loosening the entire wire.
The alarm went off.
"Voltage on Line 3 in Zone B has suddenly dropped," Nana reported immediately. "Two short circuit points have been confirmed, and the isolation module has been activated."
Chen Hao rushed over to check and found that the bitten-off connector was emitting tiny sparks. He quickly cut off the power to that section and re-wrapped the wiring.
"Do these guys think these are bugs?" he cursed as he repaired them. "Or do they think electrical wires are a source of calcium?"
“Birds have a natural attraction to metallic luster,” Nana analyzed. “And since there are currently no other food sources, they may have mistaken it for something edible.”
"We need to find a way to stop them." Chen Hao frowned. "We can't just stand here every day as human bird deterrents."
He suddenly remembered the sonic device he had used to deal with the insect swarm, and his eyes lit up: "I remember there's still a low-frequency transmitter that I haven't removed. Could I modify it to repel birds?"
“Technically feasible.” Nana pulled up the equipment parameters. “Adjusting it to the 8–12 Hz range can cause discomfort in the inner ear of birds, but it will not affect plant growth.”
“Let’s do it then,” he decided. “Let them know this isn’t a free restaurant.”
Half an hour later, three modified infrasound piles were erected at the edge of the field. The moment they started, an almost inaudible hum filled the air.
The flock of birds immediately became agitated. The dozen or so that had been gathered on the power line flapped their wings, circled twice, and then quickly flew away, disappearing into the distance behind the rain.
"It worked." Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief. "It seems that even animals are afraid of 'brain-piercing' sounds."
"Monitoring shows that the birds' activity radius has receded to more than 500 meters," Nana confirmed. "The defense mechanism is functioning normally."
He nodded, turned to return to the control area, but stopped as he passed the last sonic boom. The grounding wire seemed to be loose; it wobbled at the slightest touch.
"We can't be careless about such a small thing." He squatted down, pressed the grounding nail firmly again, and then used a stone to weigh down the connection.
After doing all this, he straightened up and looked out over the entire wheat field.
The purple spots of light merged into a continuous patch in the rain, no longer flickering sporadically, but flashing regularly, like breathing. The numbers on the main control screen kept changing: **49.8 kW…49.9 kW…50.1 kW**.
"It's broken the 50,000-watt mark," he said softly.
"The first phase of the million-unit power grid is taking shape." Nana stood beside him. "I suggest starting the second phase of expansion tomorrow, laying the foundation for the main substation."
He didn't answer, just smiled, and then strode towards the control room. His steps were heavy, his shoes filled with water, each step making a squeaking sound.
Pushing aside the rain cover on the console, he glanced at the still-running data stream and reached out to touch the hot casing of the main unit.
"We need to get some new wires tomorrow," he said. "These old ones won't last long."
Nana noted down the suggestions and updated the overall layout map of the "purple power grid" to the latest version. The entire southern slope has been marked as a primary power generation area, with future plans to extend it to the eastern and western slopes to form a closed-loop network.
The night grew deeper.
Chen Hao leaned back in his chair, his eyelids drooping, but he didn't lie down. He stared at the steadily fluctuating current curve on the screen, and suddenly spoke:
"You know, these wheat... won't they feel exploited someday?"
He paused, as if waiting for an answer, or perhaps talking to himself.
Then he raised his hand, looked at the black dirt embedded in his fingernails, and whispered:
"After all, they work during the day and generate electricity at night, and they don't even get annual leave."
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