When Chen Hao opened his eyes, his hands were still in his pockets. The corner of the note was sticking out, slightly softened by his body heat. He didn't move, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds, his throat dry and tight.
The wind outside the window has died down.
This feels wrong. For the past few months, the first thing I heard when I opened my eyes in the morning was the sound of wind rattling against the windows, like someone outside smashing the glass with an iron bar. Today, however, it's very quiet, with only the occasional hum of the ventilation ducts.
He sat up, his neck snapping with a crack. The lights in the control room were still on, and the data stream on the screen scrolled slowly. Nana stood in front of the main control console, her optical lens slightly tilted, as if she had just recovered from standby mode.
“You woke up 3.7 minutes earlier than the scheduled time,” she said.
"I dreamt that the sun came out," Chen Hao said, rubbing his face. "My forehead was burning from the sun."
“Dreams are not relevant,” Nana said, pulling up the weather panel. “But the data from the past twelve hours is worth analyzing.”
She tapped the screen. A curve popped up, its color brighter than the others.
"The daytime high temperature rose to -12 degrees Celsius, continuing its upward trend for three consecutive days. The nighttime low temperature stabilized at -20 degrees Celsius and did not drop further. The sunshine duration increased by 36 minutes, and the wind speed decreased."
Chen Hao leaned closer, his eyes fixed on the chart. "Does it mean... the weather is getting warmer?"
"At this point, we can only confirm that the trend exists," Nana said. "We cannot rule out short-term fluctuations."
"But this is already the warmest day of winter." Chen Hao reached out and touched the windowpane. The frost layer on it was much thinner, and in some places, you could even see the grayish-white sky outside. "At this time of year, the glass used to be covered in white frost, and you couldn't wipe it clean no matter what you did."
"I recommend continuous observation for 24 hours." Nana activated the underground sensor array. "Manual recording is needed for verification."
“Okay, I’ll do it.” Chen Hao stood up and stretched his shoulders. “Check the frost every two hours, and also check the temperature.”
He walked to the window and picked up the notepad. The first column read "06:00," and in the "feelings" column, he wrote: "Not as stinging as yesterday."
Back in his seat, he glanced at the temperature curve again. The line was steadily climbing, as if being quietly supported.
"Do you think it might be fake?" he suddenly asked.
“There have been three similar situations in history,” Nana replied. “The warming lasted for four to seven days, followed by an even stronger cold wave.”
"So you're saying it's too early to be happy?"
“To be precise, it’s not a matter of being happy,” she turned to him, “it’s a matter of whether the management strategy needs to be adjusted.”
Chen Hao grinned. "If I announced that spring had arrived right now, everyone would go crazy and turn off the heat, strip naked, and half of them would freeze to death the next day."
“The probability is 63.2 percent,” Nana nodded.
“Let’s not talk about that yet.” He picked up his pen and wrote a line in his logbook: “First-level climate transition observation period – internal records only.”
After finishing writing, he thought for a moment, then tore off another piece of paper, folded a corner, and stuffed it into his pocket.
The blackboard in the cafeteria was a relic of the old world, hanging on the wall, its edges rusted. Chen Hao stood there for a while, holding the chalk, then wrote a sentence:
"Last night a corner of the frost melted, and the sun is so hot that the wall is burning hot—do you think it might be coming to deliver a message?"
After he finished writing, he clapped his hands, turned around, and left.
When I returned at noon, there was a response on the blackboard.
"If spring really comes, I want to touch the soil and see if I can still plant anything."
The handwriting was crooked and looked like it was written with the left hand.
Chen Hao stared at it for a while, neither smiling nor speaking, but simply nodding slightly.
Back in the control room, Nana was integrating the data.
“The feedback from the high-altitude probes is consistent,” she said. “Surface thermal sensing shows that the reflectivity of snow has decreased, and its heat absorption capacity has increased. The efficiency of the solar collectors has reached 1.8 times the peak efficiency in winter.”
"So, the sun has really started working?" Chen Hao leaned back in his chair.
"That's one way to understand it."
"Shouldn't we save some coal?"
“The heating system is still running at full capacity.” Nana pulled up the piping diagram. “Non-residential areas account for 31% of heat consumption.”
“Nobody lives in these places, why heat them up so much?” Chen Hao sat up straight. “First, turn down the valves in the warehouse and garage areas so the heat is concentrated in the living area.”
"An adjustment plan has been generated." Nana entered the command, "Gradually reduce the temperature to prevent the pipe from shrinking and rupturing."
On the screen, several red lines slowly thinned out.
"Let's also check out the planting shed," Chen Hao said. "Even though we can't grow anything there, we should still try out the lighting system. What if it actually works someday?"
"It's already included in the commissioning plan." Nana marked the timeline, "The first power-on test is expected to take place the day after tomorrow."
“And winter clothes.” Chen Hao scratched his head. “I see a lot of people’s clothes are worn out. We need to organize the storage list so that we don’t find that we don’t have any clean clothes to wear when the season changes.”
"The list template is ready." Nana opened the document. "You need to confirm the classification criteria."
The two worked until evening. The lights in the control room reflected on the screen, where a temperature trend chart filled the main interface. The rising line did not fall back down.
Chen Hao printed out a chart and examined it repeatedly.
“Wait three days,” he said. “Observe for three more days. If the trend continues, hold a short meeting and tell everyone that things may be about to change.”
Nana didn't speak, and the optical lens flickered slightly.
He got up, made a cup of hot water, walked over to her, and placed the cup on her heat dissipation vent.
“You know what?” he said, “I used to hate spring the most. Rain, mud, clothes that wouldn’t dry. Now I wish it would come soon.”
"Human needs for the environment change with survival pressures," Nana said.
"You're talking like I don't know anything," Chen Hao chuckled. "You speak in a more official tone than my teacher."
He sat back in his chair, his feet resting on the edge of the counter. It was getting dark outside, but the frost on the glass hadn't thickened again. Instead, a layer of moisture condensed on the surface, like sweat.
"Do you think we'll live to see the day the grass turns green?" he suddenly asked.
“Based on current resource reserves and health monitoring data,” Nana replied, “the probability is 58.7 percent.”
"It's less than 60%." He shook his head. "How come you were so accurate?"
“Precision does not equate to optimism,” she said.
Chen Hao took a sip of the now-cold water and frowned.
"Anyway, it's warmer today than yesterday." He put down his cup. "That's enough."
He opened a new document with the title: "Draft of Spring Transition Preparations".
The following three points are listed:
1. Inspect and repair the moisture-proof devices of the ventilation openings;
II. Compile a list of winter clothing items to be stored away;
3. Restart and debug the lighting system of the planting shed.
"Is that all?" Nana asked after looking at it.
"Do what you can first," he said. "The rest can wait until the weather clears up."
Nana started the background simulation of the energy distribution model. Chen Hao lay on the table, his fingers tapping unconsciously. His shadow was cast on the screen, overlapping with the upward temperature line.
After a long while, he said softly, "When it really gets warm, I want to take a nap. Right outside, basking in the sun, I won't wake up no matter who calls me."
Nana's optical lens turned towards him.
“This goal,” she said, “is not on the current priority list.”
“I know,” he yawned, “but I’ve already thought about it.”
He closed his eyes, his hands still resting on the keyboard. The control room was quiet, save for the low hum of the equipment.
Nana continued running the data, the camera panning across the temperature map. The line continued its steady ascent.
Outside the window, a thin layer of snow was sliding down the edge of the eaves, hitting the fuel-strewn awning below with a muffled thud.
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