The wind was still blowing. Chen Hao knelt beside the stone mound, his hands supporting him on the ground, catching his breath. The cloth barrier had finally stopped being lifted, the tin foil had been straightened again, and the wooden sticks were firmly planted. He looked down at his fingers; his fingernails were full of mud, his fingertips were red, and they were a little stiff from the cold.
Nana stood to the side, and the camera panned across the ground. "Soil moisture has decreased by eight percent, and the water demand signal in the seedling area has increased."
"Okay." Chen Hao wiped his face and stood up. "It's time to water them."
He turned and walked towards the water tank, his footsteps making muffled thuds on the ridge of the field. Nana followed behind, rainwater sliding down the curved surface of the tank, splashing into the muddy ground and creating small craters.
The water storage tank stood on the west side of the farm; it was a metal cylinder about the height of a person, its surface covered with a thin layer of frost. Chen Hao walked to the valve and reached out to turn the switch. The moment his hand touched the handle, he heard a crisp "snap."
A stream of water suddenly gushed out from the pipe joint, hitting his chest and making him shiver from the cold.
"Damn it!" He jumped back a step, but the water had already washed away the frozen soil, and the ground quickly collapsed, creating a small pit.
Nana immediately took half a step forward, the robotic arm lifted, and her voice was steady: "The upstream three-way valve has been remotely locked."
The water flow had decreased, but it was still seeping. Chen Hao took a closer look and saw that the connector had a crack, and the metal edge was crooked and twisted, like a broken pull tab from a soda can.
"Why is this thing so brittle?"
“Low temperature causes material fatigue.” Nana approached the scanner. “Welding is not feasible, the heat source is insufficient, and there is no spare fittings in stock.”
Chen Hao rubbed his arms; his clothes were soaked, and he shivered in the cold wind. "What should we do? Wrap it with tape?"
“There is a better solution,” Nana said. “Knowledge base search complete: use synthetic resin mixed fiber woven fabric for temporary filling.”
"Speak human language."
"There's resin glue in the warehouse, and the thick mesh fabric you had left over from dismantling your protective suits last year. It'll do."
Chen Hao sighed, "We have to take action again."
He shuffled towards the warehouse, the mud piling up thicker and thicker under his feet. Nana followed behind, reminding him, "The chances of rain are rising; it could start within two hours."
"Does God think we're too idle?" Chen Hao muttered.
The warehouse door creaked open, and he pulled out a gray plastic bucket with a faded label that read "Epoxy Resin." He then dragged out a rolled-up piece of black fiber cloth from the corner; the edges were badly worn, but the main body was still relatively intact.
That's all?
“The usability rate is 82 percent,” Nana said. “It needs to be chopped up and mixed with resin in a 1:3 ratio.”
Chen Hao pulled out a folding knife, squatted down, and began cutting the cloth. The cloth was very tough; the blade got stuck after a few cuts. He changed direction, cursing as he cut, "This rag is harder to deal with than steel bars."
He chopped off a pile about the size of his palm, poured it into the bucket, and then unscrewed the resin cap. A pungent smell wafted out, and he held his breath as he poured the resin in and stirred it with an iron rod.
"The stirring speed needs to be maintained at 60 revolutions per minute," Nana said.
"Do you think I'm an electric screwdriver?" His arm was trembling with soreness, but he continued stirring until the paste became thick.
It was getting dark outside, and the clouds hung low. The first raindrop fell on his face as he was carrying the bucket outside.
"It's started." Nana looked up at the sky.
The raindrops grew heavier, pattering loudly against the metal can. The ground was soaked in seconds, and the mud began to flow.
"Keep it dry," Nana said. "The work surface must be kept dry."
Chen Hao laid a dust cloth over the broken edge, intending to weigh down the four corners with stones. Just as he squatted down, his foot slipped, and he nearly fell into the mud. He frantically braced himself against the can, the cloth being blown halfway up by the wind.
“No, it has to be fixed,” he said.
Nana stepped forward, and the robotic arm deployed its support, lifting the fabric to form a sloping canopy. Chen Hao quickly tied a rope to the edge, attaching the other end to the discarded support frame.
"Alright." He clapped his hands. "Now we can get to work."
He scooped up a lump of resin mixture and smeared it onto the crack. As soon as he pressed his finger down, he could feel water seeping from underneath.
"The pressure inside hasn't been released completely."
“Open the drain at the bottom,” Nana said. “To release the residual pressure.”
Chen Hao lay on the ground, found the drain valve, and turned it on. A stream of water mixed with rust gushed out and flowed into the soil. He waited a few seconds, then tried again, but this time the plaster wasn't washed away.
He applied the paste layer by layer, pressing it firmly with the back of his gloves to ensure there were no gaps. After finishing one layer, he tore off a piece of metal wire, wrapped it around the joint several times, and tightened it to secure it.
"The initial sealing is complete," Nana said after scanning. "But the external environment has deteriorated, rainfall has increased, and the soil is nearing water saturation."
Chen Hao, panting, looked up at the sky. The raindrops pounded on the tarpaulin, the sound growing louder. His cotton coat was completely soaked, clinging heavily to his body.
"What's next?"
“Wait for it to cure,” she said. “Ideally it would take two hours, but now the temperature is low and the humidity is high, so it will take longer.”
"Doesn't that mean it's useless?"
“There’s another way,” Nana said. “Connect to a rooftop rainwater harvesting system to replenish the stored water with rainwater, while also reducing the pressure on surface runoff.”
Chen Hao was taken aback. "Why didn't you say so earlier?"
"We need to ensure that the main system will not be leaked again."
"Alright." He wiped the rain off his face. "I'll go connect the pipes."
He ran to the storm drain on the outer wall of the base, where a curved pipe led to an underground water tank. He disconnected the connector, attached a section of hose, and dragged the other end to the filling port on top of the tank.
“It’s connected,” he said.
Rainwater flowed into the pipe, making a gurgling sound. Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief and was about to sit down when Nana suddenly said, "A slight leak has been detected, located on the southeast side of the joint."
He quickly crawled over to take a look. Sure enough, a thin line of water was seeping out from the edge; it was slow, but it was flowing steadily.
“The fiber distribution is uneven,” Nana said, “and the sealing layer is weak in some areas.”
"What should we do then? Apply another layer?"
"The resin inventory is only 40 percent, and the blending conditions are even worse."
Chen Hao looked down at himself. His soaked clothes clung to his body, making him chatter with cold. He suddenly reached out and took off his inner cotton coat.
"What are you going to do?" Nana asked.
“Tear it apart,” he said. “If there’s not enough cloth, use human flesh as a patch.”
He quickly tore the cotton coat into strips, soaked them in the remaining resin, and then wrapped each strip around the leak. He pressed each layer firmly by hand until the entire joint was thickly covered.
"The last one," he said through gritted teeth.
The rain was gradually weakening, but it hadn't stopped yet. Nana continued monitoring: "The leakage has stopped, and the structural stability has recovered."
Chen Hao slumped in the mud, leaning against the water tank, his breath turning white. He was only wearing a single layer of clothing, and the cold wind seeped straight into his bones.
"It's done?"
“The temporary repair is effective,” Nana said. “The system can gradually restore water supply.”
She started the backup pump, and the valve slowly opened. Water flowed along the pipes into the farmland, and the small branch pipes began to drip.
The first drop of water fell on the cucumber seedling's leaf, and the leaf trembled slightly.
Chen Hao stared at the leaf and grinned.
"He's alive."
Nana adjusted the angle of the tarpaulin to prevent the accumulated water from collapsing the support structure. Her voice softened: "The first round of water replenishment is expected to be completed by tomorrow morning."
Chen Hao didn't move. He took out half a compressed biscuit from his pocket, broke it in half, and handed over the larger piece.
"for you."
"I don't need to consume energy."
“I know,” he said, “but the ritual is important.”
He stuffed the biscuits into the gap in the toolbox, then leaned against it and closed his eyes. His hand was still gripping the water valve wrench, his knuckles white.
As night fell completely, only the sound of dripping water and the distant rustling of wind through the iron frame remained on the farm.
Nana stood beside him, while the camera continuously scanned changes in soil moisture.
Chen Hao suddenly opened his eyes and stared at a certain spot in the field.
His hand slowly tightened on the wrench.
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