The displacement of hydraulic rod number two is abnormal, and the value is slowly increasing.
Chen Hao stared at the screen, his fingers tracing the edge of the terminal twice. He had just woken up; his shoulders were still aching, and his eyelids were heavy, but seeing that curve climbing upwards instantly cleared his head. He reached out to tap the confirmation box, then pulled back, turning to look at Nana.
Is this normal?
“No.” She stood in front of the control panel, scanning the data stream with an optical lens. “The displacement exceeded the baseline value by seven percent and has not decreased for ten minutes.”
"Didn't you say you added delay and circuit breaking last time? Why is it still running?"
“The system has responded, but the execution side is lagging in feedback.” She pulled up the logs. “It could be sensor drift, or it could be that the algorithm misjudged again.”
Chen Hao snorted: "Didn't you say it started 'breathing'? Is it hiccuping or cramping now?"
"The cause needs to be investigated," she said. "I suggest suspending the nighttime automatic adjustment mode."
"If we stop it, do we have to keep an eye on it ourselves?"
"yes."
He rolled his eyes and tapped the terminal casing: "Fine, I can't sleep well anyway."
The alarm on the screen quickly cleared, the hydraulic rods returned to their positions, and the cracked wall fell silent. The corridor returned to darkness, with only the monitors flashing a faint light. He leaned against the corner, stuffed the resin notebook back into his pocket, and thought he could finally catch his breath.
Less than three minutes later, a new notification suddenly popped up on the main control screen.
A pop-up window with a red border, centered: [Core Storage Utilization 99.8%]
The small print at the bottom reads: "System updates will be interrupted on the next reboot."
"Again?" He sat up abruptly. "It's only been a short while since things calmed down?"
Nana had already walked to the screen and was swiping her finger across the interface. "There is a serious backlog of redundant files, and the agricultural model cannot be loaded recently."
"What's the meaning?"
"Temperature control, irrigation, light cycle—all the automated planting parameters cannot be adjusted now."
Chen Hao was stunned: "What about the vegetables in the field?"
"If not restored in time, the environmental imbalance will occur within 24 hours and crops will stop growing."
He grabbed the electronic pen and was about to tap "clear cache" when she raised her hand to stop him.
"Don't delete things randomly," she said. "Non-real-time monitoring data can be compressed, but once historical logs are deleted, they cannot be recovered."
"You still have the record of the first time I planted dead chili peppers?"
"That was an important reference for the initial operation of the system."
"Important my foot." He scoffed. "I used that soil to line the bottom of flowerpots."
She didn't reply, but quickly filtered out the compressible items, freeing up 0.3% of the space. The number dropped from 99.8% to 99.5%, and the alert box changed color from red to yellow.
“It’s a temporary relief,” she said, “but the fundamental problem remains unresolved.”
"Don't we have a bigger hard drive?"
“The original design capacity was capped at fifty years of use,” she said. “But the frequent addition of new functional modules has led to a surge in data, especially the logs of the structural monitoring and dynamic reinforcement system, which account for 67% of the data.”
Chen Hao looked down at his fingers, which were covered in resin glue, and suddenly felt a bit absurd. Yesterday he was worried about the house collapsing, and today he was worried about his computer not being able to store anything.
So now it's like machines are too smart and are bursting at the seams?
"That's one way to understand it."
"Then could you... just forget something? Like, about me sneaking some cookies from the warehouse last week?"
"Personal behavior records are not in the core database."
"What a pity," he sighed. "I was hoping you could selectively forget things."
She ignored him and continued operating the interface, listing the items to be cleaned. Chen Hao leaned over to look; it was a bunch of numbered folders, all with names starting with "AGRI_LoG_" followed by a string of numbers.
"These are really useless?"
"Some of this data is from early testing and has been archived for six years."
"Then delete it."
"Version numbers need to be manually checked to avoid accidentally deleting existing parameter packages."
"You decide what to do."
"You just volunteered to participate."
"I mean, you figure it out."
"You are now one of the administrators."
Chen Hao glared at her, but still took over the permissions and opened a folder to preview. The screen was full of code and timestamps, making his head throb.
Are there any labels or explanations?
"There are category labels."
Where?
"Small gray text in the top left corner."
He squinted for a long time before finally finding the almost invisible "[obSoLEtE]" mark.
Can I delete it if it contains this?
"yes."
He nodded, selected a group of files labeled "Old Irrigation Cycle," and clicked delete. The progress bar finished, and the system indicated that 0.1% of space had been freed.
“It’s working,” he said. “Let’s do a few more sets.”
He selected a few more older files and deleted them all. The screen flashed the moment he pressed the confirm button.
A new warning pops up: [Critical parameters are missing]
[Offline Vertical Farm Control System]
"Holy crap!" he jumped up. "Why isn't this thing marked as obsolete?!"
“You deleted 'AGRI_coRE_V3',” she said. “That’s the main file package for the current crop growth model.”
"Its name is pretty much the same as the others! Who can tell them apart!"
"Different version numbers."
"Can't you make it more noticeable?"
“There’s no point in talking about this now.” She had already connected to the backup channel. “Immediately lock down the subsystem to prevent the spread of erroneous commands.”
Chen Hao stood there, his finger still hovering in mid-air. He knew he had really messed up this time. Some of the seedlings in the greenhouse were just sprouting, others had just blossomed, and they all depended on regular watering to survive. If the system stopped for too long, there wouldn't even be enough time to refill it.
Is there any way to save him?
“There is a local backup,” she said. “A complete archive was created six hours ago.”
How long will it take to recover?
"Twenty minutes."
What happens if you are dehydrated for more than 30 minutes?
"Seventy percent of the seedlings withered."
He gritted his teeth: "We can't wait even twenty minutes."
What's your idea?
“I remember some data.” He turned and rushed into the room. “There’s a notebook under the bed!”
He lay down on the ground, reached inside, and pulled out a resin notebook with worn edges. The cover read "Don't forget when planting vegetables," and the inside was full of crooked handwriting and corrections.
"Water the cucumbers at eight in the morning... 300 milliliters each time... wait, is it 300 or 500?"
“The last record was 450,” she said, “the time when the humidity was higher.”
"Yes, yes, the leaves got moldy later." He turned the page. "Tomatoes... 26 degrees Celsius during the day, 18 degrees Celsius at night... and the grow light was on until 5 pm?"
“Accurate.” She listened and typed in a temporary command, “Continue.”
"Strawberries are most susceptible to dryness, so water them every two hours... but in winter, water them every three hours... Is it considered winter now?"
"According to the climate cabin settings, the current mode is spring mode."
"Then two hours it will be." He wiped his sweat. "And the onions, they're very drought-resistant, so give them a little water... exactly how much?"
"Refer to 60% of the default value."
"Okay, you set it up first."
She imported the temporary parameters into the backup controller and manually started the irrigation program. The water pipes refilled, making a gurgling sound. The sprinklers turned on one by one, spraying a fine mist of water into the greenhouse.
“The water flow has resumed,” she said. “The humidity is rising.”
Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief and plopped down on the ground. His shoulder ached terribly, but he didn't care.
"You mean with all this high technology, we still have to rely on this crappy notebook of mine to save our lives?"
"Paper records do indeed have the advantage of resisting electromagnetic interference."
"Stop flattering me." He flipped through his notebook. "But I really need to keep a good record in the future, at least make sure to write the version number clearly."
“I suggest adding color coding,” she said. “Red for current use, gray for obsolete use.”
"Let's add another label-applying machine." He smiled wryly. "Our base is becoming more and more like a general store."
She didn't respond, but instead brought up the storage architecture diagram.
“Single storage is too risky,” she said. “I recommend establishing a dual-zone mechanism: primary zone running, secondary zone as shadow backup.”
"Does that mean I'll save one more copy?"
"yes."
Will it slow down?
"Computational efficiency is reduced by about 15%."
"It's acceptable," he said. "It's better than a collapse killing a whole bunch of seedlings."
“Additional storage media is needed.” She scanned the list of devices. “Residual chips from the communications array are available.”
"Is that pile of scrap metal still usable?"
"After removing the damaged units, the usable capacity is approximately 22% of the original system."
"What can you do with that?"
"Sufficient to hold core parameters and recent logs."
"Then hurry up and take it apart, I'll help you solder it."
The two disassembled the abandoned antenna array and extracted the still-functioning storage units. Chen Hao was responsible for soldering the interfaces, while she was responsible for rewriting the scheduling protocol. During the process, he soldered it crookedly once, causing a puff of smoke, which she immediately stopped him from doing and had someone else take over.
Three hours later, the new system went live.
The main control screen displays: [Dual storage architecture deployment complete]
[Next exception can be rolled back in seconds]
"Did it work?" He leaned closer to take a look.
"Initial operation is stable," she said. "Integrity checks are underway."
On the screen, two data streams scroll in parallel, one from the main area and the other from the secondary area, with completely identical content.
"If I accidentally delete something again, can I recover it immediately?"
"yes."
"Can I secretly recover the snack records I deleted?"
"cannot."
"I was just asking."
He sat down against the wall, still clutching the notebook in his hand. There were a few new lines of writing on it, the ink still wet.
The wind was gentle outside, and the monitoring devices flashed regularly. The base hadn't collapsed, the crops hadn't died, and the system hadn't crashed.
He looked up at her standing in front of the terminal and suddenly said, "Do you think there will come a day when we won't even be allowed to use this notebook?"
She turned around: "Why?"
"They were afraid I would misspell 'water' as 'oil,' and they would set the field on fire."
"The possibility exists."
"Then don't blame me for not reminding you." He yawned. "High technology isn't a panacea."
She didn't say anything, but simply archived the latest log and marked it as "First dual-storage switch successful".
A new notification quietly appears in the bottom right corner of the screen:
Insufficient storage space; we recommend expanding your solution.
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