The alarm was still going off, but no one moved.
Nana stood in front of the control panel, her finger swiping across the screen as a string of data scrolled rapidly. "Signal strength is stable below level three, and the geological fluctuations have not triggered a chain reaction." She paused, "The system determines it to be passive resonance attenuation, not an active attack mode."
Chen Hao stared at the slightly undulating curve, slowly releasing his grip on the corner of the table. He had almost shouted "Stop!" but the words caught in his throat. He knew that if he stopped now, he might never be able to push it forward again.
"Headquarters will be connected in three minutes." Karl glanced at the time. "Should we... still transmit?"
"Send it." Chen Hao sat up straight. "Not only send it, but pack everything in. Capture records, modeling process, energy storage tests, even the photo of the coffee cup we left over last night."
Susan looked down and pulled up a folder, her fingers clicking rapidly. "Home energy storage module report ready, aerospace power supply solution ready, medical power supply test video also ready."
“Then let’s package it up.” Chen Hao leaned back in his chair. “Name it: E-Source Ω Complete Technology Output Package. Highest level of encryption. Recipients—the National New Energy Center, the Space Administration, and global medical aid organizations—must all be included.”
Nana nodded and tapped her finger. A confirmation box popped up on the screen; she entered the access key and pressed send.
The progress bar has started moving.
One second, two seconds, three seconds...
“Transmission successful,” she said.
Almost simultaneously, another screen lit up with a news notification: [The first zero-carbon community officially puts on a new energy base station].
In the video, workers are loading a silver-white box into an underground machine room. There's a blue glowing marker on the side of the box, the same color as the small glowing sphere in the laboratory.
Carl stared at it for five seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing: "They actually used it."
“It’s not that it ‘actually used,’” Susan said softly. “It’s that it was ‘prepared long ago.’ Otherwise, the connector standards wouldn’t all be compatible.”
Chen Hao didn't speak. He looked at the city night view on the news, rows of streetlights lighting up one after another, without delay or flicker. The light didn't seem like electric lights, but rather as if it grew out of the ground itself.
He looked down at the coffee cup beside him; it was completely cold.
“The thing we caught,” he grinned, “can really light up the world.”
Nana suddenly spoke up: "The second batch of requests has arrived."
"What?" Karl turned his head.
“Twelve research institutions applied for technology sharing, eight universities submitted licenses to use teaching cases, and three aerospace companies requested early access to the energy module test interface.” She spoke steadily, “Among them, the Mars Outpost project is marked as an urgent priority.”
Susan scrolled through the new messages, "Even hospitals in remote mountain areas are asking if we can send a miniature power supply device there."
“Of course we can.” Chen Hao stood up. “The question now isn’t whether we can or can’t, it’s how fast we can deliver.”
"The artificial crystal array production line has been started." Nana pulled up the factory monitoring screen. "The first batch of 500 sets of materials is being cast and is expected to be assembled within 48 hours."
“In other words,” Karl counted on his fingers, “that in three days, at least ten places will be able to use this thing?”
“Not only that.” Susan pointed to a notice, “The temporary resettlement site in the eastern disaster area has just been approved for a special passage, and installation will begin this afternoon.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Then Carl whispered, "My grandma lives there."
No one responded.
But Susan quietly pinned that installation schedule to the top.
Chen Hao walked to the control panel and reopened the data stream interface. The gold indicator was still flashing, and the underground signal was still weak, but he was no longer so nervous.
"Nana, run the safety assessment again."
“Three cycles of testing have been completed,” she said. “The current environment is under control. If the existing protective measures are maintained, it can support continuous operation for at least 72 hours.”
“Then let’s keep it running,” he decided. “Let whoever wants to look, look; let whoever wants to copy, copy. Anyway, what we have now isn’t a secret, it’s the answer.”
"The answer?" Karl raised an eyebrow.
“People used to always ask, where is the future energy source?” Chen Hao smiled. “Now we know where it is—deep underground, jumping around on its own, waiting for us to catch it.”
Susan archived the last application report and casually opened her social media page. The top trending topic was #BlueLightMiracle#, followed by countless screenshots of the app's launch from various locations. Someone filmed a child smiling as they touched a new streetlamp, someone said their refrigerator no longer needed to be powered off, and a doctor even livestreamed a test of a pacemaker powered by a new type of power supply.
She looked at it for a while, closed the page, and said softly, "This is more useful than a paper."
“I can publish papers too,” Carl said, opening his email. “But I’d rather write an email to my old high school and tell them that the bad student who dropped out back then has now invented a generator that doesn’t need coal.”
"Remember to attach a picture." Chen Hao grinned mischievously. "Just say that this is the homework the universe gave you on the day you dreamed of skipping class."
Carl rolled his eyes, but still opened the attachment upload window.
Nana was running dual backups in the background. She split the raw data into three parts, storing them on the research institute's main server, a mobile storage array, and an offline vault. Each part was equipped with a dynamic encryption lock, which could only be unlocked by four people simultaneously granting authorization.
"To prevent leaks?" Susan asked.
“To prevent forgetting,” Nana said, “this achievement should not just belong to one experiment, but should become the foundation.”
Chen Hao saw the indicator light on her eye flash slightly, as if it were some kind of tacit response.
He knew that was her way of expressing "worth it".
Time ticked by, and the countdown to headquarters access had long since reached zero. The data stream continued to upload normally; the review panel neither interrupted nor provided immediate feedback. But they knew that those numbers were being seen by millions.
The news footage switched to an Arctic research station. Amidst the wind and snow, a small base station slowly rose, its blue light piercing through the blizzard and illuminating the entire ice field.
"The polar stations are now connected simultaneously," Nana reported. "Energy output is stable, and temperature adaptability meets standards."
"They even have a stake there?" Karl was stunned.
“This is the place that needs it most,” Susan said. “There’s no power grid, no supply trucks, just wind and snow. But now, they have their own light.”
Chen Hao took a sip of cold coffee, the sour taste making him wince. But he didn't put the cup down.
He recalled arguing about a mistake yesterday, being overwhelmed by data discrepancies, and feeling restless over a single comment from his supervisor. Looking back now, those things seemed like they happened in a past life.
"Did we...do something big?" Karl murmured.
"Not a big deal," Chen Hao shook his head. "It was just an old problem that I solved incidentally."
“Then tell me,” Susan looked up, “which ‘old problem’ could replace the entire Earth’s power supply system?”
"Anyway, it wasn't my homework." He shrugged. "I always copy other people's homework."
Carl laughed out loud, and even Susan couldn't help but twitch the corner of her mouth.
Nana quietly updated her log entry: 【E-Source Ω technology conversion rate has reached 63%, social applications cover 15 countries, and a closed-loop implementation has been initially achieved.】
She glanced at the still-flashing gold notification and made no comment.
Some things can wait and be discussed later.
The control room was dimly lit, and four figures were busy at work. Some were checking parameters, some were responding to requests, and some were staring blankly at the lights of the distant city.
Chen Hao took one last look out the window.
It was already daylight.
Footsteps came from downstairs; it must have been the logistics staff coming to hand over the equipment. The door opened and closed, but no one came in to disturb them.
He put the empty cup in the recycling bin and sat back down at the control panel.
What's next?
"Wait for feedback," Susan said.
“Or wait for the next question,” Carl added.
Nana looked up, and the indicator light on her eye flashed six times in a row.
This is a state she rarely appears in.
Chen Hao noticed it, but he didn't ask.
He knew that sometimes the deepest satisfaction doesn't need to be spoken.
A new notification pops up in the bottom right corner of the screen: [The Mars Base preload system has completed initialization and is awaiting the injection of core energy parameters.]
Susan clicked "confirm".
The transfer progress bar restarted.
Carl leaned closer to look. "Are we going to send this thing to Mars?"
"Why not?" Chen Hao leaned back in his chair. "Anyway, it's not afraid of a vacuum or radiation."
"I'm afraid someone will mistake it for an alien signal and call the police," Carl muttered.
“Then let’s make this clear,” Susan said calmly. “This isn’t a signal, it’s a gift.”
Nana stood quietly, her gaze fixed on the constantly fluctuating data stream.
The deep underground fluctuations persist, with a frequency shift of +0.8 Hz, and have not subsided.
But she did not issue a second warning.
At that moment, the backup screen on the left side of the main control panel suddenly lit up.
A line of text appeared: [Response mode upgraded, second harmonic frequency locked...]
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