Chen Hao held his sickle, the blade just leaving the ground when a muffled thud came from the distant mountains, as if something deep within the earth had turned over. He ignored it, glancing down at the wheat seedlings at his feet, then looking up at the gray sky. The rain had stopped, but the wind hadn't died down, making his clothes flap against his legs.
He stuck his sickle into the mud and turned to walk towards the chicken coop. Nana followed behind, her steps as light as if she were walking on air.
“The chicken with antibody number three just had a seizure,” she suddenly said.
Chen Hao paused, "The one that's still lively and energetic?"
"Two hours ago, his food intake decreased by 37%, his body temperature increased by 1.4 degrees Celsius, and his respiratory rate was abnormal. His heart stopped beating thirty minutes ago."
He quickened his pace and pushed open the chicken coop door. A faint fishy smell mixed with the odor of medicine wafted out. Chicken number three lay in the corner, its feathers sparse, its neck twisted at an odd angle, its claws curled up and blackened. Chen Hao squatted down and reached out to touch its beak—it was cold.
"Not poisoning?" he asked.
Nana had already opened the sampling arm, and a thin needle was inserted into the chicken's liver. "Artemisinin concentration exceeded the standard, but the main cause of death was not toxicity." The holographic screen lit up, and a twisted gene chain slowly rotated. "A large amount of p-gp transporter protein was detected, and the parasite has evolved drug resistance."
"What do you mean?"
"The medicine is still in use, and the insects have learned to spit it out."
Chen Hao stared at the string of flashing red code, and after a long while, he blurted out, "So we're giving it a free check-up, and even providing food and lodging?"
“Even more serious is that continued medication will exacerbate liver damage in the remaining flock.” Nana pulled up a data chart, “At the current dosage, the probability of the flock failing within 72 hours is 98%.”
He plopped down on the feed crate, a clump of mud sliding down his shoe. "So now it's... the medicine can't be stopped, and the chickens can't die?"
"correct."
“Is there any other way?” He opened the robot’s knowledge base interface and swiped his fingers quickly. “Antibiotics won’t work, I’ve tried them before; insect repellent residue is too much, people who eat chicken might become triathletes…” He suddenly stopped, his gaze fixed on a record. “Wait, nano silver? This stuff can destroy the cell membranes of microorganisms and denature proteins? It sounds like the cafeteria’s leftover food disposal process, but it seems to actually work.”
Nana pulled up the model. "Theoretically feasible. Silver ions can penetrate the parasite's body wall, triggering an oxidative stress response that leads to its death. The predicted kill rate is 96.3%."
"Let's do it!" Chen Hao slapped his thigh and stood up.
“The problem lies in particle size control.” She narrowed her optical lens slightly. “Effective particles need to be stable between 5 and 10 nanometers. Existing equipment has a centrifugation accuracy error of ±8 nanometers, which cannot guarantee activity.”
"So we can't build it?"
"Unless quantum confinement synthesis is used, combined with a cryogenic reaction chamber and pulsed electric field excitation."
Chen Hao was silent for a few seconds, then turned to look out the window. The scythe made of meteorite iron was hanging on the shelf, its blade matte, as if it were asleep.
"You mean that piece of iron that fell from the sky... a nickel-iron crystal?" he asked.
"Compositional analysis confirmed it to be a high-purity iron-nickel alloy with an unknown crystal structure."
“It conducts electricity better than copper; it didn’t melt completely even when heated to 2,000 degrees Celsius in the furnace.” He grinned. “How about we modify it into a reactor? Anyway, we don’t farm anymore; switching to nanotechnology sounds pretty high-tech.”
Nana's mechanical eye flashed with a blue light. "Theoretically, certain crystals can form a quantum well-like environment under strong current excitation. However, it requires precise design of the energy input method and reconstruction of the temperature control system."
“Then you do the modeling, and I’ll disassemble the machines.” He rolled up his sleeves. “Our shabby workshop will be upgraded into a ‘cosmic-level biological laboratory’ today.”
He turned and walked toward the lab, kicking aside an empty can blocking his way. Next to the control panel lay several discarded circuit boards, remnants from when he disassembled them last month to replace the acoustic amplifier. He bent down, pulled out a board labeled "voltage regulator module," and then unscrewed the copper tubing from the heatsink.
"What do you plan to use to provide the pulse current?" Nana asked, standing in the doorway.
“Remember that meteorite?” He tapped the power supply box on the table. “I’ll connect it to the electrolytic cell, add an oscillation circuit, and make a homemade pulse generator. God gave us this opportunity, so we can’t let it go to waste.”
Nana unfolded the holographic interface and began constructing the synthesis path. On the screen, a miniature reaction chamber gradually took shape, surrounded by cooling pipes and electromagnetic coils.
“Liquid nitrogen is needed to cool it down to -196°C,” she said.
“There’s no liquid nitrogen.” Chen Hao unscrewed the last screw. “But we have a cryogenic chamber that can bring the temperature down to -80°C. We can wrap it with insulation and make do.”
"Efficiency will decrease by 42%."
"As long as it works, it's fine." He spread the circuit board on the ground. "Anyway, it's not like I'm doing a live-streaming sales event, so I don't need to be so particular."
The two worked all morning. Chen Hao soldered three joints, burned his hands twice, and finally simply wrapped his fingers with insulating tape to continue working. Nana, on the other hand, kept adjusting the parameters, entering the reaction time, current intensity, and cooling rate into the system one by one.
At noon, he was munching on half a compressed biscuit, staring blankly at a pile of parts on the table.
"What if it turns out to be useless?" he asked.
“Then let’s go back to the traditional approach,” Nana said. “For example, increase the artemisinin dosage, sacrifice all the antibody-producing chickens, and preserve the hatching eggs.”
He took a bite of the biscuit, chewing slowly, "That's tantamount to admitting defeat."
"It's a choice based on reality."
“I don’t like reality.” He slapped the crumbs into the trash can. “I like winning, even if I win like a madman.”
Nana didn't speak, but instead zoomed in on the hologram, pointing it to the core area of the reaction chamber. "If we use meteorite crystals as templates and induce the directional deposition of silver ions under pulsed current... it's possible to generate nanoparticles that meet the requirements."
“Let’s give it a try.” He stood up and brushed the dust off his pants. “If it blows up, we can just switch from raising chickens to raising pigs. Pigs have thick skin and aren’t afraid of radiation.”
He walked to the electrolytic cell and began assembling the new device. The metal frame was re-welded, the cooling pipes were wound into a spiral, and in the very center, he carefully embedded a small piece of thin metal cut from a meteorite.
“Ready,” he said.
"Warning: The current system has no pressure relief valve, no emergency power-off mechanism, and no explosion-proof enclosure." Nana listed the risks, "If out of control, it may cause localized electric arcs or chemical splashes."
“I know.” He gripped the welding torch tighter. “So stand back.”
"My maximum heat resistance is 1200°C."
"I'm not telling you to hide, I'm just giving you a good angle for a photo." He grinned. "In case I become the first scientist to be blown up by his own invention, at least someone will remember that I was once handsome."
Nana took two steps back, and the robotic arm deployed the miniature camera unit.
Chen Hao took a deep breath and pressed the start switch.
The power indicator light came on, and the ammeter needle slowly climbed. The solution in the electrolytic cell began to bubble, and the edges of the silver wire emitted a faint blue glow. The meteorite fragment vibrated gently in the magnetic field, as if responding to some unseen signal.
"The temperature dropped to -76°C and remained stable," Nana reported.
“Adjust the current frequency to 1200 Hz.” He stared at the oscilloscope. “Add another 0.5 volts.”
The moment the voltage increased, a ring-shaped ripple appeared in the center of the solution, like ripples after a pebble has been dropped into water. Immediately afterwards, a tiny electric arc jumped from the silver wire to the meteorite fragment, producing a crisp "snap".
“Particle generation in progress.” Nana’s voice quickened slightly. “Initial detection of silver particles with a diameter of 8.3 nanometers, with a distribution concentration of 79%.”
"It's pretty reliable." Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief and reached out to adjust the cooling valve.
Just then, the oscilloscope curve suddenly spiked, and a sharp alarm sounded.
"Energy feedback abnormal! Circuit load exceeded!"
He abruptly unplugged the main power cord, and the entire device vibrated with a "hum" before the blue light went out.
The air was filled with the smell of burnt plastic.
"It exploded?" he asked.
“No.” Nana scanned the equipment. “The core module is intact, only the voltage regulator is burnt out. I recommend replacing the isolation transformer.”
Chen Hao squatted down, flipped open the back of the power supply box, and sure enough, saw a chip that was charred and smoking. He sighed and took out another spare board from his tool bag.
“One more time,” he said.
"Your hands are shaking," Nana reminded her.
"The trembling is because of hunger," he said, installing the new board. "It's not because of fear."
"Your heart rate is 23 beats higher than usual."
“That’s excitement.” He tightened the last screw. “We’re about to make history.”
He turned the power back on. This time, he first set the current to the lowest setting and then slowly increased it. The solution regained its blue glow, and the ring-shaped ripples became smoother. The curve on the oscilloscope gradually became smoother.
“Particles are continuously being generated.” Nana’s voice trembled slightly. “The average particle size is 7.1 nanometers, and the activity rate meets the standard of 88.6%. The first batch of samples can be collected.”
Chen Hao laughed, "Did you hear that? We're both legitimate researchers now."
He picked up a sterile test tube, preparing to connect it to the collection port.
Nana suddenly spoke up: "A reminder, no biotoxicity testing has been conducted yet. Direct use on living organisms carries risks."
“I know.” He paused, “but the flock won’t last long. Someone has to try first.”
"You can wait."
“Waiting will only result in everyone dying.” He tightened the lip. “Sometimes, the most dangerous choice is the only way.”
The test tube slowly filled with a pale gray liquid. Nano-silver suspended within, like stardust settling in the night sky.
He held the test tube up to the light and whispered, "I hope you won't let this piece of iron that fell from the sky go to waste."
He walked steadily toward the chicken coop. Nana followed behind, carrying the monitoring device.
The remaining antibody-bearing chickens huddled in a corner, their feathers dull and their breathing heavy. Chen Hao selected one with milder symptoms, pried open its beak, and dripped 0.5 ml of solution into it.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
The chicken blinked, then suddenly shook its wings and let out a short clucking.
Then, it stood up, tilted its head to look at Chen Hao, walked to the feeding trough, and pecked at a grain of feed.
Chen Hao held his breath.
Ten minutes later, the chicken had eaten two-thirds of its usual amount, and its activity level had clearly recovered.
"Preliminary metabolism is normal," Nana reported. "The number of parasites in the body has decreased by 54% within two hours."
"It works?" he asked.
"Temporarily effective."
“Then there’s hope.” He grinned and stuffed the test tubes into his pocket. “We’ll do the rest in five batches. Let’s take it slow, no rush.”
He turned to go back to the lab to continue production, but just as he stepped out of the chicken coop, Nana suddenly called out to him.
"Agglomeration was detected in the second batch of samples."
He turned around, "What do you mean?"
"The nanoparticles are spontaneously aggregating and losing their activity. The half-life is expected to be no more than four hours."
His smile froze for a moment.
"So...it has to be prepared and used immediately?"
"yes."
He stood at the door, still clutching an empty test tube in his hand, gazing at the pile of old equipment waiting to be modified in the distance.
“In other words,” he said slowly, “we have to produce chickens 24 hours a day to keep them alive?”
"correct."
He sighed deeply, kicked the door frame, and said, "So all our hard work in developing this high-tech product turns out to be a disposable item?"
He turned around and walked towards the electrolytic cell.
“Remove a voltage regulator,” he said to Nana.
"Why?"
“Because next,” he picked up the welding torch, “I’m going to make something that can run automatically.”
He bent down to start connecting the wires, sparks jumping between the metal.
The sparks from the welding torch reflected on his face, flashing intermittently.
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