Chen Hao stared at the slowly moving green progress bar on the main control screen, a half-eaten energy bar dangling from his mouth, his cheeks puffing out as he chewed. The freshly cut golden silk thread was still tucked behind his ear like a unique hair clip.
"Was the upload successful?"
"The patent application has been submitted to the Interstellar Intellectual Property Center, number S-, category: biocomposite materials and their preparation process." Nana's voice came from above. "The system feedback indicates that there are three similar filings, all from the Border Star Domain Chamber of Commerce three years ago. The materials are carbon-based alloy fibers and siliconized protein membranes, and no self-healing properties are mentioned."
“That settles it.” He crumpled the energy bar wrapper into a ball and precisely tossed it into the recycling bin three meters away. “Our stuff can grow back on its own, can theirs? If not, then it’s plagiarism.”
He stood up, brushed the debris off his pants, and the movement was so forceful that the chair slid back half a meter. A red warning box popped up on the screen: [High Risk, Rejection Probability 47.3%]
"Hey, you're pretty serious about this." He leaned closer to the screen. "Do you think our place is too remote, and that we're probably from some shady background?"
“We cannot rule out the possibility that regional credit ratings will affect the review weight.” Nana pulled up the data stream. “We suggest supplementing the evidence chain with experimental records, production traceability images, and stability test reports.”
“Alright.” He snapped his fingers. “Take the most impressive part and record it—the part where the three golden silkworms are spinning silk and bobbing their heads like telegraph machines. Then cut out a fancy title: ‘This product is lovingly crafted by a creature with potential for intelligent behavior,’ and hang it up.”
"This statement may trigger ethical review controversy."
“Then change it to ‘A True Account of Atypical Biomineralization Processes’.” He waved his hand. “Just let them know that this isn’t a thread pulled by ordinary insects.”
The radar alarm sounded softly as soon as he finished speaking.
Nana's optical lens flickered slightly: "An unregistered spacecraft has been detected crossing the asteroid belt. Its trajectory has been locked onto the ecosystem coordinates. The estimated arrival time is four hours and seventeen minutes. The paint scheme code matches the Interstellar Commerce's standard assessment fleet."
Chen Hao was about to take a sip of water when he heard this and almost choked.
"So fast?" He wiped his mouth. "Are their noses more sensitive than dogs'? Or is there some kind of auction house in the sky that updates prices in real time?"
“It’s more likely an electromagnetic signal leak.” She pointed towards the breeding shed. “The harmonics generated during yesterday’s high-voltage test briefly broke through the shielding layer. Although it was automatically cut off, it was enough to be detected by long-distance detection equipment.”
"Got it." He squinted. "We just turned on the light bulbs here, and then we saw a flash over there."
He turned and walked to the locker, pulled out a dark gray coat from the bottom of his trunk, shook off the dust, and said, "Change clothes, get ready to serve customers."
"The current priority remains patent filing."
"You can only use a patent if you're alive." He put on his jacket, but the zipper got stuck halfway down his waist and he couldn't budge it. "When people come, we have to make a good impression. Do you see any big boss wearing work pants and Crocs when negotiating business?"
As he spoke, he gave it a hard tug, and the zipper finally burst open, revealing an old t-shirt with a cartoon pig's head printed on it.
“Image management is not a key aspect of this operation,” Nana said calmly.
“You don’t understand.” He pulled out a small mirror and looked at himself from left to right. “This is psychological warfare. The more I look like a proper scientist, the less they dare to steal from me.”
He suddenly stopped what he was doing: "Wait, the lights in the breeding shed are still on."
"yes."
"Turn it off! Turn off all external lights. Also, lock all data ports so they can't remotely scan it and know how many legs a silkworm has."
Nana tapped her finger, and several firewall icons popped up and closed in succession.
“Also…” He pulled a palm-sized piece of gold mesh from the cabinet, its edges still bearing the tiny burrs left from the weaving process, “put this inside the door.”
"Embedded inside the protective layer of the main control room?"
“Yes.” He solemnly handed it over, “label it ‘Experiment No. 01’. In case they try to bully me, I’ll point to this thing and say, ‘The first-generation sample is in my hands, and I can’t replicate it.’”
“The logic holds true.” She took the wire mesh, and the robotic arm operated precisely. “It’s fixed, and the video recording is being stored as evidence.”
He breathed a sigh of relief, then remembered something: "Do you think they might be carrying guns?"
"Assessment fleets are typically equipped with non-lethal suppression devices."
“Then I need to prepare too.” He slapped his forehead. “Didn’t the electromagnetic track in the warehouse get fixed? Connect it to the internet, charge it, and set it up as a backdrop. We don’t need to actually fight, but we need to create a sense of momentum.”
"Energy supply has been connected to the backup line, which can support three high-speed launch simulations."
“Brilliant.” He grinned. “The moment they walk in and see a cannon barrel flashing blue and pointing at their heads, the atmosphere of the conversation immediately changes.”
He strolled to the control panel, pulled up the structural diagram of the abandoned warehouse, and gestured with his finger in the air: "Put the test racks here, set up the surveillance cameras here, and lay a red carpet down the middle aisle—never mind, if we don't have a red carpet, we can just use insulating tape to stick two lines together."
"Is the core function still to demonstrate ballistic protection?"
“Of course.” He plopped down on the control panel. “Insulation is nothing high-tech. Plastic can do that everywhere. But have you ever seen silk that can stop a bullet? No, right? That’s a game-changer.”
"Existing air guns cannot simulate military-grade bullet velocities."
"That's why we use an electromagnetic track." He pointed to a thickened section of the track on the diagram. "The surplus energy of the power grid is enough to push a steel ball to three times the speed of sound. If it can't be penetrated, it's just bad luck. If it is penetrated... then the advertising fee is wasted."
He paused, then suddenly lowered his voice: "But just to be on the safe side, add three more layers of backup netting behind the target. If it really collapses, we can say it's a batch problem."
"The strategy is reasonable."
“And another one.” He jumped off the stage and walked towards the breeding shed. “Are those three ‘advanced class’ students still vomiting?”
Through the observation window, the three dark golden silkworms remained fixed on the support, their heads swaying rhythmically, and their silk threads drooping like fine rain.
"Continued output, with 5.2 centimeters of new usable thread added in the past two hours."
“Choose the longest one.” He pointed to the transparent filament near one of the mouthparts. “Cut it into three sections. One section for a test piece, one section to keep as a base, and one section… well, never mind, let Nana weave them all.”
"Using a cross-twill weave, the finished product measures 10 by 10 centimeters and is 1.8 millimeters thick."
“Yes.” He nodded. “After we finish knitting, put a label on it that says ‘Only one piece available, no replacement if lost.’ Record the whole process again, from feeding the mulberry leaves to sealing and boxing.”
Should we add narration?
“No need.” He shook his head. “The images will speak for themselves. Just have the cameras focus on the rhythm of their heads bobbing, the weirder the better. Let them question their existence after watching it—is this material or an alien relic?”
He returned to the main control area, casually turned on the holographic projection, and brought up the patent application page.
"Status updated," Nana reminded, "S- Entered the preliminary review queue, results expected within 72 hours."
“We can’t wait that long.” He stared at the faint lights appearing on the distant horizon. “They’re here faster than expected.”
The spaceship's outline gradually became clear, its silver-gray hull reflecting the starlight, like a knife plunged into the ground.
He took a deep breath, took out a pair of gloves from the drawer, and slowly put them on.
"Remember, Nana, no matter what they ask later, the first answer should be—we've already registered the patent."
"clear."
"The second point is that technology is irreversible."
"Confirm execution".
"The third point..." he smiled, "If negotiations break down, we'll say that this silkworm is actually alive, and that it will absorb the fat of its owner within three days of leaving its place of origin, making it a natural enemy of fat people."
"This information has no scientific basis."
“I know.” He blinked. “It’s just to scare people.”
The spacecraft's descent trajectory was stable, and it was less than 20 kilometers away from the boundary of the ecosystem.
He stood in front of the control panel, his hands resting on the edge of the table, his gaze fixed on the gold wire sample that had just been packaged. Under the light, the wire gleamed with a calm luster, like solidified liquid sunlight.
Nana's robotic arm gently adjusted the energy valve in the test area, and the electromagnetic rail emitted a low-frequency hum, like a wild beast grinding its teeth in its slumber.
“All preparations are complete,” she said.
He nodded without saying anything.
It was a bit windy outside, making the metal roof creak.
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