Chen Hao's fingers trembled slightly as he stuffed the dead insect into the sealed bag. Not out of fear, but from hunger. He glanced at the sky; the sun was long gone, leaving only a layer of gray clouds pressing down overhead, like someone had put a pot lid upside down on the sky.
“This thing needs to be tested,” he said. “Otherwise, I always feel like it’s about to start talking at any moment.”
Nana stood beside her, the robotic arm slightly raised, the scanning port aligned with the sealed bag: "Sample entered, start gene comparison program."
"Do you think it might be a distant cousin of the chicken plague?" Chen Hao chewed on his dry rations as he walked back, crumbs falling all the way. "One is in the poultry farming business, the other is in biochemicals; they're family businesses."
"Currently, there is no evidence to suggest that there is a cross-species transmission chain between insect and avian viruses." Nana's voice was as steady as a newly repaired printer. "However, environmental mutagenesis may affect multiple biological systems simultaneously."
"Does that mean—the rain outside is poisonous?"
"Acid rain with a pH of 4.1 contains sulfides and unknown metal ion complexes, which meet the catalytic conditions for pathogen mutation."
Chen Hao stopped and looked up at the sky: "So this place has become a petri dish for nature?"
Before he could answer, a drop of water hit him on the forehead.
Then came the second drop, and the third drop.
"Damn it!" He suddenly hugged the equipment case tightly. "Not again? Can't I even catch my breath?"
The rain came down hard, covering the entire chicken coop area before anyone could react. Chen Hao, wearing his coat over his shoulder, rushed into the makeshift laboratory, slammed the box on the table, and was panting as if he had run ten kilometers.
"Is the spectrometer still usable?" he asked.
"The power module is damp and has failed its self-test." Nana took the device and lightly tapped the casing with her fingertip. "There is an 87% risk of an internal short circuit."
"Then let's disassemble it! We'll save as many parts as we can!"
She worked swiftly, removing the outer casing in seconds to reveal a dense array of circuit boards inside. Chen Hao squatted beside her, handing her tools, his hands trembling so much he almost poked the screwdriver into the battery compartment.
“If you poke it again, we’ll have to switch to raising electric arcs,” Nana said.
"I'm just in a hurry." Chen Hao withdrew his hand. "The chicks are almost bald. If they don't get some light soon, they'll have to be renamed 'Roasted Chicken Rehearsal Team' tomorrow."
Nana didn't reply, but suddenly stopped: "Tissue sample collection complete, begin gene sequencing."
The data stream on the screen scrolled rapidly, displaying rows of base sequence comparison charts. A few minutes later, an alarm sounded softly.
“Match successful,” she said. “The current pathogen is 98.6% homologous to the strain recorded in Chapter 185, but has three point mutations in the oRF7a region, which lead to changes in the shell protein structure and enhanced immune evasion ability.”
"Translate into human language."
"The chicken plague vaccine has been upgraded, and the old vaccine is no longer effective."
Chen Hao grinned: "So it updates automatically? No need to download patches?"
“More importantly, the timeline.” Nana pulled up the log. “The mutation started three days ago, exactly 48 hours after the last acid rain stopped.”
"So it starts practicing new skills as soon as it gets rained on?"
“Metal ions in the environment may act as gene-editing catalysts,” she paused, “similar to a natural version of cRISPR.”
Chen Hao was silent for two seconds, then suddenly laughed out loud: "Got it, this is a virus training course, with food and accommodation included and even an acid rain package."
The laughter didn't last long.
The rain outside intensified, a bolt of lightning struck, followed by a "pop," the laboratory lights flickered twice, and then went out.
"Backup power is starting up," Nana said.
But after a few seconds, the light didn't turn on.
"The battery pack was damaged by rainwater seepage, causing a short circuit and failure."
"...What about the treatment device?"
"The core light source module is still operational, but it must be connected to a stable power source."
Chen Hao grabbed his coat and rushed outside: "Move it into the cave! It's dry there!"
The rain was so heavy it was blinding. He stumbled through the mud, clutching the light source assembly, when he slipped and fell into a puddle, nearly dropping the equipment.
"Hold on." Nana reached out to support him, while her other robotic arm deployed a force field shield, creating a temporary dry zone above the chicken coop. "Let's try to get a ten-minute window of opportunity."
"What can you do in ten minutes? I could fall down three times in that time."
He gritted his teeth and got up, stumbling as he carried the equipment into the cave. The cave was relatively dry, with a few old wooden planks piled on the ground, which served as a makeshift workbench. His hands trembled as he connected the wires and plugged in the last battery.
Buzz—
The light source turned on, casting a pale purple glow on the chicks in the quarantine area. The chicks, which had been listless, now had wet feathers clinging to their bodies; some could barely stand and were leaning against the wall, panting.
"Begin the irradiation." Nana set the frequency, "Fifteen minutes per hour, for forty-eight hours."
"Let's save as many as we can." Chen Hao slumped in the corner, wiping the rain and sweat from his face. "Next time it rains, should we put the chickens in bags and hang them on the cliff top first?"
“I suggest installing a rainwater drainage system.” Nana pulled up the design sketches. “Add a sloping drainage ditch to the top of the chicken coop and connect it to an air filter to prevent pollutants from directly contacting the poultry.”
"It sounds like building a villa for chickens."
"It can also be understood as—gas mask with roof."
Chen Hao snorted, pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and drew circles on it with a pen: "Then the procedures need to be changed. As soon as a sick chicken shows symptoms, take a sample immediately and test it on the spot. Don't wait until they all collapse before taking action."
"You brought up the epidemic prevention procedures on your own initiative?" Nana turned to look at him. "Has the sun risen in the west?"
“I don’t want to take responsibility.” He lowered his head and corrected his handwriting. “I’m afraid that one day I will get infected myself, and you robots won’t feed me porridge.”
The sound of rain outside the cave gradually weakened.
The two remained silent for a moment. Nana continued monitoring the data, her optical eye scanning each chick receiving light, recording its body temperature, respiratory rate, and activity level.
Chen Hao stared at the sketch and added a few more strokes.
"What are you writing?" she asked.
"Check the water quality after the rain stops, take samples from sick chickens immediately, and clean the filter once a week..." he read aloud what he had written. "Also, don't let chickens near my food box. Last time I found one trying to peck at a spicy snack."
“The temporary epidemic prevention plan has been entered,” Nana said. “The database has added a new marker: Gallivirus-x1, an acid rain-related variant.”
"The name sounds like a villainous boss."
"It's better than being called 'Unlucky Number One'."
Chen Hao smiled, rubbed his face, stood up, and walked to the light source. A chick was tilting its head, looking at the purple light, its eyes half-closed, as if it were sunbathing.
"You still know how to enjoy yourself?" He poked its head. "You're about to die and you're still posing."
The chick wiggled, didn't dodge, but instead nuzzled his finger.
"Hey." He was taken aback. "You're pretty good at building relationships."
Nana walked over and scanned the chicken's vital signs: "The immune response is showing initial fluctuations, and it may be building up preliminary antibodies."
"Does that mean—there's hope?"
"It's uncertain. But at least it hasn't given up on living."
Chen Hao looked down at the chicken, its dirty claws stepping on his shoes, its head nodding as if it were dozing off.
He suddenly remembered something, took out the remaining half of the dry food from his pocket, broke off a small piece, and put it on the ground.
The chick lowered its head, pecked at the food, didn't swallow, and then looked up at him again.
"Not fresh enough?" he muttered. "How about I make you some instant noodles?"
Nana didn't say anything, but simply recorded the scene: **Individual number ch-09, first time actively approaching humans, feeding behavior resumed, survival probability increased to 34%**.
The rain has completely stopped.
A sliver of light shone through the opening, illuminating the toolbox at Chen Hao's feet. The box was open, containing a jumble of wires, screws, half a piece of tape, and a sealed bag lying quietly inside, with the dead insect inside facing upwards, its wings slightly raised.
He bent down, picked it up, looked at it, and then turned and put it into the sample cabinet in the corner.
The moment the cabinet door closed, a chick flapped its wings and jumped onto his lap.
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