The sound of rain hitting the tarpaulin changed from a patter to a roar, like someone standing on the roof pouring sand down. The crack tore longer and longer, and water trickled down the edge of the canvas, forming streams on the top of the granary and flowing towards the corners piled with grain.
Chen Hao stared at the stream of water, gritted his teeth, and turned to rush towards the storage room. The door slammed open with a thud, and the ropes and nails on the wooden frame rattled. He dragged out a rolled-up spare canvas, grabbed a few thick bamboo poles, and muttered, "This thing was advertised as 'high-strength rainproof,' but it couldn't even withstand a downpour. There's nowhere to return it."
He rushed back to the granary with the materials in his arms, half of his body already soaked by the rain. Looking up, he saw Nana standing under the eaves, her robotic arm extended to its limit, the optical lens locked onto the crack.
“The wind speed is currently seven meters per second, blowing from the northwest,” she said calmly. “If a water diversion structure is not established immediately, the amount of water seeping in will exceed two hundred liters within fifteen minutes.”
"Don't calculate so meticulously," Chen Hao said breathlessly as he stuck the bamboo pole into the mud. "If we keep calculating, the grain will sprout." He spread out the new canvas, used the bamboo pole to prop up one corner, forming a sloping shield, trying to divert the rainwater to the ditch on the side.
A sudden gust of wind whipped the canvas around, nearly knocking him over. He cursed, not even glancing at his knee as it hit a rock.
Nana glided forward, the robotic arm switched to high-altitude operation mode, and miniature fixing nails popped out from her fingertips. While calculating the angles, she precisely nailed the four corners of the canvas to the crossbeam. As the last nail fell, she activated the heating function, slowly moving it along the seam to fuse the edges.
"The sealing has been improved to 86 percent," she said. "The current leak has been moved to the east drain and is under control."
Chen Hao slumped down in the mud, wiping the rain from his face. "Well, at least the grain pile wasn't completely soaked." He looked up at the taut canvas and muttered, "Next time you build something, can you label it 'tested in real combat'? They make all sorts of claims, but they fall apart when you actually touch the real thing."
"The product's manufacturing standard is to withstand moderate rain for six hours continuously," Nana added. "The intensity of this rainfall exceeded the design threshold."
"Oh, so you mean the rain is too heavy?" Chen Hao rolled his eyes. "How about we wait for the weather forecast before we start farming next time? Let's check how the heavens are feeling first."
Before he could finish speaking, a red light flashed on the terminal.
Nana's optical lens snapped shut instantly, and the data screen scrolled rapidly. "The concentration of sulfate ions in the air has increased three hundredfold, and the activity of hydrogen ions has increased." She turned to Chen Hao, "A strong acid cloud has been detected approaching, and acid rain is expected to begin within three minutes. The pH value is estimated to be below 4.0."
Chen Hao was about to stand up, supporting himself on his knees, when he heard this and sat back down. "Wait—acid rain? Isn't this the countryside? How come we're getting a chemical attack?"
"It's caused by the combination of air pollutants and water vapor." Nana pulled up the foundation material analysis diagram. "The current load-bearing structure is a mixture of rammed earth and pine piles. Long-term contact with acidic liquids will cause the wood fibers to decompose, the soil calcium to be lost, and eventually lead to structural collapse."
"So, the roof's just been repaired, and the floor underneath is already going to rot?" Chen Hao grinned. "It's true what they say, wherever you fix something, it breaks."
He suddenly remembered something, slapped his thigh, and stood up. "Lime! We still have lime powder!"
"Source?" Nana asked.
“It’s what I had left over from adjusting the soil pH a while ago.” He said as he ran toward the storage shed. “You said that using an iron plow to turn the soil was too damaging, so I mixed rabbit droppings with lime to compost. Later, I switched to pure organic fertilizer, and there was only half a bag of this left. I’ve been leaving it on the shelf and forgotten about it.”
He pulled out the bulging burlap sack, spilling white powder all over the floor as he did so. There were a few mold spots on the bottom of the sack, but he didn't care, "It's not food anyway."
"The main component of lime is calcium oxide, which can neutralize acidic environments." Nana quickly calculated the spraying range. "It is recommended to spread it evenly within two meters around the grain silo, with a thickness of no more than 1.5 centimeters, to avoid dust affecting the respiratory system."
"You still care about my breathing?" Chen Hao untied the bag, grabbed a handful of powder, and said, "If I inhale too much and become mute, who will argue with you in the future?"
He walked around the grain warehouse, spreading the powder and stomping his feet to compact it. The lime began to smoke when it came into contact with moisture, and a thin mist rose from the ground. Nana activated a small fan device to disperse the powder into low-lying areas while monitoring the surface reaction.
“The neutralization process is underway,” she reported. “The surface soil pH has recovered from 4.3 to 5.7, and the trend is stable.”
Chen Hao stopped, panting, his arms so sore he could barely lift them. "How long do you think this powder will last? If there's another round tomorrow, will we have to start our own lime kiln to produce it?"
“If there is no continuous source of pollution, the protective layer can last for more than 24 hours,” Nana said. “But care should be taken to avoid trampling on it and damaging its structural integrity.”
“Understood. From now on, take a detour when walking around, and mark the area around the granary as a restricted zone.” He looked at the soles of his shoes, which were covered in white dust. “I’ll put up a sign later: This place is poisonous, no unauthorized personnel allowed—actually, it’s not poisonous, just in case people step on it and damage it.”
The rain suddenly intensified, large raindrops pounding on the freshly spread lime layer, making a slight hissing sound, like something invisible being fried in a pan. A faint steam rose, carrying the smells of earth and alkali, particularly noticeable in the damp, cold air.
Chen Hao squatted under the eaves, staring at the white border that was now in effect. "Would you say we're fighting poison with poison? Using alkali to treat acid, using rudimentary methods to fight technology, and finally relying on a bunch of expired fertilizer to save our lives."
“The logic holds true,” Nana said. “Moreover, it is inexpensive, easy to operate, and meets current resource constraints.”
“Listen to this, you’re even using technical terms to praise me.” He grinned, then frowned. “But I still feel something’s not right—we just want to farm, why is it like we’re guarding a border? One minute it’s locust swarms, the next it’s acid rain, and next we’re going to have to defend against missiles?”
Nana did not respond. Her sensors detected the first drop of acid rain hitting the ground, and the contact surface of the wooden beam emitted an extremely faint corrosive sound, like paper being slowly soaked and torn apart.
Chen Hao's ears twitched. "Did you hear that?"
“Audio frequency 82 Hz, amplitude weak.” Nana immediately sampled the surface runoff. “Analyzing the composition.”
A few seconds later, the screen displayed the result: pH value 6.2, close to neutral.
“It works,” she said.
Chen Hao let out a long breath, leaned back against the damp wall, and said, "At least... it wasn't all for nothing."
He looked down at the empty lime bag in his hand. The bag was torn at one corner, and the last bit of powder leaked through his fingers and was washed into the drain by the rain.
Nana's terminal kept updating the data. "The foundation stress is normal, with no signs of settlement. The overall structure of the grain silo is safe."
"As long as we're safe." Chen Hao rubbed his eyes. "As long as the food doesn't spoil, everything else is minor." He yawned, his eyelids already drooping. "Why is life so tiring? Can't we just lie down and not move?"
"According to database records, prolonged bed rest can lead to muscle atrophy, slowed blood circulation, and a 64% increase in the risk of depression."
"Look, look, they won't even let you lie down," he muttered. "If I had known I would transmigrate here, I would have pretended to be dead. Maybe I could have gotten martyr treatment."
Nana turned to look at him. "Your vital signs are currently stable, there is no need to fake your death."
"Sigh, robots don't understand human fatigue." He waved his hand. "We're the kind of creatures who can't do anything right, yet we still have to force ourselves to solve problems. What's the point?"
"Maybe it's so that we can still eat tomorrow," Nana said.
Chen Hao paused for a moment, then laughed. "You're right, we can't go without food." He tried to stand up, leaning against the wall, but his legs buckled, and he almost knelt back down. "When will this rain stop?"
"The weather model shows that the main rain belt will weaken around 2 a.m.," Nana said. "Until then, we recommend remaining on alert."
"Warning my ass, I'm about to fall apart." He leaned against the wall, moved to a corner, and plopped down. "If you really care about human rights, let me take a ten-minute nap."
"Sleep cannot be authorized," Nana said. "We are still under a red alert."
“You have no martial ethics.” Chen Hao closed his eyes, his voice growing increasingly indistinct. “The day you short-circuit, I’ll stand next to you and read the instruction manual aloud, not letting you sleep a single word.”
The rain was still falling. The new canvas on the roof steadily caught the water, and the dripping water droplets formed lines as they hit the limestone ground, splashing up circles of grayish-white marks.
Nana stood still, the optical lens scanning the surroundings, and the terminal displayed green indicators: [Grain silo structure safe] [Foundation stable] [Environmental parameters stabilizing]
Chen Hao leaned against the wall, his head tilted to the side, his mouth slightly open, emitting soft snoring.
Suddenly, his eyelids twitched, and he snapped his eyes open.
"Oh no."
He stared at the dark, murky ridges of the fields in the distance.
"We were so focused on saving the granary that we forgot we hadn't completely collected all the pottery shards."
“Eighty-nine percent has been treated,” Nana said. “The remaining contaminated area is located in the southeast corner, 127 meters away from here.”
"But with such heavy rain, won't the pesticide be washed into the ditch?" He sat up straight. "If it flows into the water source, everything we plant next season will be ruined."
“It’s a possibility.” Nana pulled up a topographic slope map. “If we don’t intervene, the pollutants are expected to flow into the downstream reservoir in four hours.”
Chen Hao slapped his thigh to stand up, but his leg cramped up, making him wince in pain.
He gritted his teeth, leaned against the wall to stand up straight, and reached out to grab the shovel leaning against the pillar.
The shovel handle still had scorch marks left from the canister explosion last night.
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