After Chen Hao crushed the fragment of insulation layer under his foot, he felt a slight gritty sensation. He glanced down, ignored it, and continued walking along the ridge. The sky was brighter than before, the wind had died down, and there was a faint, but present, smell of damp earth in the air.
He stopped in front of the field on the east side of the farm. The soil, which had been exposed to the sun last night, was now a darker color, and the frost on the surface had melted. He squatted down and reached down to dig at the soil. The surface was soft, but an inch below that, it was as hard as a wall. He tried twice, getting mud under his fingernails, but couldn't find a decent clod of earth.
"This soil is even harder to chew than the iron pot in the cafeteria," he said.
Nana's voice came from behind: "Current freezing depth is 18 centimeters, moisture content is 12 percent. Manual tillage efficiency is 0.03 square meters per hour."
"So, in other words, even if I work all day, I won't be able to turn over even a small corner of the land?"
"That's the theoretical value."
Chen Hao stood up and brushed the dust off his hands. "That won't do. By the time I finish turning over all the soil, autumn will be over."
He turned and walked back to the base, his steps quicker than when he came. There was a scratch on the warehouse door, from when he had moved equipment before. He remembered a wrecked tracked vehicle piled up in the corner; the parts should still be there.
He pushed open the door; the room was dimly lit. He fumbled for the light switch, and it flickered twice before turning on. The car was indeed there, half-rusted, the wheels missing, but the frame was still there. He bent down and dragged out a section of metal rod, then found two more wheels that could still turn.
"What are you planning to do?" Nana asked, standing in the doorway.
“Plow the land,” he said. “If there are no oxen, I’ll pull it myself.”
She walked in, and the camera panned across the pile of parts. "The weld joints need to withstand at least 120 kilograms of lateral tensile force, and the existing materials are not strong enough."
“I know it’s not sturdy,” Chen Hao said, picking up the welding torch. “But it only needs to hold up once. Once the first piece of land is turned over, we’ll have the energy to keep going.”
He began assembling. The metal rods and rollers were secured with reinforcing ropes, and then the joints were sealed with a welding torch. The welds were crooked and uneven, like a child's handwriting. After welding the last section, he lifted it up and shook it; the whole thing didn't fall apart.
“It looks like something from a junkyard,” he said.
“The structural integrity assessment is 60%,” Nana said. “We recommend installing a traction stabilizer bar.”
"You should have said so earlier." He pulled out a short pipe and welded it to the end. This time he was slower, his hand was a little shaky, and the welding torch almost burned his sleeve.
After finishing, he carried the thing out of the warehouse. Sunlight shone on the metal, reflecting the light. It wasn't pretty, but it worked.
Before returning to the field, he put down the plow, stood at the back, and gripped the connecting rope with both hands. One end of the rope was tied to his belt.
"Are you ready?" Nana asked.
“Of course I’m wearing my work clothes.” He was referring to his old coat, which was covered in grease.
He walked forward. The plowshare veered off course the moment it touched the ground, getting stuck in a crack. He pulled hard, the rope digging into his shoulder, but the plow didn't budge, and he nearly fell to the ground himself.
“The angle is wrong,” Nana said. “The angle between the traction direction and the ground should be thirty-seven degrees.”
"You make it sound so easy. I'm not a protractor."
“I can provide voice prompts.”
"Then give me your number."
On his second attempt, he adjusted his pace and leaned forward. Nana called out from the side, "Thirty-five... thirty-six... thirty-seven, hold."
He gritted his teeth and pressed on. The plowshare finally cut into the soil with a dull thud. A furrow was turned over, and dark brown mud rolled up, revealing the moist part underneath.
"It's done!" he said, panting.
“The cultivated area is 0.8 square meters,” Nana said. “It meets the initial reclamation standards.”
He wiped the sweat from his brow and laughed. He laughed until he was slightly out of breath, his face flushed. He pulled the plow back and realigned it.
"One more time."
The second attempt went more smoothly. The plow didn't get stuck, and the soil was turned even deeper. He gradually got the rhythm right, his steps became steady, and his shoulder didn't hurt as much. After three attempts, he stopped and looked at the field in front of him.
It was less than five square meters, but all of it was loose soil. There were no seeds, and no water, yet it was clearly different from the frozen soil next to it. This piece of land seemed to have come alive.
He pulled his notebook from his pocket and opened it. The first page had a note tucked inside that read, "The first meal of spring." Below it, in the blank space, he wrote: "The first shovel of earth, I turned it myself."
After finishing writing, I closed the notebook and put it back.
"What's next?" Nana asked.
"Take a break," he said. "Once you've caught your breath, we'll see which plot of land needs turning over."
He squatted down, grabbed a handful of the soil he had turned over, and kneaded it. The soil wasn't cold to the touch; it was slightly damp and could be rolled into a ball. He gently placed it back into the ditch.
"Do you think there might be insect eggs in this soil?" he asked.
“It’s possible,” she said. “During the spring revival period, dormant organisms begin to activate.”
“That’s good,” he said. “When they come out and see people working outside, they’ll probably be shocked—this place has been abandoned, hasn’t it?”
"Perhaps they feel that the environment is suitable for reproduction."
"Look, you've even learned to speak like a human being."
Nana didn't respond. She turned her camera to the ground and started scanning. A few seconds later she said, "Trace amounts of active organic matter signals detected, possibly from a deep microbial community."
"I don't understand it, but it sounds impressive."
He stood up and stretched his wrists. His shoulders were still sore, but he could bear it. He looked towards the warehouse.
"I think that stabilizer bar can be reinforced," he said, "so it won't wobble as easily next time you pull it."
Do you need my assistance in revising the design?
“No need,” he said. “You just keep an eye on it for me. If I’m halfway through pulling it and this bastard explodes, you’ll be a witness.”
He rearranged the plow, stood at the back, and grasped the rope.
"Thirty-seven degrees, right?"
"correct."
He took a deep breath and started walking forward.
The plowshare cut into the soil again with a snap. The earth churned, and a new furrow stretched out. His steps gradually steadied, and his breathing rose and fell in rhythm.
Nana stood on the edge of the field, her body reflecting the sunlight, her camera lens always focused on the ever-growing ditch.
Chen Hao reached the end, stopped, and turned around to prepare to pull the second trip.
His shoes were covered in mud, his trouser legs were dirty, and his face was covered in sweat. But he didn't wipe it off; he just looked up at the sky.
The clouds were moving, faster than in the morning. The sunlight shone on him; it wasn't hot, but it was warm.
“This weather,” he said, “looks like it’s about to change.”
He gripped the rope tightly again.
Stand firmly on both feet.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com