Chen Hao was woken up by hunger.
He opened his eyes, and the crack in the ceiling that had just been patched up the night before was right in front of his face. The grayish-white paint wasn't completely dry yet, like a scabbed wound. He stared at it for three seconds, then sat up, his stomach rumbling as if someone had kicked an empty bucket.
"Nana," he called out in a hoarse voice, "what time is it?"
The screen lit up in the corner, and Nana's calm voice rang out: "6:17. Indoor temperature is 17 degrees Celsius, and the wind speed has dropped to 1.2 meters per second."
"Alright then." Chen Hao rubbed his face; his arms ached like they were made of lead. He remembered collapsing in the control room last night, so how did he end up sleeping on the sofa in the rest area? Whatever, being able to lie down was a victory in itself.
He stood up unsteadily and dragged himself toward the cafeteria. The locker creaked open, revealing a meager contents: two packs of compressed biscuits, a jar of dehydrated vegetables, and half a bag of freeze-dried meat—he picked them up and saw that the production date was three months ago, with a shelf life of thirty days.
"It's expired," he muttered to himself. "It wasn't broken when I was fixing the wall yesterday, and now it's broken? Even food gets rolled up these days?"
He threw the bag of meat into the recycling bin, the sound of plastic hitting metal particularly jarring in the quiet room.
Back in the control room, Nana had already brought up the food log on the projector. Lines of data scrolled across the screen, with the animal protein reserves section highlighted in red.
“At the current rate of consumption, the existing inventory can last for five days,” she said. “If you don’t replenish the meat supply, you will experience symptoms of protein deficiency within 72 hours, such as decreased concentration, muscle loss, and increased mood swings.”
"I'm really irritable right now." Chen Hao leaned back in his chair. "If I hear you talking about these numbers again, I might just format your system."
“I suggest starting a short-distance hunting plan.” Nana ignored his threat. “The target area has a radius of no more than ten kilometers, and the one-way trip is expected to take no more than two hours. The thermal imager has been calibrated, and the battery has been replaced.”
Chen Hao was taken aback: "Are you serious? I'm going hunting?"
“You were the one who suggested eating fresh meat,” Nana said. “I was just offering a feasible solution.”
"You actually believed me when I was talking in my sleep?" Chen Hao rolled his eyes. "If I could catch a rabbit, I would have participated in the snow tracking event at the Winter Olympics long ago."
“Your physical fitness score is indeed not suitable for long-distance pursuit,” Nana nodded. “But we can use a combination of ambush and trapping. According to satellite image analysis, there is a leeward slope about two kilometers to the southeast, where there have been recent signs of small animal activity.”
Chen Hao sighed, got up, and opened the wardrobe. A heavy winter coat hung on the hook, still stained with paint from yesterday. He tried to put it on, but the zipper got stuck halfway up.
"Take a look at this for me." He turned his head.
Nana approached, and with a gentle flick of her mechanical fingers, the zipper slid up smoothly. "There is slight wear at the shoulder seam; we recommend avoiding strenuous activity."
"I know I'm fragile," Chen Hao muttered. "Just don't remind me."
After checking their equipment, the two set off. As soon as the door opened, a blast of cold wind hit them. It was still snowing outside, not heavily, but a thick layer had accumulated on the ground, making a soft, crunching sound underfoot. Chen Hao slipped after every two steps, and on his third step, he sat directly in a snowdrift.
"Are you alright?" Nana asked from the side.
"It's nothing." He tried to get up by bracing himself on the ground, but his hands went limp and he fell back down. "It's just that the earth suddenly became smooth."
Nana reached out and gently supported his elbow, pulling him up. Chen Hao brushed the snow off his bottom and said, panting, "Next time we go out, can you shovel the road first? We're not penguins; we don't need a group gliding performance."
Nana provided real-time navigation. She used a light screen to mark areas with weak load-bearing capacity ahead, reminding him to take detours. Halfway there, the wind suddenly picked up, making it impossible to open one's eyes.
"Visibility has decreased by forty percent," Nana said. "I suggest speeding up the process."
“I want to be fast too,” Chen Hao stamped his foot. “But these clothes are so clumsy. When I lift my leg, it feels like I’m pulling up a radish.”
We finally arrived at our destination. It was a low-lying grove of trees, with shallow footprints on the ground between the trunks, half-covered by fresh snow.
The two hid behind a fallen tree and waited for half an hour.
Nothing came.
"Are they all on holiday today?" Chen Hao rubbed his hands together. "Or did they hold an anti-hunting convention?"
“Animal activity is unpredictable,” Nana said. “It’s also possible that our presence has been detected.”
"I can't even breathe loudly, how can I hide?" Chen Hao frowned. "You can't expect me to hide as a tree, can you?"
He suddenly remembered something and patted his pocket: "There's a carrot in the kitchen. I was planning to make soup with it... Do rabbits like this?"
“Domestic rabbits prefer root vegetables,” Nana replied. “Wild individuals may retain similar habits.”
"It's better to try than to just wait." Chen Hao took out the carrot, broke it into several small pieces, and laid them out along the edge of the bushes. Finally, he placed a folding animal trap at the end and set the mechanism.
"Is this all you need?" he asked.
“It’s theoretically possible,” Nana said, “but the success rate cannot be calculated precisely.”
They retreated to their bunker and continued to wait.
Twenty minutes later, a gray hare peeked out from behind a snowdrift, its nose twitching. It slowly approached the carrot, ate the first piece, and stopped to look around. Then it ate the second piece and walked step by step toward the cage.
"They're here!" Chen Hao said in a low voice.
The moment the rabbit stepped into the cage, the mechanism went off. It leaped, but failed to escape and was trapped.
"We caught him!" Chen Hao stood up excitedly, ready to rush out.
"Don't move." Nana pressed down on his shoulder. "The other one is behind the tree on the left. It hasn't left yet."
Sure enough, the second rabbit was crouching not far away, its ears perked up and its eyes fixed on the cage. Nearly five minutes later, it turned and ran away.
"It's okay now." Nana let go of her hand.
Chen Hao rushed over, opened the cage, and put the rabbit into an insulated bag. Its body was still trembling slightly, and its nostrils were opening and closing.
"I'm sorry, brother," Chen Hao said softly, "but I'm more afraid of starving to death."
They retraced their steps. The wind picked up, and snowflakes lashed at their faces. Chen Hao, carrying two insulated bags, walked slower and slower, each step feeling like walking on cotton.
"Eight hundred meters to go," Nana said. "Hang in there."
"It's not that I don't want to persevere," Chen Hao gasped for breath, "it's just that my legs won't allow it."
Nana adjusted the robotic arm and took one of the bags, carrying it with her. Her steps were steady and unaffected.
"You robots are so unfair," Chen Hao complained. "They don't need to eat, they're not afraid of the cold, and they don't get tired."
“I’m just executing the program,” Nana said. “You can have a similar experience if you’re willing to upload your consciousness.”
"No, thank you." Chen Hao shook his head. "If my brain were put into the system, the first thing I'd do is treat myself to a meal of braised pork."
The base gate finally came into view. Chen Hao practically rolled in, collapsing onto the sofa as soon as he entered, too exhausted to even take off his coat.
Nana handed the prey to the processing machine, which started humming and began automatically skinning and cleaning it.
“Three rabbits yielded a total of about 4.6 kilograms of meat,” she reported, “enough to meet my protein needs for a week.”
"That's good." Chen Hao said with his eyes closed. "Next time, could you find someone who can cook?"
“There are no records of this species at present,” Nana said, “but we can try training it.”
Chen Hao chuckled and didn't say anything more. Warm air blew from the radiator, and he felt his fingers gradually warming up.
Nana put the remaining carrots into the refrigerator and casually added a note to the system log: "The bait strategy was successfully applied for the first time. It is recommended to archive it as a supplementary entry in the Wilderness Survival Manual."
She turned to look at the sofa.
Chen Hao was asleep with his head tilted to one side, a slight smile still lingering on his lips. His glove had fallen to the ground, revealing a faint scratch on the back of his hand, whether from a fall or from being scratched by a tree branch was unclear.
Nana walked over and gently tucked his hand back into her sleeve.
The snow is still falling outside.
The wind whistled softly across the roof.
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