When the spaceship's landing gear slammed into the sand, it made Chen Hao's ears ring. He was stuffing the last piece of gold wire mesh into the display case when he heard the metal roof outside creaking in the wind, like someone slowly pacing on the roof.
"I'm here," he said, without looking up.
Nana stood in front of the control panel, slightly adjusting the focus of the optical lens: "Three hundred meters away, reception channel open. Electromagnetic track power disconnected, test area protective shield in standby mode."
"Good." He clapped his hands, took out the gloves from his pocket, and slowly put them on. "We won't launch a surprise attack, but we can't let them think we're easy to bully."
As the door slid open, a gust of wind whipped in sand. A man in a silver-gray uniform, with three gold stripes on his shoulders, walked in. He moved slowly, each step seemingly on a beat. Behind him followed two assistants carrying testing kits.
Chen Hao stepped forward, grinning, "Welcome to the Wasteland Soil Workshop. I'm the manager."
The other person didn't laugh; their gaze went straight past him and landed on the piece of silk hanging on the wall, shimmering slightly.
"Is this the bio-insulating material you applied for?"
“It’s bulletproof composite wire,” Chen Hao corrected. “Insulation is just a side job it does.”
The man didn't reply. He opened the testing box, took out a laser gun—a standard military-grade model with adjustable power.
"I want to test its penetration resistance," he said. "I'll fire a shot on the spot."
The atmosphere in the control room suddenly tensed. Nana's robotic arm slightly deflected, aligning itself with the data acquisition port.
Chen Hao laughed: "Sure, but you'll have to listen to me on how to play."
"oh?"
“When you shoot at a target, that proves it’s useful; when I wear it and let you shoot at me, that proves it’s sufficient.” He said, unbuttoning his coat. “Don’t you think that makes sense?”
The other person stared at him for two seconds, then suddenly nodded: "Okay. But you will be responsible for any injuries or fatalities."
“I’ve already prepared the disclaimer.” He took off his coat, revealing a t-shirt with a cartoon pig’s head printed on it, then wrapped the woven gold cloak around his body and zipped it up to his neck with a whoosh. “Come on, let me see the sincerity of your chamber of commerce.”
He walked to the center of the testing area, stood still, and spread his arms wide, like a madman about to embrace the world.
“Beat it here.” He pointed to his chest.
Nana's voice sounded from behind: "Energy readings synchronized, high-speed spectral analysis initiated, countdown three seconds."
Three, two, one.
The moment the laser shot out, a blinding white line streaked through the air. Chen Hao didn't close his eyes; he only felt a warmth in his chest, as if someone had pressed a hot water bottle against it.
The moment the beam struck the gold thread, the entire fabric rippled with flowing waves, like water ruffled by the wind. Then, as if striking an invisible mist, the laser beam shattered into countless tiny specks of light, scattering in all directions.
The detector immediately displayed the following data: **Reflectivity 8%, Absorption 0%, Emission 92%**.
The person in uniform stared at the readings, and for the first time, their brow furrowed.
“S-3 protection standard,” Nana calmly reported the conclusion. “It fully complies with the Level 3 specifications for interstellar civilian protective materials. No structural cracks occurred, and the surface temperature rose by only 1.7 degrees Celsius.”
The man was silent for a few seconds, then turned to his assistant and said, "Test it again, increase the power to 120% of the standard value."
The second shot yielded the same result.
The third time, they changed the angle and fired at an angle, but still failed to penetrate.
Finally, the man put away his gun and looked at Chen Hao: "Aren't you afraid of dying?"
"Yes, I am scared." Chen Hao took off his cloak and shook it. "But I'm even more afraid that you won't believe this thing can really protect you. Do you believe it now?"
"The data is fine," the other party finally relented. "But what about mass production capacity? This material relies on silkworms with special genes. How many do you have? How many tons do you produce annually?"
"Not many." Chen Hao smiled. "Currently, there are only three 'key shifts' with stable output, each producing about five centimeters of milk per day. The first batch will be limited to fifty tons, with payment made in advance before delivery. We do not accept credit."
"Fifty tons?" the man sneered. "You think this is a rare mineral vein? Can insects produce a ton of silk a day?"
“They’re not ordinary insects.” Chen Hao turned around and winked at Nana.
Nana immediately brought up the holographic image—in the image, three dark golden silkworms were fixed on a support, their heads swaying rhythmically, their silk threads hanging down, each one gleaming with a metallic sheen. Zooming in, one could see subtle pulses inside the silk threads, as if the creatures were breathing.
The subtitles slowly appeared: [Bio-self-repairing structure is forming].
"See that?" Chen Hao pointed at the screen. "They're not spitting silk, they're producing a miniature ecosystem. This thing will shut down in three days if it leaves our environment. Imitation? Forget about it."
The man stared at the image for a long time before finally speaking: "How many years of contract do you want to sign?"
"Ten years," Chen Hao said. "The price will be settled in gold equivalent, with a fluctuation of no more than five percent. In addition, you will be responsible for all transportation, and the insurance must cover three high-risk clauses: meteorite impact, space tearing, and human hijacking."
"You're asking for an exorbitant amount."
“But you’ve already fired three shots.” Chen Hao shrugged. “If it wasn’t worth it, would you have wasted three high-energy lasers? You would have turned around and left long ago.”
The other party didn't speak, but swiped their finger across the terminal for a while, bringing up a contract template.
“I can sign,” he said, “but on one condition—we need to take a sample back to headquarters for in-depth analysis.”
“No.” Chen Hao shook his head. “The samples cannot be leaked. You can test them on-site, you can record videos, but you cannot take even a millimeter away.”
"Then we cannot guarantee the security of long-term cooperation."
"Safety?" Chen Hao laughed. "When your spaceship first came in, I could have blasted you down with an electromagnetic railgun. I didn't fight because I wanted to do business, not fight. If you dare to steal our technology, next time it might not be the Chamber of Commerce representatives coming, but me storming your doorstep in a gunboat."
The air grew cold again.
A few seconds later, the man suddenly laughed. It was a very short laugh, almost inaudible.
“Interesting,” he said. “A fat guy on a desolate planet, wearing a cartoon t-shirt, using insect silk as a bulletproof vest, and he dares to negotiate with the interstellar trade guild.”
“I’m not fat, I’m strong,” Chen Hao corrected. “Besides, I already put the patent number on the main control screen before you came. S-, go check it yourself.”
The man stared at him for a long time before finally reaching out and taking out an electronic signature pen from his briefcase.
“Ten years,” he said. “Minimum order of fifty tons, settled at the gold price, to be paid in three installments.”
"Deal." Chen Hao also extended his hand.
The moment the two shook hands, Nana simultaneously generated a copy of the encrypted contract and sent it back to the Interstellar Intellectual Property Center for filing.
The flash went off as the chamber of commerce entourage captured the moment of the signing. In the photo, Chen Hao smiled like a child who had just won candy, his gold-threaded cloak draped over his arm, its edges slightly rough, as if it had been hastily handmade.
"The regional manager will be responsible for follow-up coordination." The chamber's top representative present put away his terminal. "We will send a transport ship to arrive within seventy-two hours."
"Remember to bring enough money," Chen Hao reminded him. "It would be embarrassing if you found out you didn't have enough in your account."
The other person did not respond, but glanced back at the silk on the wall before leaving.
"Will those three silkworms really keep spitting out food like this?"
"Who knows?" Chen Hao shrugged. "Maybe one day they'll go on strike and switch to singing and dancing. But until then, they'll be money-printing machines."
After the door closed, the wind started blowing again.
Nana begins archiving the data, and the robotic arm connects to the Chamber of Commerce terminal for final information synchronization.
Chen Hao leaned against the control panel, holding a copy of the newly printed contract in his hand. Before he could even read the terms, his eyelids began to feel heavy.
Do you think they might secretly raise a few silkworms to try it out when they get back?
“The probability is 37.6%,” Nana said. “We recommend strengthening biolocking in aquaculture areas and adding tracking markers to the feed.”
"Okay." He yawned. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. I risked my life today, and it was worth it to get a piece of paper."
He rubbed his temples, then suddenly remembered something: "Oh right, did you wash that cloak?"
"Not yet cleaned."
"Don't wash it." He chuckled. "Keep it. If anyone doesn't believe me next time, I'll wear it and get shot again."
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