When he received the word "sold," Chen Hao was just putting the last bite of his energy bar into his mouth. Sticky residue was stuck between his teeth, but he didn't reach up to pick it out; he just squinted his eyes, like a cat basking in the sun after a good meal.
"There are actually people who believe the words 'no bargaining'." He muttered, crumpling the wrapping paper into a ball and throwing it precisely into the recycling bin three meters away.
Nana stood beside the control panel, her mechanical fingers lightly tapping the screen. The draft electronic agreement had been disassembled, with each clause listed in the sidebar. "The other party has accepted all conditions, the earnest money has been received, and the credit rating is normal."
"Credit rating?" Chen Hao scoffed. "This kind of person doesn't deserve to talk about credit. He's just done his calculations and realized that it's more cost-effective to play the subservient role than to rob by force."
He stood up, his slippers clattering as he walked to the main control screen. He stared at the title "Exclusive Supply Agreement" for two seconds, then suddenly grinned and said, "Alright, if you want to sign, don't just talk the talk. We need to make the rules thicker than a radiation shield."
Nana looked up: "Are you preparing to create a formal template?"
“Not prepare, write it now.” He plopped back in his chair, crossed his legs, and said, “Listen carefully, three ironclad rules—first, no joint ventures; second, no licensing; third, never give out the source code. They’re buying the product, not the technical manual.”
“The agreement will embed a dynamic performance monitoring module.” Nana said as she entered the data and brought up the data link diagram. “All purchasers need to connect to the Wilderness Star local authentication system, upload usage scenarios in real time, and accept crop growth data traceability review.”
“Yes.” Chen Hao nodded. “Let them know that they have to report where the wheat is planted, how it is planted, and who is planting it. If they dare to secretly change the formula, the supply will be cut off immediately.”
"This will create a de facto ecological barrier to entry," Nana added.
“Barrier?” He laughed. “This is called a threshold. If you want to eat our food, you have to use our methods. Otherwise, you can’t even take the pot away.”
After the draft agreement was generated, Nana encrypted and archived it, marking it as the "limited-supply version for the first time." A prompt appeared on the screen: Maximum number of companies that can sign contracts—twelve.
"Not too much, not too little." Chen Hao glanced at it. "Leave some hunger in, so they don't think we're easy to talk to."
Just then, a new message popped up from the interplanetary resource coordination agency's public notification channel.
[The "Haona Agricultural Ecosystem" has been officially approved to establish an interstellar joint laboratory, registered in the sovereign jurisdiction of the desolate planet, and governed by Article 17 of the "Rim Planet Ecological Development Code".]
Chen Hao paused for half a second, then whistled: "Wow, that was pretty quick."
"The application was submitted three hours ago," Nana said calmly. "I processed it while you were sleeping."
"No wonder I heard the sound of a keyboard in my dream." He scratched his head. "But it's convenient to have it set up on our turf. Those outsiders want to come in and study it? Sure, they'll have to pay up first and sign a waiver."
“An access mechanism has been established.” Nana pulled up the laboratory management regulations. “Researchers must use a quantum-encrypted terminal to access the database. The core algorithm runs offline, and the data and code do not leave the chamber. Violators will be subject to a reverse liability agreement, with compensation amounting to three times their annual income.”
"Be ruthless," Chen Hao decided. "Anyone who wants to piggyback on our technology should be prepared to lose everything, even their underwear."
Half an hour later, the first batch of signing representatives' aircraft arrived at the orbital parking area one after another. The holographic projection automatically switched to the reception interface, displaying twelve identity badges, neatly arranged on the waiting list.
Chen Hao changed into his old suit, the one he'd kept at the bottom of his trunk—his tie was crooked, one button was missing, and there were still stains from yesterday's energy bar on his cuffs. He didn't care.
"As for image, the key is to look intimidating." He said, gesturing with his chin towards the camera, "Let's go live, public channel, no bandwidth restrictions."
Nana nodded and sent a signal with one click.
The moment the screen switched to the next screen, the first representative sent a communication request; it was a technical director from a mining group.
"Mr. Chen, regarding Article 6 of the agreement, we would like to add a clause that allows our engineers to observe the crystal purification process on-site."
Chen Hao didn't answer the video call, only replying with text: "Observation is possible, but only for the finished product packaging. As for how it was proposed, that's a secret my mother made me, I won't tell you."
After a five-second silence, the other party sent another message: "Perhaps we can explore the possibility of technology sharing..."
Before she could finish speaking, Nana had already retrieved the original communication records and projected the entire process of Starlink Workshop's initiative to seek reconciliation onto the center of the main control screen.
Chen Hao pointed to the "deal" reply and said into the microphone, "See? They were the first to come knocking and cause trouble. Now they're the ones kneeling down to sign the agreement. You're on this list because we were willing to open the door, not because you're so powerful."
He paused, then said lazily, "Want to change the rules? Sure, settle your accounts for attacking our system first, then we can talk about anything else."
The other side fell silent.
Next, the second representative tentatively suggested: "Could we relax the frequency of data tracing? Is three times a day too strict?"
Nana immediately played a video—a live recording of the quantum encryption system in operation. On the screen, each data interaction was accompanied by unique light patterns, like some kind of unreplicable life rhythm.
"What is this?" the other person asked.
"Heartbeat," Chen Hao replied. "The pulse of our system. It changes every second, and no one can copy it. If you find it troublesome, you can still quit now. There are plenty of spots available, we won't miss you."
No one spoke anymore.
Five minutes later, all the representatives successively confirmed and signed the final version of the agreement.
The projection on the ceiling of the main control room slowly lit up, and a virtual nameplate rose into the air, which read: "Haona Interstellar Joint Laboratory".
The background depicts a scene where purple wheat fields intertwine with black crystal power generation arrays, the wind blowing, the wheat ears swaying, and electricity flowing in the darkness.
The monitoring device emitted a slight beep just after the ceremony ended.
Nana glanced at the screen and said, "Multiple media spacecraft are approaching the laboratory, carrying high-definition filming equipment, without requesting permission."
Chen Hao walked to the window and looked up. Several small, silver-white aircraft were approaching from different directions, hovering at low altitude, their cameras all pointed at the unveiling site.
“Let them take the pictures,” he said.
"The live stream signal has been made available on the public channel, and the encrypted logs have been archived simultaneously," Nana responded.
"That's good." He straightened his crooked tie, grabbed a half-eaten energy bar from the table, and took a bite.
It still had a sticky texture, but he ate it with great relish.
Inside the main control room, three screens were running stably. The bidding curve was still climbing, the security log was a clear blue, and the exhibition booth screen showed waves of wheat, with black crystals dotting the screen like stardust.
Nana stood beside him, her mechanical eyes gleaming with a soft light.
“What’s the next step?” she asked.
“Wait.” Chen Hao leaned back in his chair, his eyelids half-closed. “Wait until they realize that this is not just about selling wheat or minerals, but about redefining what ‘ecological control’ means.”
Outside, a drone adjusted its focus, its lens steadily locking onto his face.
He winked at it.
Then he raised the broken energy bar in his hand, like raising a glass.
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