The insect swarm signal in the northwest region disappeared in the same second. Nana's camera remained on that lifeless data, without zooming out or switching.
Chen Hao sat up straight, almost dropping the notepad in his hand. He bent down to pick it up, but couldn't find the pen, and didn't mention it again.
"Not dead?" He stared at the screen. "They... just gave up together?"
“Life activities synchronously stopped.” Nana’s voice was a beat slower than usual. “It’s not death, nor is it hibernation. All individual neural potentials drop to zero in the same millisecond, and then resume slight fluctuations in the same millisecond. It’s like the power was turned off in unison, and then secretly turned back on.”
"That's not scientific." Chen Hao scratched his head. "Can insects really have collective meditation?"
He stood up, walked to the control panel, and ran his finger across the frequency spectrum. The waveform that had been pulsating just moments before was now as flat as a clothesline.
"Was it because we were too loud and stunned them?" he asked, turning around.
Nana retrieved the structural stress monitoring record: "The strain value of the left front support column has reached 94% of the safety threshold. The high-frequency sound waves have been acting continuously for 37 minutes, and the metal fatigue accumulation has exceeded expectations. The system has automatically triggered a protective shutdown."
"Oh." Chen Hao nodded. "The house is practically falling apart, and you're asking me how the bugs are?"
He kicked the control box base, making a dull thud. "Listen to that, it's starting to hollow out. This warehouse is looser than my grandfather's dentures."
Nana didn't respond; the projector re-unfolded the 3D building model. Faint red spots of light emanated from the steel frame connection points, concentrated in the load-bearing area on the west side of the granary.
“If the frequency band above 18kHz continues to be used, cracks may spread within 72 hours,” she said. “It is recommended to permanently avoid the 17 to 19kHz range.”
“Then let’s change the channel.” Chen Hao plopped back into his chair. “Lower frequencies won’t collapse the walls, will they? I’ve heard that infrasound can carry elephants for miles to chat.”
“Structural resonance zones can be avoided below 8 Hz,” Nana searched the materials database. “However, biological effects should be noted. Long-term exposure to infrasound in humans can cause dizziness, nausea, and mood swings.”
“I don’t live here.” Chen Hao had already opened the backup module panel. “We’re not putting on a concert, so why worry about sound quality? We’ll just give the bugs whatever they’re afraid of.”
He pressed the start button.
Buzz—
A vibration, the sound of which was indescribable, came from the floor. It was like someone tossing a bell in the distance, or like the throbbing of blood flowing through the ear canal.
In the surveillance footage, the surface of the grain pile began to slowly undulate. Small black dots slid out along the slope of the grain, moving slowly but in the same direction—escaping outwards.
"It works!" Chen Hao grinned. "Look how obediently these little devils are crawling."
But just then, the camera footage from the chicken coop shook.
One chick spun around three times, its head tilted to one side, like a bean sprout blown over by the wind. Then, a second and a third chick followed suit, some even lying on the ground flapping their wings.
"What's wrong?" Chen Hao leaned closer to the screen.
Nana quickly switched to avian physiological monitoring: "Abnormal brainwave rhythms have been observed, indicating disruption of the vestibular system. The symptoms are highly similar to motion sickness in mammals."
“Tell me—” Chen Hao pointed at the screen, “We were treating the pests, and we ended up turning the chickens into drunken chickens?”
“Infrasound can be transmitted through the air to the breeding area,” Nana analyzed. “Although the walls have sound insulation layers, low frequencies have strong penetrating power, and chickens’ inner ears are sensitive to vibrations of 4 to 16 Hz.”
"Got it." Chen Hao slammed his hand on the table. "High-pitched sounds shake the walls, low-pitched sounds make chickens dizzy. Are we trying to repel pests or putting on performance art?"
He took off his coat and covered the overheated power amplifier, then casually put the earbuds in his ears. He held the other earbud in his hand, glanced at it, and then didn't wear it.
"Can't we set a middle price?" he said. "Not too high, not too low, won't hurt the houses or the chickens, and will specifically target the rice weevil?"
Nana begins modeling.
The optical lens rapidly scrolls through the data stream, and more than a dozen sets of parameters, including the sound field propagation path, insect neural response curves, steel structure resonance spectra, and the auditory tolerance range of birds, are cross-calculated in virtual space.
Ten minutes later, she stopped.
“The optimal solution is 12kHz,” she said. “This frequency is located in the sensitive area of the rice weevil’s nervous system (10-14kHz), far from the critical point of steel frame resonance (17.6kHz), and avoids the excitable frequency band of the chicken’s vestibular system (<16Hz and >20kHz). Theoretically, the deworming efficiency can reach a peak of 83%, and the structural risk is reduced to a safe range.”
"It sounds like an air conditioner sales pitch," Chen Hao said, scratching his head. "But... as long as it works, it's fine."
He got up to check the zone speakers, manually calibrating the frequencies one by one. The old knobs were stuck hard, so he simply tapped them gently with a wrench.
"Has that broken speaker in the southeast corner been fixed yet?" he asked.
“The drive unit has been replaced,” Nana replied. “But we recommend reducing movement. Last time you fell into the grain pile, the equipment got wet, and the repair took forty-three minutes.”
“That was an accident,” Chen Hao muttered. “Who would have thought there was a pit hidden under the millet?”
He hummed a song as he adjusted the controls, completely off-key, yet the rhythm inexplicably synchronized with the sound wave pulses. Nana would occasionally point out the discrepancy, and he would stop to adjust, like an amateur DJ saving the day.
The first round of 12kHz testing has begun.
The teeth-grinding, high-frequency scraping sensation in the air disappeared. In its place was a slight hum, like the sound of a refrigerator starting up.
The grain pile surface was turned over again, and rice weevils began to emerge, their numbers stabilizing. The stress sensor readings slowly declined, dropping from 94% to 78% within five minutes, and continued to decrease.
Over at the chicken coop, the drunken chick staggered to its feet, pecked at the ground a few times, and then walked away normally.
"It survived." Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief. "At least it didn't turn into a choice between roast chicken, drunken chicken, and fried chicken."
"The current operating status is stable," Nana confirmed. "It is recommended to install sound-absorbing cotton to reduce the superposition of reflected waves and further reduce the structural load."
“Okay.” Chen Hao nodded. “We still have a few old foam boards in stock, let’s use them for now.”
He was carrying materials westward when he slipped at the edge of the grain pile and fell forward. Fortunately, he reacted quickly, grabbed the support frame, and managed to stay upright.
"I was wondering why the ground was getting more and more slippery?" He looked down at the soles of his shoes. "It's covered in broken rice husks, it feels like stepping on beads."
“The residual moisture from last night’s spray didn’t completely evaporate,” Nana said. “The humidity remained at 68%, which is higher than the ideal value.”
"No wonder insects like to huddle together." Chen Hao wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Damp places are good for breeding."
He nailed the foam boards to several key reflective points in the corner of the wall and then cleaned the clogged drain. Returning to the control panel after finishing his work, he found the sample collection tank covered in a thick layer of comatose rice weevils.
“Three boxes aren’t enough,” he said. “We’ll have to go to the warehouse and get two more later.”
On the screen, the green curve moved steadily. The escape rate of the insects fluctuated between 61 and 65 per minute, the structural stress stabilized at 61%, and the flock's activity returned to normal.
Chen Hao leaned back in his chair, pulled half a cold compressed biscuit from his pocket, and started eating it. His crumbs lay on his chest, which he, as usual, didn't bother to pat off.
"Don't you think these bugs are smart?" he said, chewing on a biscuit. "They crawl into high-rises when there's not enough room, and they even know to hide when they hear music. They're much better than some people."
“Driven by survival instinct,” Nana said. “They don’t have cognitive abilities; their genetic code simply determines their behavior patterns of seeking advantage and avoiding harm.”
"Oh." Chen Hao swallowed. "So their stupidity is very systematic."
He took a sip of water, threw the empty bottle into the recycling bin, and tilted his head to look at the surveillance footage.
Scattered black dots were still moving deep within the grain pile, but their speed had clearly slowed. The sound waves, like an invisible net, were slowly forcing them toward the surface.
"How long can this frequency last?" he asked.
"Based on the current equipment's heat dissipation capacity, it can run continuously for eight hours," Nana replied. "After that, it needs to be cooled alternately, otherwise the speaker coil may overheat and be damaged."
“Then set an alarm.” Chen Hao took out his notepad and drew a smiley face in the “Tomorrow’s Plan” column. “And write: Don’t let the house collapse, and don’t shock the chickens.”
He took off his earplugs and rubbed his ears. The control room was dimly lit, the fans were whirring, and the equipment indicator lights were flashing like fireflies on a summer night.
Nana's robotic arm hovered above the control panel, its optical lens continuously tracking the data stream, its blue light flickering slightly.
Chen Hao yawned, his eyelids feeling heavy.
"What do you think our job is?" he muttered. "Pest control team? Engineers? Or part-time veterinarians?"
Just as Nana was about to answer, the alarm light suddenly flashed.
It's not red, it's orange.
Low-risk warning.
Chen Hao immediately sat up straight.
"What's wrong?"
Nana focused on the area above the drainage ditch in the northwest corner—where the last batch of active signal points should have been, but now a new anomaly had appeared.
All the rice weevils stopped crawling, turned in unison in the same direction, and raised their heads slightly, as if...listening.
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