The rain was still falling, but it had lessened a bit. Chen Hao stood at the entrance of the tool shed, clutching the corner of a gray-blue waterproof cloth in his hand. The wind made it slap against the frame, like someone clapping in the distance.
He looked down at the strip of cloth in his hand; it was stained with blood and had darkened. The cut he'd made while cutting the cloth hadn't been properly bandaged, and it hurt to the touch. But that didn't matter. Compared to wheat still photosynthesizing at three in the morning, this pain was nothing, not even a scratch.
"We can't rely on people to pull the cloth anymore," he muttered, throwing the cloth on the ground. "I can't stay in the mud every day like a farmhand."
Nana stood half a step behind him, her mechanical eyes scanning the old parts piled up in the shed: a scrapped display screen, several circuit boards, and half a solar controller.
“Automatic shading systems can be built,” she said. “Existing materials can be used to assemble the basic control modules.”
“Yes, it needs to be timed.” Chen Hao bent down and pulled out a screwdriver with a cracked handle. “Turn it on at eight o’clock every day and turn it off at twenty, without fail. Let them experience working nine to five.”
“The current available timer has an error of ±47 minutes.” She pulled up the data, “which cannot match the plant’s physiological rhythm.”
"That thing is even more unpredictable than my exams." He scoffed. "Last time I set it to turn off at 10 p.m., but at midnight the lights were still glowing purple, like I was dancing in a nightclub."
He crouched down and pulled out a crystal with a faint blue luster from under a pile of waste—it was a fragment that had been separated from the meteorite sample and had been sitting there untouched.
"Didn't you say this thing has quantum properties?" He picked it up and shook it in the light. "Could we use it as a clock? More accurate than a person, more reliable than a watch."
“It’s theoretically feasible.” Nana took the crystal. “Its internal quantum dot structure can form a high-precision oscillation frequency, replacing traditional crystal oscillators.”
“Then let’s do it.” He wiped the rain off his face. “We don’t have the funds to hire senior engineers, so we can only rely on alien rocks to do the work.”
The two moved the workbench to the main control area. Chen Hao sat on a creaky folding chair, his left hand supporting him on the edge of the table, while his right hand began to disassemble the circuit board. The soldering torch emitted a red light when powered on, and as he approached the interface, his hand trembled slightly.
"Hiss—" An electric current surged through the wound, causing him to pull his hand back in pain.
"I suggest changing the operating mode," Nana said. "Your hand nerve reaction is delayed by 0.6 seconds, which affects the welding accuracy."
“I’m not a robot, how can I be that steady?” He shook his hand. “Besides, I never even finished a Lego set when I was a kid.”
“A non-contact electromagnetic coupling connection can be used to connect the circuit.” She handed over a set of induction coils, “to avoid physical vibrations that could damage the crystal structure.”
“Sounds like magic.” He took the coil and carefully attached it to both ends of the crystal. “If this thing explodes, remember to bury me far away so I don’t pollute the wheat field.”
Assembly took more than three hours. During that time, Chen Hao dozed off twice, his head nodding off, and he almost poked the welding torch into his thigh. When he finally woke up, it was already dark.
"System ready." Nana connected the crystal to the main control terminal. "Start the test?"
"Let me have a sip of water." He unscrewed a bottle of warm nutrient solution and gulped down a large mouthful. "Let's get started, don't mess it up."
Nana pressed the confirmation button.
The screen flickered twice, and the holographic projection slowly rose, revealing a line of text:
Today's daylight cycle: Starts at 08:00 and ends at 20:00.
[Error range: ±0.8 seconds]
"Holy crap." Chen Hao stared at the string of numbers. "It's way more accurate than my alarm clock."
"The quantum timing module is operating normally." Nana scanned the system status. "The wheat field reflector has been synchronized, and the shading curtain will execute the order in its first cycle tomorrow."
"Done?" He grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Finally, the crops can go home on time."
The alarm sounded softly as soon as he finished speaking.
“Energy field fluctuation detected.” Nana pulled up the chart. “The energy intensity inside the meteorite crystal has dropped to 31% of the initial value. The expected endurance is less than eighteen hours.”
The smile froze on his face.
"What do you mean? You're already giving up after only six hours of running?"
“The crystal has an unstable mineral structure, and continuous output causes energy level decay.” She pointed to the energy storage unit, “which requires external energy to maintain operation.”
"So it's a disposable battery?" He scratched his wet hair. "Working during the day, dying suddenly at night?"
“It can be connected to a solar charging system.” Nana pulled up the conversion efficiency model. “If it is recharged in real time, it can operate continuously.”
"Okay." He stood up, his legs a little numb. "I'll go get the portable board."
He staggered to the corner of the warehouse, pulled out a dusty solar panel, wiped it clean, and connected the wires. Just as the panel was unfolded, a bolt of lightning flashed outside, illuminating the entire wheat field.
A purple halo flowed between the leaves, like breathing.
“Start charging now,” he said. “Don’t wait until the power goes out to put out the fire.”
Nana adjusted the algorithm parameters, and the energy conversion rate gradually increased. A green light illuminated on the screen, and the text updated:
The quantum timing system has been synchronized.
[Energy replenishment in progress, operation stable]
"Finally... we've stabilized." Chen Hao sat back in his chair, his right hand supporting his forehead, his eyelids so heavy he could barely lift them.
He stared at the ticking numbers on the screen, keeping track of time down to the second. The feeling was like passing an exam for the first time—unbelievable, yet unwilling to look away.
“Now…” he said in a low voice, “I can finally get a good night’s sleep.”
Nana stood beside the terminal, her robotic eye continuously scanning the data stream. The system operated smoothly, without any abnormal fluctuations. She neither spoke nor moved.
Outside, the rain has stopped.
The shade curtains at the edge of the wheat field swayed slightly, the first step of the process already pre-loaded. They would activate precisely as soon as the sun rose.
Chen Hao's hand hung limply at the edge of the chair, blood seeping through the cloth again. He ignored it.
His breathing gradually deepened, and his shoulders relaxed.
Suddenly, a notification popped up in the bottom right corner of the main screen:
[Energy absorption rate drops to 87%]
Thicker cloud cover reduces sunlight input.
Nana turned to look out the window.
Dark clouds are gathering again in the sky.
Just as she was about to speak, Chen Hao suddenly looked up.
"What's wrong?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
“The weather is changing,” she said. “Cloud cover is now 60 percent, and the efficiency of solar energy replenishment is decreasing.”
He stared at the screen for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed.
"So our high-tech clocks are actually at the mercy of the weather?"
Without waiting for a reply, he stood up, propped himself up on the table, and picked up another spare solar panel.
“Let’s go,” he said. “Spread out everything that can be used, and let as much as possible dry in the sun.”
He opened the door, and a cold wind rushed in.
Nana followed.
They trudged through the wet mud to the open space on the south slope, placing the panels one by one on the supports. Chen Hao's movements grew slower and slower, his fingers stiff with cold, but he persisted in securing the last panel.
"Is that enough?" he asked, panting.
“The maximum receiving area has been reached,” she said. “But if it remains cloudy, the energy storage will not be able to meet the 24-hour cycle requirement.”
He stood there, looking at the gray sky.
Then he nodded.
“Then let’s pray the sun comes out tomorrow,” he said. “Otherwise, Mai will have to work overtime again.”
He turned and walked back, his steps dragging.
Nana glanced one last time at the array of panels that looked like glasses.
Water droplets formed on one edge of a piece, slowly sliding down and leaving a thin mark on the board.
She reached out and caught the water droplet before it hit the ground.
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