Chapter 233: Bio-module breeds superior strains·Agricultural award returns with honor

Zhao Jianguo put down his pen, the water cup still held in his hand. He stared at the data stream on the screen, his fingers tapping twice on the desktop. The printer spat out the last page of the report, the paper corner slightly curled.

He rose and left the laboratory; the rain had stopped. The sky was paling, the air smelled of damp earth. He didn't go back inside, but went straight to the vacant plot in the backyard. He Yushui said things could be grown there; they'd tried a few times before, with mediocre yields.

He squatted, grabbed a handful of soil—its color was yellowish, and it felt a bit hard when squeezed. This place really wasn't good soil, but the system prompt said, "Suggest connecting to the agricultural experimental scenario," so he had to give it a try.

Back at the control console, he called up the blurry icon from "Future Technology Preview." This time the image was clearer, showing beneath 【Bio-synthesis Module·Initial Configuration】 an added line: "Can adapt to the gene optimization pathway for C3-type crops."

He clicked confirm, and the interface switched. A string of parameters began loading; when the progress bar reached halfway it stopped, and a pop-up prompted: "Need to bind actual planting environment data."

That afternoon, he took Dong Xu to the suburbs to find the people at the agricultural science institute. On the way he explained his purpose, but Dong Xu doubted: "You're taking equipment for making crystals to grow wheat?"

"Not planting wheat, but modifying the seeds," Zhao Jianguo said. "It's like fixing a machine—swap a part to make it run faster."

They met Researcher Li. He was squatting on the field ridge taking notes, his pant legs covered in mud. After hearing the introduction, he didn't even lift his head: "Your method will topple with just two blows of wind."

"We can resist adversity," Zhao Jianguo said. "Unafraid of drought, unafraid of cold."

Only then did Researcher Li lift his head and glance at him: "Then first grow it out and let me see."

The test field was divided into three mu. Zhao Jianguo connected the bio-module to a micro reaction chamber, took ordinary wheat seeds from the store, and placed them in the treatment tank. A blue light swept over, and the seed surfaces speckled with silver lines.

Seven days later they sowed. He and Dong Xu laid out a sensor network, a node every ten meters, monitoring temperature, humidity, and light. The irrigation system used a water pump salvaged from an old air conditioner, modified to spray on a timer.

The first month growth was slow. Leaves turned yellow, seedlings sparse. Researcher Li came by once, shook his head, and left.

Zhao Jianguo didn't move. He knew cellular activation needed time. On the thirty-eighth night, the system prompt sounded: 【Gene expression complete, growth rate raised to peak】.

The next morning he returned to the field; green waves rolled. The wheat shoots had grown taller, leaves broad and thick, roots dug deep. A month later the first yield test showed eight hundred jin per mu.

Researcher Li personally counted the grains per spike; average forty-two grains, fifteen more than usual. He took off his hat and wiped his sweat: "It's getting interesting."

After three full months, on harvest day over a dozen people came—provincial experts and municipal agriculture bureau officials all arrived. On-site threshing and weighing showed the three plots averaged 1,027 jin per mu.

The crowd erupted. Someone shouted: "Record broken!"

Researcher Li clutched his notebook and stood at the field's edge, then suddenly laughed: "Old Zhao, you're not just modifying seeds—you're giving the land a new lease on life."

News spread; the Agricultural Grand Award review panel sent a notice inviting him to the national commendation ceremony.

The ceremony opened in Beijing. The stage was filled with leaders and experts. When it was his turn to speak, a committee member stood up and asked: "Does your technology pose any ecological risks? Will it affect other crops?"

Zhao Jianguo opened the projection, releasing three years of tracking data. The screen listed the indicators: soil microbiota stable, no foreign gene spread, and after five consecutive years of cropping, land fertility increased by eight percent.

Next, a farmer's video played. An old man sitting at the edge of his own field said: "Before, six hundred jin per mu was the max; this year I harvested 1,040 jin, and the table never lacked meat, eggs, or milk."

The hall fell silent for a few seconds, then applause broke out.

Finally, Yuan Longping's team sent a congratulatory telegram, saying this was a new breakthrough in molecular-assisted breeding. The award was approved on the spot, named the "National Agricultural Innovation Contribution Award."

Reporters swarmed in for interviews. The microphone was thrust before him, and the most frequent question was: "With high-tech farming, will farmers no longer need to work the fields in the future?"

Zhao Jianguo said: "My father is a farmer. Real technology isn't about putting people out of work—it's about reducing their suffering. What we've made is basically a 'foolproof kit'; farmers buy it home, follow the instructions to soak the seeds, scatter pesticide, and water."

On the spot he pulled out a test pen, inserted it into a handful of wheat seeds. Three seconds later a green light lit. "This indicates premium seed, capable of stable yield. A red light means it can't be used."

The reporters took photos and notes. The next day, People's Daily ran the headline, the four large characters "Technology Moistens the Earth" dominating the page.

He didn't stay in Beijing to collect the award. He entrusted the province to accept it on his behalf, and took the train back himself.

That evening upon arrival, just as he stepped into the siheyuan, he heard gongs and drums outside. It turned out everyone knew he'd won the award, and spontaneously they set up a long-table banquet beside the test field. The tables were brought from each household, joined together in a line.

Children ran about wearing wreaths woven from wheat stalks. San Daye had drunk, took an abacus as an instrument and beat it, humming the "Harvest Song" between sips. Wang Nainai brought out freshly steamed buns, saying they were made from flour ground from the improved wheat.

After the sky grew completely dark, fireflies flew out. Tiny flickering lights darted around the field's edge. The trophy sat on the wooden table, with a lit candle stuck in front of it.

Zhao Jianguo sat down and took a bowl of hot congee. The grains were plump; a mouthful filled him with fragrance.

"Is it good?" Dong Xu leaned over and asked.

"Mm."

"Next year we'll roll it out to ten counties—do you think it'll work?"

"First let everyone have a bowl of this congee, then we'll talk."

Beside him, Researcher Li rose, raised his cup: "On behalf of the Agricultural Science Institute, I announce that next spring's planting, we will simultaneously promote this technology across ten pilot sites province-wide."

Everyone applauded. Someone whistled, someone slapped the table.

Zhao Jianguo looked at the dark earth in the field, then at the trophy on the table. Candlelight reflected off the glass cover, flickering.

He lowered his head, finished the last sip of congee, and gently set the bowl on the table.