The power was back.
But it was an unstable return.
After that day, the orphanage's electricity supply was indeed restored—the dormitory lights could turn on, the kitchen refrigerator could start up, and the children no longer had to huddle shivering under their blankets. But Nangong Wentian knew this was only a temporary fix, not a cure for the root cause.
The battery had been replaced, but the solar panels were still old, the controller was still broken, and the wiring was still leaking electricity. The current power supply was like carrying water with a broken bucket; the biggest hole had been patched, but smaller leaks were still seeping out.
Three days later, the problems inevitably surfaced.
At noon, while the kitchen was cooking, the refrigerator suddenly shut off. Tanaka cursed as he checked and found it was another case of unstable voltage. In the afternoon, the dormitory lights began flickering on and off as if someone were playing with the switch. By evening, the entire courtyard was plunged into darkness again.
The children sighed in dismay, the nuns frowned with worry. The headmistress stood in the courtyard, gazing at the silent solar panels for a long time without speaking.
Nangong Wentian stood at the back kitchen door, watching this scene, silently calculating in his mind.
He had already used the "Star Core" to fully simulate the entire power supply system. The problems were more numerous than he had anticipated—the solar panels' output was only 55% of their rated capacity, the controller's efficiency was less than 60%, there were multiple points of leakage in the wiring, and most critically, the entire system's design was inherently flawed.
But these problems, he could solve.
The question was, how to solve them?
A seven-year-old child suddenly stepping forward to say, "I understand the power system, let me fix it"—that was far too suspicious. Although the headmistress had been silently protecting him, this level of abnormality would definitely raise doubts.
He needed a plausible reason.
One that adults could accept.
"Wentian." The headmistress's voice came from behind him.
Nangong Wentian turned to see the headmistress standing not far away, looking at him. Her expression was complex—puzzled, scrutinizing, and with a hint of something he couldn't decipher.
"Headmistress," he called out obediently.
The headmistress walked over, crouched down in front of him, and met his eyes at his level. "Did you fix the electricity?"
Nangong Wentian was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."
No denial. Since the headmistress asked, it meant she had already guessed. Denying it would only seem evasive.
The headmistress didn't press further, just looked at him, waiting for an explanation.
"I..." Nangong Wentian thought for a moment and decided to tell part of the truth. "I've read books. There's a book in the library about solar power generation, with circuit diagrams in it. I thought... it might be useful, so I tried."
The headmistress looked at him, her gaze softening slightly. "You understood those diagrams?"
"Some I understood, some I didn't," Nangong Wentian continued fabricating. "For the parts I didn't understand, I guessed. After trying a few times, I just..."
He didn't finish, but the implication was clear.
The headmistress was silent for a while, then let out a soft sigh. "You really are a clever child."
Nangong Wentian didn't respond.
"But this time is different," the headmistress stood up and looked toward the solar panels. "The battery can be replaced, but the controller is broken, and the solar panels are old. These things can't be fixed just by reading books."
Nangong Wentian thought for a moment, then mustered his courage and said, "Maybe... we could make some changes?"
The headmistress looked down at him. "Make changes?"
"Yeah," Nangong Wentian pointed at the solar panels on the roof. "Those panels aren't angled correctly. I've observed that when the sun is at its strongest, the light doesn't hit them directly. If we adjust the angle, we should be able to generate more electricity."
The headmistress was stunned.
She looked at the solar panels, then back at Nangong Wentian, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
"And," Nangong Wentian continued, "that controller—I've read the manual. It just turns on and off; it doesn't adjust based on the sun's intensity. If we could make one that automatically adjusts..."
He trailed off because he saw the headmistress's expression growing increasingly complex.
"How do you know all this?" she asked.
Nangong Wentian was prepared. "From books. There's one about new energy sources that has diagrams of various controller schematics. I read it and thought... I could give it a try."
The headmistress fell silent for a long time.
Then she crouched down, meeting his eyes at his level. "Wentian, tell me honestly... are you a Coordinator?"
Nangong Wentian's heart skipped a beat.
Coordinator.
He had never considered that question. He wasn't a Coordinator; he was just a transmigrator with memories of his past life. But in others' eyes, a seven-year-old knowing so much could only be explained by "genetic modification."
How should he answer?
"I don't know," he chose an ambiguous reply. "When the orphanage took me in, they didn't tell me who my parents were."
The headmistress looked at him, a trace of pity flashing in her eyes.
"If you really are one," she said softly, "don't tell anyone. Although Orb is neutral, not everyone accepts Coordinators. You need to protect yourself."
Nangong Wentian nodded. "I understand."
The headmistress stood up, glanced at the solar panels again, and said, "Do you want to try?"
Nangong Wentian was taken aback. "What?"
"What you mentioned," the headmistress pointed at the roof. "Adjusting the angle, modifying the controller... do you want to try?"
Nangong Wentian's heart beat a little faster. "Can I?"
"The electrician said we need to replace them, and it'll cost over ten thousand," the headmistress said with a bitter smile. "We can't afford that. If you can really fix them, even if it just improves the situation a little, it's worth a try."
Nangong Wentian nodded firmly. "I'll try!"
Early the next morning, Nangong Wentian began his "project."
The first step was adjusting the angle of the solar panels.
Electrician Sato was asked by the headmistress to help—after all, it was too dangerous for a seven-year-old to climb onto the roof. Sato was a middle-aged electrician in his forties, with graying hair and a deep voice, but he was a kind man.
"Kid, are you sure?" he stood at the base of the ladder, looking up at the roof. "Those panels were installed at that angle. Why change them?"
"The sun's angle is different," Nangong Wentian held a small notebook with sketches of his calculations. "In summer, the sun is high; in winter, it's lower. The current angle was set for summer. In winter, it should be flatter."
Sato paused for a moment, scratching his head. "That makes sense..."
He climbed onto the roof and, following Nangong Wentian's instructions, loosened the mounting screws of the solar panel, adjusted its angle, and tightened them again. After over an hour of work, all four panels were properly adjusted.
"Alright, come down now," Sato said, jumping off the ladder. "Let's see how it works."
Nangong Wentian ran to the battery box, opened the controller, and stared at the ammeter on it.
The numbers flickered—10A, 11A, 12A… Much more stable than before, even reaching 15A at its peak.
"Any changes?" Sato asked as he walked over.
"Yes," Nangong Wentian pointed at the ammeter. "About thirty percent more than before."
Sato's eyes widened as he stared at the small ammeter, then at Nangong Wentian. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a long moment.
"You… how did you calculate that?"
Nangong Wentian closed his small notebook and flashed an innocent smile befitting a seven-year-old. "I read it in a book."
Sato fell silent.
The second step was modifying the controller.
This step was much more difficult than adjusting the angles. The controller was the core component—if it got damaged, the entire system would be completely paralyzed.
Nangong Wentian spent three days studying it, simulating countless times with the Star Core before daring to proceed.
He disassembled the controller and examined the circuit inside. Sato watched from the side, initially worried he might break it. But later, realizing the child understood it better than he did, Sato simply handed him tools and took the opportunity to learn.
"This capacitor is for filtering," Nangong Wentian pointed at a component on the circuit board. "It's too small, causing unstable voltage. Replacing it with a larger one should help."
"This diode is for reverse polarity protection, but the model is wrong—it causes too much loss. We should replace it with a Schottky diode."
"This chip is the most critical—it handles PWM Control. But the current program is too simple. If we could rewrite it…"
Sato listened in stunned silence. "You can rewrite the chip's program?"
Nangong Wentian shook his head. "No. But this chip can be replaced with an external circuit. We can make a simple MPPT Circuit and control it with a Microcontroller…"
"Wait," Sato interrupted him. "What Microcontroller?"
Realizing he had said too much, Nangong Wentian quickly stopped himself. "I also read about it in a book. It might not work, but let's try."
He pulled a small box from his pocket, containing a small board he had soldered together from discarded components—a pre-prepared MPPT controller he had simulated with the Star Core, theoretically functional.
"What's this?" Sato asked curiously, leaning in.
"Something I made… a small circuit." Nangong Wentian connected the board to the original controller, carefully wiring it up. "Let's test it."
He pressed the switch.
The indicator light on the controller lit up steadily, no longer flickering as it had before.
The numbers on the ammeter began to flicker—15A, 16A, 17A… eventually stabilizing around 18A.
Another thirty percent increase from before.
Sato stared at the ammeter, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.
"This… this…" he stammered. "Kid, you…"
Nangong Wentian let out a sigh of relief, wearing a tired but satisfied smile.
It worked.
The third step was repairing the wiring.
This step was relatively simple. Sato took him around the yard, inspecting all the wiring. They found a few places with electrical leakage, reconnected the joints, and replaced damaged insulation.
After a full day's work, everything was finally completed as dusk approached.
Nangong Wentian stood before the battery cabinet, conducting one final check.
The voltage remained stable at 13.8V, with a current of 18A. Even with all loads turned on, the voltage only dropped by 0.2V.
Perfect.
"All done," he said, closing the cabinet door and turning to Sato. "There shouldn't be any issues."
Sato looked at him with an indescribably complex expression.
"Kid," he crouched down, staring intently into Nangong Wentian's eyes, "what do you want to do in the future?"
Nangong Wentian thought for a moment before answering earnestly, "Build things."
"Build what?"
"Things that can help people."
Sato fell silent for a while, then stood up and patted his shoulder. "Keep at it. You're a genius."
Nangong Wentian smiled but offered no explanation.
He wasn't a genius. He had simply lived an extra lifetime.
That night, the lights in the orphanage remained steadily lit throughout, without a single flicker.
The children slept soundly. The nuns breathed a sigh of relief. Tanaka prepared a few extra dishes in the kitchen, calling it a celebration of "power independence."
The headmistress stood in the courtyard, gazing at the bright lights for a long time without moving.
Then she turned and looked toward the kitchen.
Inside, the boy was eating, just like the other children—sipping thin porridge and nibbling on sweet potatoes. But his eyes were different. They held a familiar glimmer—the light of an idealist.
She had seen that look before. Many years ago, at Morgenroete, in the eyes of the finest engineers.
She sighed softly and turned back to her room.
The next day, electrician Sato returned. Not to fix anything, but specifically to see Nangong Wentian.
"I've been in this trade for over twenty years," he told the headmistress, "and I've never seen a child like this. You must nurture him well. He's bound to achieve great things in the future."
The headmistress nodded with a smile but said nothing more.
Deep down, she knew this child didn't need "nurturing."
He would grow on his own.
All she needed to do was watch from the sidelines, protect him, and not interfere.
That was enough.