Time: Spring, C.E. 60
Ten-year-old Nangong Wentian crouched in the corner of the back kitchen, the silvery-white metal block—"Stellar Core One"—laid out before him.
Beside it was the test report, its pages already worn and curled at the edges from his constant flipping. Over the past three days, he had read it countless times, nearly memorizing every line of data.
Tensile strength: 335 MPa, yield strength: 280 MPa, elongation: 12%, hardness: 88 HRB...
But these numbers were far from enough.
He needed more data.
On the screen of the "Star Core," a new document he had just created was displayed: "Complete Test Report for Stellar Core One Alloy."
Below the title was a line of small text: "Test methods referenced material science standards; data calibrated to SEED World units."
He stared at the screen, his fingers tapping on the crude keyboard as he entered the data line by line.
First, the chemical composition.
Aluminum matrix: remainder
Copper: 4.52%
Magnesium: 1.18%
Silicon: 0.79%
Vanadium: 0.24%
Chromium: 0.23%
Iron: 0.12% (impurity)
Others: <0.1%
As he typed, he silently calculated in his mind. The ratio of vanadium to chromium was nearly perfect, and the iron impurity content was lower than expected—perhaps some had been accidentally removed during the refining process.
Next, the mechanical properties.
Tensile strength: 335 MPa
Yield strength: 280 MPa
Elongation: 12%
Reduction of area: 18%
Elastic modulus: 71 GPa
Poisson's ratio: 0.33
Hardness: 88 HRB
Most of this data was copied from the test report. But some of it, he had measured himself.
Like the elastic modulus. Without professional equipment, he had resorted to the crudest method—processing the alloy into a slender strip, fixing one end, hanging weights on the other, measuring the deflection, and plugging it into a formula.
He measured it ten times and took the average; the margin of error shouldn't be too large.
Then there was Poisson's ratio. This was even harder to measure. He had thought for a long time before coming up with a method—using a makeshift strain gauge he built himself to measure lateral contraction during the tensile test. Though not highly accurate, it at least provided a reference value.
Xiao Guang crouched beside him, watching him type character by character, and couldn't help asking, "Wentian, what are you writing all this for?"
Nangong Wentian didn't turn around. "Recording."
"What's the use of recording?"
"It'll be useful later." Nangong Wentian paused. "In case I forget, I can look it up."
Xiao Guang nodded, only half-understanding. He had seen Wentian use the "Star Core" to look things up and knew it stored far more information than any library.
"Who will use this data in the future?"
Nangong Wentian's hands stopped for a moment.
Who would use it?
He thought of those distant futures—the Mobile Suit designs of the UC Era, each requiring precise material data; the E-Carbon Armor of the 00 Era, every parameter tested countless times; the Astray Series of the SEED World, where Morgenroete's engineers must also be struggling with material bottlenecks.
Perhaps one day, this data would help them.
"Many people," he said. "Many will use it in the future."
Xiao Guang grinned. "Then we must be pretty amazing, right?"
Nangong Wentian turned to look at him and smiled too. "Yes, pretty amazing."
He continued entering data.
Next were thermal properties.
This was the part he was least confident about. Without professional equipment, he could only rely on the theoretical model of the "Star Core" for calculations.
Coefficient of thermal expansion: 23.5×10⁻⁶/℃ (estimated)
Thermal conductivity: 155 W/(m·K) (estimated)
Specific heat capacity: 875 J/(kg·K) (estimated)
Melting point: approximately 640℃ (measured)
The last item was measured. He placed a small piece of the alloy into the Smelting Furnace, gradually raised the temperature, and observed when it began to melt. After repeating the test three times, the average was 640 degrees.
Slightly lower than pure aluminum's 660 degrees, due to the addition of copper and other elements. This aligned with the principles of alloy behavior.
Next came corrosion resistance.
He immersed several small pieces of the alloy in saltwater, acid, and alkaline solutions, observing changes daily and recording corrosion rates. This experiment required time—at least a week for preliminary results.
On the "Star Core" screen, he had already created an experimental log:
Saltwater (3% NaCl): 24-hour immersion, slight surface discoloration, no pitting
Acid solution (5% HCl): 24-hour immersion, surface bubbling, corrosion rate approximately 0.3mm/year
Alkaline solution (5% NaOH): 24-hour immersion, surface blackening, corrosion rate approximately 0.5mm/year
Not much data, but at least it provided a reference.
Then came fatigue performance.
This was the hardest to measure. Without a fatigue testing machine, he could only use the simplest method—processing the alloy into small strips, repeatedly bending them, and observing how many cycles it took to break.
Five hundred bends, no break.
One thousand bends, no break.
Two thousand bends, tiny cracks appeared.
Two thousand three hundred bends, it broke.
He recorded: Bending fatigue life, approximately 2300 cycles (stress amplitude around 200MPa).
Though not precise, it was better than nothing.
Xiao Guang watched him do all this, starting with excitement, then boredom, and finally numbness. He had grown accustomed to Wentian doing all sorts of strange things—they always ended up turning into something impressive.
"Wentian," he yawned, "how much longer are you going to work?"
Nangong Wentian glanced out the window. It was already dark, and dinnertime had long passed.
"Almost done," he said. "Just a little longer."
Xiao Guang pouted. "You always say that."
Nangong Wentian didn't argue and continued typing.
Fatigue performance, impact toughness, fracture toughness, creep properties...
For each item, he measured what he could and used the "Star Core" to estimate what he couldn't. Though imperfect, it was at least a complete database.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally typed the last character.
"Done," he sighed, leaning against the wall.
On the screen, a complete material testing report was displayed. Over twenty data points covered chemical composition, mechanical properties, thermal properties, corrosion resistance, fatigue performance, and more. Each page included detailed explanations of testing methods, data sources, and estimated error ranges.
As rigorous as a genuine scientific research report.
Xiao Guang leaned in, staring at the screen for a long time before asking, "All of this... we measured it?"
"Most of it is." Nangong Wentian pointed at the screen. "Some are estimates, some are deduced from research."
Xiao Guang scratched his head. "Then what's the use of this report?"
Nangong Wentian fell silent for a moment before saying, "If someone wants to buy this formula, this report serves as evidence."
Xiao Guang was taken aback. "Evidence?"
"Proof that this alloy is truly that exceptional." Nangong Wentian pointed at the data. "Just saying 'I made a really powerful alloy' won't convince anyone. But presenting this data—those who understand will immediately recognize its authenticity."
Xiao Guang suddenly understood. "So that's how it is!"
Nangong Wentian looked at the report, silently calculating in his mind.
The value of this report was even greater than the alloy itself. Because it not only recorded the results but also the methodology. Anyone who obtained this report could replicate his experiments and verify his data.
This was science.
Transparent, reproducible, and verifiable.
He needed to preserve this report well. No, not just preserve it—he had to encrypt it.
If someone stole this report...
He didn't dare imagine the consequences.
"Star Core," he silently initiated the operation, "create a new encrypted folder named 'Material Database.' Move this file into it and set an access password."
A prompt appeared on the screen:
File encrypted and saved. Please enter the access password.
He thought for a moment and entered a string of numbers: 321.
That was the day of success. The three hundred and twenty-first experiment.
Password confirmed. The file disappeared, replaced by an encrypted folder icon.
Xiao Guang watched from the side. Although he couldn't understand the English, he recognized one word: PASSWORD.
"Wentian, did you set a password?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Nangong Wentian turned to look at him and said seriously, "Because these things shouldn't be seen by just anyone."
Xiao Guang paused for a moment, then nodded solemnly. "I understand. Confidentiality."
Nangong Wentian smiled.
He stood up, stretching his stiff legs. He had been crouching for too long, and his legs had gone numb.
"Let's go," he said. "Time to eat."
Xiao Guang followed him to the door, then suddenly glanced back at the Star Core's screen.
On the screen, the encrypted folder sat quietly. Beside it was the silvery-white metal block, glowing softly in the dim light.
He remembered what Wentian had said: "If someone wants to buy this formula, this report serves as evidence."
So, they really had done something remarkable.
"Wentian," he caught up to Nangong Wentian, "how much could our alloy sell for?"
Nangong Wentian thought for a moment and shook his head. "I don't know."
"Then... could it sell for a million?"
Nangong Wentian smiled. "Maybe."
Xiao Guang's eyes lit up. "A million! Wouldn't that make us rich?"
Looking at Xiao Guang's excited expression, Nangong Wentian felt a surge of complex emotions.
A million. Maybe even more.
But he knew money wasn't the goal. Money was just a tool.
With that money, they could buy better equipment, build a better laboratory, and accomplish greater things.
And with those greater things, they could save more people.
"Xiao Guang," he suddenly said, "if we really sell it for money, what would you want to do?"
Xiao Guang was taken aback for a moment, scratching his head as he thought for a long while before saying, "I think... I want to buy a new washing machine for the orphanage. The old one, even though you fixed it, might break down again someday."
Nangong Wentian looked at him, a surge of warmth rising in his heart.
Fourteen-year-old Xiao Guang wasn't thinking about himself—he was thinking about the orphanage, about the children he had grown up with.
"Alright," he said. "We'll get a new one."
The two walked side by side toward the cafeteria. Behind them, inside the wooden crate in the kitchen, the screen of the Star Core had already automatically turned off, entering power-saving mode.
But that encrypted report lay quietly in a corner of the hard drive, waiting for the day it would be awakened.
Waiting for a suitable buyer.
Waiting for the moment that would change their fate.
Outside the window, moonlight streamed into the kitchen, falling on that silvery-white metal, on that worn-out wooden crate, on the piles of electronic junk filling the corners.
That junk had once been things others didn't want.
But now, it had become a ladder to the future.