The 150 square meters of corn in the greenhouse have been harvested and sorted two days ago, and these high-yielding crops that Winnie has carefully tended to thrive healthily on the fertile soil, storing the abundant sunlight absorbed for more than three months in the form of large carbohydrates and proteins in the form of countless yellow, clear, full-grained corn cobs.

After selecting and retaining the seeds, the colonists picked a full 208kg of corn cobs from hundreds of pounds of tall corn stalks.

Most of the remaining corn stalks will be thrown into the field to rot slowly and return to the field to maintain soil fertility, and the other small part will be broken up and mixed into the feed for the chickens, which will save food and promote the digestion of the chickens.

The ripe corn already smelled faintly aromatic, and after weighing, it was carried into the cold storage by Bender and the old knife in a cart, and the empty cold storage was filled with the sweet potatoes that were solidly pushed into the hills—these precious foods, and the many sweet potatoes that remained, would become an important food reserve for the colonists of the marginal colonies to survive the long winters—especially now that the production of fast-growing rice was completely unable to bear the food consumption of the marginal colonies with a population of six people and one cat.

In addition, there are some ripe potatoes, and Mosilere plans to take everyone to dig out these small crops from the soil by the way during the second round of corn sowing in the past two days, thinking that when the colony comes, he can get nearly two hundred catties of good-tasting high-starch food.

The chickens that were placed in the barn were also well raised by the children born in Winnie's tribe, and the hens began to lay precious eggs after two or three days of stress, although sometimes a certain gluttonous cat would try to break into the barn while everyone was not paying attention to do something bad, but fortunately, it was easily caught by the attentive Winnie every time it was a little lame on its hind limbs, which did not make this fluffy little fool do anything more stupid.

And the four hens who were still in the prime of life were able to lay a good egg almost every day, which naturally made everyone's breakfast more abundant and rich - a bowl of sweet potato rice porridge, which the colonists usually liked to drink, and which was steaming under the warm orange light of the kitchen, often added an extra half of a well-fried fried egg with a crispy and charred skin by Moschelaire - oh my God, the sweet porridge with the delicate texture of the crispy omelette is really drooling just thinking about it!

Occasionally, the remaining eggs would be saved by Mosilelle, or used to cook some new dishes in a different way, but the duck fat that had been boiled a few months ago in the base was already gone, and the bottles of oil could almost be seen at a glance - a good cook could not do without the oil to cook the dishes, just as the last thing a soldier on the battlefield should lack was a gun in his hand - perhaps she should consider squeezing some fresh corn oil from the freshly harvested corn.

There wasn't much of a big deal coming from Gathering Point Three, and Mr. Herring, who had been in contact with the fringe colonies by radio every day, had always expressed joy and pride in his recent words, making it easy for Mosilair to think of the thriving scene over there, but he didn't know what was going on with the weapon-making blueprint he had given them - but there should be nothing to worry about, those weapons that were extremely advanced in construction and performance to the neighbors of the Gathering Ground should greatly improve the military capabilities of Gathering Point Three, And hopefully survive the wave of attacks by the Terror Legion of Terror that is bound to be even larger in the future—Mosilaire is counting on their civilized neighbors to buy more hydroponic fluids from the fringe colonies!

In addition, the temperature has dropped so much lately that sometimes Mosilare, who wakes up early, can even see the frost covering the heavy bulletproof glass, and even with a heavy quilt filled with freshly harvested cotton for the second time, people are sometimes awakened by freezing in the cold nights - the cold and bitter winter is just around the corner - but Mosiliel believes that after Bender has set up the indoor heating system, the colonists of the fringe colonies will enjoy a very different and warm winter.

————————

It's cold, it's damp, it's dark enough to drive you into endless madness.

"Ho-"

Bender, who had suddenly straightened up from his bed, clutched his head in agony—he seemed to be dreaming of something horrible—but he really couldn't remember.

The night air was covered with biting cold and gloom, and Bender, who was drenched in cold sweat, was suddenly caught off guard.

Shivering, Bender gasped for breath in the dead silence of the room, clutching the quilt so heavy with both hands that it was difficult to breathe smoothly and lay back on the soft bed.

After thinking for a moment, he struggled to take off his sweat-soaked cotton underwear and threw it into a dark corner of the room.

It gave him a chill, but it was much more comfortable without the slimy underwear that stuck to his body—but Bender just kept his eyes open in the thick darkness, staring at the ceiling above his head—he seemed to remember something.

He remembered as if he was dead—how?

He had forgotten - he only vaguely felt that it must have been a terrible death - and it was not necessarily that his brain had subconsciously and deliberately concealed this chilling part of the bloody truth out of some protective mechanism.

Bender put his hands behind his head and let the cold, pervasive moisture erode his arms.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember more.

His curiosity to explore things prompted Bender to piece together some vague bits and pieces floating in his mind into something that people could understand—like the puzzles he played with as a child—but it was obviously much harder, so he suddenly fell asleep.

It may sound funny, but if he had the chance, Bender would have explained to you in all seriousness what a strange and frightening feeling it was—as if you were leaning on a bed and suddenly falling into some strange space unknown to modern science.

Bender, who was tormented there, did not think it was just an ordinary dream, and to this day, he stubbornly insists that it must be a more terrifying, gloomy world with some strange connection and similarities with the real world.

"Bender—"

The voice cut through the frivolous endless darkness, long, pale, and yet suffocating in harmony—Bender seemed familiar—and he remembered it quickly!

Wasn't that the damn auditory hallucinations he'd heard before in the huge buildings under the colony?!

"Oh, I've seen a living ghost!" Bender, who had thought of some not-so-pleasant memories, opened his eyes, but he couldn't see anything, and all he could see was darkness glowing with evil intentions—this wasn't the bedroom he was familiar with—where was the mother!?

"Shit!" Bender, who had come to his senses, fell into a panic, grabbed something and stood up—it was warm and silky, and it seemed incongruous compared to the cold, murderous air that surrounded him.

"Bender?" A familiar cry came from behind him, a gentle and lovely voice he knew all too well—except he never expected to hear it again.

"What......" Bender, who was trembling in his heart, turned his head, but was so shaken by a bright light that he didn't know where to shine from nowhere.

"Moira? Moira?! Can you hear me?! Bender was dizzy from the light, but he waved his hands frantically trying to grasp something in the void.

"I'm here." A small light hand gently grasped his waving right arm, and the firm will and gentle body temperature transmitted quickly and completely soothed Bender's restless heart, and even the strange beam of light was affected by this, gradually dimmed, and became a lovely faint light.

"Moira......" Bender slowly opened his eyes, which had been pierced by the white light from the previous tears, and saw a delicate figure smiling at him in the pale white light—it was indeed his Moira, his dearest wife.

"Moira...... But you're not already ......," Bender rubbed his swollen eyes in disbelief, and looked at the charming lady with a scrutinizing gaze—but the tender and affectionate eyes and the peculiar silky red hair that all slum women would envy soon overwhelmed his sanity—it must have been his wife, and it could not be wrong.

"Moira...... Is it really you? Bender trembled and stretched out his left hand to his wife, trying to take her into his arms—he missed her so much.

"It's really me." The wife obediently pressed her head to Bender's chest, then looked up at her husband and smiled gently, reminding Bender, who had almost lost his mind, to look behind her: "Look, and our daughter! ”

Bender looked in the direction his wife was pointing, and sure enough, in a blurred halo, he saw the figure of his daughter, Otillet.

"Good evening, father." Otillette's smile was still sweet.

Bender's daughter inherited her mother's hair, a sensible child with good features that he and his wife Moira were proud of – but one day she suddenly lost all of them.

Even if he and Moira searched all over the No. 3 gathering place like crazy, they could not find the slightest news about their daughter - the high-ranking police officer was just a perfunctory couple who ran to the police station for three days over and over again, and finally brutally drove them out of the police station after getting impatient.

Bender will never forget the officer who stood in front of them and glared at them viciously—he was unusually fat, he just tugged at his tight, ill-fitting blue uniform, and tried to stand in the sun at the entrance of the crowded police station, then reached out and wiped the greasy oil oozing from his forehead with a delicate handkerchief, glanced contemptuously at Bender and Moira, who was trembling in his arms, and then loudly rebuked and sarcastically "idle" and "despicable" and "low-grade" in the most vulgar and vicious terms. They smell of poverty and sin."

It seemed as if a long time had passed, and it seemed that only a few minutes had passed, and the noble police officer had returned to the cool office, and the pedestrians who had stopped to watch the bustle for amusement had long since dispersed, and the scorching sun of mercy and fairness still hung high above the police station, but it seemed that he wanted to roast away the water on which Bender and his wife, who stood in the crowd.

The police officer who still remained in Bender's mind looked fierce and dancing, as if standing in front of him at this moment was the despicable crime of abducting Otilette, but they were obviously Otilette's parents.