The motor casing was still a little warm when the alarm went off as soon as Chen Hao's fingers touched it.

It wasn't the kind of warning sound that goes in two beeps; it was a long, piercing shrill ringing that could shatter eardrums, like someone scraping a blackboard with a piece of metal without even taking a breath. His hand trembled, and he almost dropped the entrenching tool.

"Heating module phase B open circuit." Nana's voice, though muffled by the alarm, was as calm as if she were reporting the weather. "The temperature curve is collapsing."

Chen Hao rushed to the kiln platform, his eyes fixed on the main control screen. The red line, which had been steadily rising, plummeted as if kicked off a cliff. In the monitor, a flash of white light appeared in the corner of the heating area, like a welder making a brief encounter in the night.

"Wasn't it just fixed?" His throat was a little dry. "Only a few hours ago?"

"The equipment has been running under overload for a long time." Nana pulled up the log. "The high-temperature relay has exceeded its design life by 47 days. The electric arc just now was caused by the insulation layer being completely broken down."

"So...it's dead?"

“To be precise, it’s hemiplegia.” She pointed to the screen. “Phase B is paralyzed, and the remaining two phases cannot maintain thermal equilibrium independently. If power continues to be supplied, it may trigger a short circuit chain reaction.”

Chen Hao paused for two seconds, scratched the back of his head, and grinned: "Then what are we waiting for? Let's make it ourselves."

He turned and walked towards the tool rack, his steps quick and efficient. Nana didn't move, only asking, "Do you have experience manufacturing high-heat-resistant relays?"

“No.” He didn’t turn his head. “But I have hands, and you have a brain. Together, we’re definitely smarter than this broken stove.”

Nana didn't reply, but simply activated the miniature scanner.

The old parts were still smoking when they were removed; the casings were charred black, and the terminals were twisted as if a dog had chewed them. Nana used tweezers to hold them and placed them into the scanning chamber. The projector lit up, and the 3D model slowly rotated, marking every dimension and material parameter.

Chen Hao squatted down beside it, staring at it dumbfounded: "The internal structure of this thing is more complicated than the community property management fee system."

"It needs to withstand temperatures above 800 degrees Celsius and high-frequency current surges," Nana said. "The original manufacturer uses special ceramic encapsulation, and the internal alloy contacts contain three rare metals: iridium, tantalum, and rhenium."

"Sounds like antimatter fuel from a sci-fi movie." Chen Hao clicked his tongue. "Does our base have that kind of equipment in its warehouse?"

“No matching inventory,” Nana replied. “But a niobium-titanium alloy plate was extracted from the valley wreckage recovered in Chapter 253, and its composition is similar.”

"So it's just something that can be made do?"

"It can replace the substrate, but the heat dissipation path and insulation structure need to be redesigned."

“Okay.” Chen Hao stood up, patted his pants, and said, “You draw the diagrams, and I’ll do the work. Anyway, I’m not sleepy anymore; that alarm just now will keep me awake for three days.”

Nana began modeling, and lines rapidly combined on the terminal. Chen Hao cleared out a workbench, laying out an angle grinder, pliers, a welding torch, and a pile of scrap metal sheets.

"The first blank is ready." He picked up a silver-gray alloy sheet. "How do we cut it?"

“We need an accuracy of ±0.1 mm,” Nana said. “Current angle grinders have an error of ±0.5 mm, and direct cutting will cause the edges to melt and deform.”

"So we can't force it?"

"correct."

"Then... embroidery?"

"It is recommended to use a magnetic clamp in conjunction with a manual fine-tuning stage to simulate CNC feed."

"You call this a suggestion?" Chen Hao looked at the pile of parts. "Isn't this like asking me to assemble a rocket with chopsticks?"

“The analogy isn’t accurate,” Nana said, “but the direction of understanding is correct.”

After working for half an hour, the two finally built a strange-looking device: an electromagnet fixed base, on which a metal arm with adjustable knobs was mounted, with a miniature milling cutter clamped at the front end.

"It looks like a clothes rack salvaged from a junkyard," Chen Hao muttered, carefully placing the alloy plate inside.

“Initial positioning complete.” Nana stared at the sensor feedback. “The feed rate is controlled at 0.03 millimeters per second.”

Chen Hao took a deep breath and slowly turned the handwheel.

The metal sheet slowly cut in, producing fine, even sparks, unlike the explosive bursts before. He held his breath, his fingers trembled slightly, and beads of sweat gradually appeared on his forehead.

“Depth met,” Nana said softly. “Stop feeding.”

He immediately let go, leaning back so hard he almost fell to the ground. "My God, this was even more nerve-wracking than cheating on an exam."

“This is just the first step.” Nana brought up the next step, “Next, we need to press the contact surface, which requires even stricter tolerances.”

"Is this ever going to end?"

"It is estimated that a total of seven processes will be required."

"Seven Paths?" He widened his eyes. "Then wouldn't I have to cultivate to immortality here?"

"Based on the current efficiency, the entire process will take approximately eleven hours and twenty-three minutes."

"Could you please stop being so accurate? It makes me look so pathetic."

"Data helps with decision-making."

"Decision-making my ass." He wiped his sweat and glanced at the batch of unfired pottery pieces in the corner that hadn't been fired yet. "This batch of jars is doomed."

"Not necessarily," Nana said. "If the parts can be prototyped and installed within six hours, it's still possible to resume operation before the last firing window of the day."

So we're racing against time?

"To be more precise, it's a race against the rate at which the equipment cools down."

"You really know how to squeeze every last bit of romance out of us."

"I'm just stating the facts."

Chen Hao sighed and picked up the handwheel again. "Alright, let's give it our all so those ten jars don't become souvenirs."

When the second blank was placed into the fixture, his movements became noticeably steadyer. The rhythm of turning the handwheel became more regular, and his eyes became more focused. Nana monitored the cutting data in real time, occasionally suggesting fine adjustments to the angle.

"0.02 millimeters to the left."

"Turn back."

"Increase by 0.01."

"It's done?"

"Preliminary pass."

Chen Hao breathed a sigh of relief and raised his hand to wipe his sweat, but his sleeve brushed against his cheek, leaving a dark mark. "We're not repairing equipment here, we're practically creating precision art."

“Your operational precision is improving,” Nana said. “You can try to complete the third step independently, without real-time guidance.”

"Are you going to let me roam free?"

"Trust is built on data."

"Then you'll regret it."

He stretched his wrists and got back to work. This time, he hummed a song as he worked, the tune completely off-key and the lyrics unintelligible, but the atmosphere was much more relaxed.

Nana didn't say anything, but silently recorded the data from each cut and updated it to the model.

By the time the fifth process was completed, the main structure of the relay had taken shape. The silver-gray alloy surface was polished into a smooth curve, with neat edges, showing no signs of handcrafting.

"It looks... pretty convincing." Chen Hao examined the finished product and grinned.

"The appearance meets the requirements." Nana nodded. "The next step is to encapsulate the insulating layer, which requires the use of high-temperature resistant ceramic coatings."

Where is the paint?

"Only 30 ml left in stock, which was last used to repair the vacuum pump seal."

Is that enough?

"Theoretically, it's enough, but it must succeed on the first try. If it fails, there won't be enough materials for a second attempt."

"The pressure is back."

"It's a fact, not pressure."

"Could you occasionally play along with me, pretend to relax for a bit?"

"I won't pretend."

“Sigh.” He shook his head. “No wonder nobody wants to play cards with you. You don’t even understand bluffing.”

"I don't understand the meaning of this word."

"Never mind," he waved his hand. "Pretend I didn't say anything."

He took a small bottle of ceramic paint, dipped a little into it with a fine brush, and held his hand in mid-air, hesitating to put it down.

“Your breathing rate has increased,” Nana warned. “The tremors in your hands have increased by 18 percent.”

“I know,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s not fear, it’s taking it too seriously.”

"I suggest taking three deep breaths and stabilizing your wrist."

He did as instructed, and then slowly began to write.

The paint evenly covered the metal surface, forming a thin, translucent film. He held his breath and concentrated, completing the stroke without interruption or trembling.

"Coating complete."

"Test results?"

"Thickness 0.23 mm, deviation ±0.007, meets the safety threshold."

"Yay!" He suddenly raised his hand, almost knocking over the bottle. "Can we apply for a patent? 'Wilderness Star No. 1 Handmade Relay,' limited edition!"

"It's only a prototype at present," Nana said. "It still needs to pass pressure tests and thermal cycling verification."

“I’ll accept whatever tests I get.” He chuckled as he placed the parts on the tray. “As long as it can breathe again in that kiln, I’ll erect a monument for it.”

"It is recommended to proceed to the next phase immediately."

"Walk!"

He grabbed the tray and strode towards the assembly area. Nana followed closely behind, and the test plan was transmitted synchronously to the terminal.

On the workbench, the new part lay quietly, surrounded by tools and blueprints. Chen Hao put on protective gloves, picked up the soldering pen, and aimed it at the first joint.

A flash of light, and the metal melted.

His arm pressed firmly down, and the weld was straight and continuous.