The moment the fiber slid past the guide roller in the surveillance footage, Chen Hao's pupils contracted.

"Stop." He stretched his hand forward, but instead of pressing the button, he pulled down the emergency stop rope.

The hum of the motor stopped abruptly, and the last section of yarn in the winding area hung in mid-air, swaying gently twice.

As soon as Nana's screen popped up, he asked, "Did that lag happen again?"

"Playing back high-speed video." Her voice was flat, but the data stream was scrolling by rapidly. "The frame rate is 2,400 frames per second, and there is a 0.07-second delay when the fiber detaches from the contact surface."

"You can count one seven-hundredth of a second?"

"The trajectory offset can be marked. The current deviation is 0.3 mm, and the stress accumulation model warning has not been triggered."

Chen Hao stared at the enlarged image on the screen, his brow furrowed: "But it just got stuck for a moment, like a bicycle wheel that stepped into a rut."

"Dynamic compensation algorithm enabled." Nana tapped her fingertip lightly in the air. "Adjusting the traction roller speed response delay to anticipate slippage trends and fine-tune the tension in advance. Want to try again?"

He took a deep breath, pushed the pull cord back, placed his finger on the start button, and then moved it away.

"etc."

He turned and took a soft cloth from the tool rack, dipped it in lubricant, and wiped the surface of the guide roller again. His movements were slow, as if afraid of waking something.

"This thing is very delicate now. It can't be exposed to dust or oil, and you have to coax it to work."

“Precision transmission systems in high-cleanliness environments typically require regular maintenance,” Nana said. “Your operation complies with standard procedures.”

“I’m not bragging, I’m complaining.” He pressed the button. “The ninth time, I really can’t do it any more than nine times. If it does, I’ll change my name to Chen Eight Times.”

The motor hummed softly, the main shaft slowly rotated, the belt tightened, and the yarn was pulled out again. This time, the trajectory across the guide roller was straight and smooth, and the monitoring curve remained as still as water.

Ten seconds passed.

Twenty seconds.

At the forty-second mark, Chen Hao quietly removed his hand from the button and leaned against the edge of the control panel.

Exactly one minute later, he grinned: "It actually obeyed?"

"It has been running continuously for 63 seconds, and all parameters are within the tolerance range." Nana pulled up the comparison chart, "Tension fluctuation is less than 5%, speed deviation is less than 2%, and there is no risk of cumulative stress."

"So...it's done?"

"It is recommended to continue observing for at least ten minutes to confirm stability."

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye on it.” He pulled up a folding chair and sat down, his eyes glued to the wire outlet. “If it could talk, wouldn’t it be calling out ‘Dad’ right now?”

"The device does not have an emotional feedback mechanism."

"What a pity, I was hoping it would adopt a godson."

Time ticked by. Three minutes, five minutes, seven minutes... exactly ten minutes later, the yarn output remained steady, and the length had exceeded three hundred meters.

Chen Hao suddenly stood up and patted the flywheel casing: "It's hot! It's really running!"

"Temperature is normal, and the temperature rise curve is as expected." Nana scanned the entire machine's status. "It has been running continuously for twelve minutes and seventeen seconds without any abnormal interruption records."

"Twelve minutes!" He grabbed the record board next to him, flipped to a blank page, and wrote in a large stroke: "Shunliu got married today." Then he turned the board upside down and stuffed it into the gap of the spinning wheel frame.

“The name is inappropriate,” Nana said. “'Shunliu' is unrelated to the equipment model and lacks technical naming standards.”

"As long as it's working properly, who cares what it's called?" He rubbed his hands together. "What's next? We can't just watch it spit out threads every day, can we?"

“We have enough yarn for subsequent processing.” She pulled up the process flow diagram. “We can try weaving to complete the production loop.”

Do we have looms?

"The base has an agricultural automation conveyor belt control module in its inventory, with a structural compatibility assessment of 78%."

"That means there isn't one."

"The basic latitude and longitude guide function can be achieved through modification."

Chen Hao sighed, "It's another case of robbing Peter to pay Paul."

But he still went to the warehouse, dragged out a dusty old drive box, opened the casing, and pried off the gear set and timing belt pulley. "This junk, you think you can make something out of it?"

“I can provide precise transmission ratio settings.” Nana projected a 3D assembly diagram. “Just make sure the warp feed and weft insertion rhythms match.”

The two worked for more than two hours to assemble a crooked machine, the main body of which was a conveyor belt frame, with a manual crank and several sets of wire hooks attached to it.

"It looks like it was chewed by a dog," Chen Hao shook his head.

"Functionality first." Nana activated the test mode. "Start low-speed weaving, with a density of eight stitches per centimeter."

During the first round of trial operation, the yarn got stuck in the warp frame and broke two strands.

"Too tight," Chen Hao said after inspecting the frame. "This broken frame is pressed too hard."

He used a wrench to loosen the clamp and re-threaded the wire.

The second time, the weft thread was not pushed in place, resulting in holes in the fabric.

“You’re shaking it too fast,” Nana pointed out. “The manual torque is unstable, resulting in insufficient weft feed.”

"Then you shake it."

"I don't have a physical arm."

"Oh right, I forgot you're a fairy, all talk and no action."

On the third attempt, the rhythm finally clicked. The yarns intertwined and advanced, and a piece of coarse, grayish-brown cloth slowly took shape.

Thirty minutes later, a piece of fabric about 1.5 meters long and 40 centimeters wide hung down from the other end of the machine. The surface was not smooth, but the structure was intact, with no broken threads or loose parts.

"Ouch." Chen Hao picked it up and shook it. "It actually works."

"It has initial usability." Nana tested the fiber interlacing density, "Although it does not meet industrial standards, it can meet the needs of daily wear."

"Then let's quickly make a garment to commemorate this."

Cutting became a new problem. Without a fabric cutter, Chen Hao used engineering shears, which resulted in rough edges that tore easily.

“This won’t do.” He frowned. “It’s falling apart before it’s even worn.”

"I suggest using heat fusion sealing." Nana pulled up the information, "Use a soldering iron to heat the cut edge, so that the fiber ends fuse and fix."

He did as instructed, blowing on the hot iron to cool it down. "This skill is even more laborious than my mother sewing shoe soles."

After the fabric was prepared, I started sewing. Hand sewing was too slow, the stitches were crooked, and a thread broke on the third stitch.

“I need to get a helper.” He pulled out an electric screwdriver, removed the bit, and welded a thin iron hook to the end of the shaft. “I’ll also make a guide rail to use as a sewing machine.”

Nana bent a metal strip into a U-shaped groove and fixed it to the table to serve as a limiting track.

"Is this the most shabby sewing aid in human history?" he asked as he adjusted it.

"No similar inventions are currently included in the database."

"Then I'll apply for a patent."

The device barely managed to operate. The screwdriver vibrated, causing the needle to pierce up and down, and with the help of manually pushing the fabric, it moved forward stitch by stitch.

More than an hour later, a drab short-sleeved shirt finally took shape. The sleeves were of different lengths, the neckline was crooked, and the shoulder lines were not aligned, but at least it was a complete garment.

Chen Hao opened it and burst out laughing: "It looks like it was picked up from a garbage dump."

“The source of the materials is legal,” Nana corrected.

“I mean the appearance.” He put it on; the sleeves were too short, and the hem only reached his waist. “But… it’s pretty sturdy.”

He reached out and tugged at his collar, but the fabric didn't budge.

"The tear resistance is good." Nana confirmed after scanning, "The tensile strength at the seam reaches 89% of the standard value."

"They're passable enough to put up a fight."

He stood in front of the mirror, spun around, and then suddenly stopped.

"You know... wouldn't you say that we've built a small world from scratch?"

"The technology chain has achieved a self-sufficient closed loop," Nana said. "From raw material processing, spinning, weaving to garment manufacturing, the entire process requires no external supply."

"Even my clothes are homemade." He touched the rough cuffs. "They're a bit ugly, but—"

Before he could finish speaking, a slight noise came from the spinning wheel.

He turned around immediately: "What's wrong?"

"The winding mechanism is working normally." Nana checked the data. "The drive gear of the loom has slight wear. I suggest taking it out of service."

"You're done after just one job?"

He walked over, lifted the cover, and found that a corner of a plastic tooth was chipped off.

"It really was chewed by a dog."

“Spare parts can be used as replacements.” Nana pulled up the inventory list. “The replacement will take eighteen minutes.”

"Alright then." He unscrewed the screws. "Anyway, the clothes are finished, let them rest for a while."

He started humming a song as he disassembled the gears, but the tune was way off.

Nana floated quietly to the side, the latest production log scrolling on the screen.

The spinning wheel was still running, and yarn was being produced continuously, passing through the guide groove, winding onto the drum, round and round.

Chen Hao installed the new gears, closed the cover, and patted the machine body twice.

"Again."

He pressed the start button.

The loom hummed again, and the first weft thread was pushed out, passing precisely through the gap between the warp threads.

The fabric continued to stretch, the color remained the same, and the texture was still rough, but every stitch was firmly made.

He sat at the control panel, holding the ill-fitting short-sleeved shirt in his hand, with a few crooked hand-stitched marks still visible at the cuff.

A smile slowly crept onto his lips.

He casually flipped the notepad over and wrote a line on the back: "Shunliu got married today."

It was then hung on the spinning wheel frame.

The two remained still beside the equipment, watching the continuous output of yarn—the first truly "surviving" thread in the world they had built with their own hands.