Morning light filtered through the cracks in the workshop's tin roof, illuminating Chen Hao's hands. He moved his palm; a piece of torn skin stuck to his cuff, and it hurt a little when he tore it off.

He didn't say anything, but simply pulled his sleeve down a little.

Nana stood by the control panel, the camera panning across his finger joints. Three seconds later she said, "The blood blisters on your palms have ruptured, and 37% of the epidermal tissue is damaged. Immediate treatment is recommended."

"Wait a minute." Chen Hao looked down at the old hoe, its wooden handle cracked and its metal head tilted as if it were about to fall off at any moment. "Let's fix this thing first."

"It cannot be repaired. The structural fatigue has reached a critical value."

"Then get a new one."

"There are no readily available tools."

"Then let's build one."

After he finished speaking, he squatted down and rummaged through the parts box at his feet. His movements were slow, and he couldn't straighten his back. He slept for less than two hours last night, and was woken up again by the sound of the wind this morning. When the sensor went off for the third time, he simply lay there with his eyes open until dawn.

His hand had just touched the spring assembly when his fingertip slipped and grazed the metal edge. He pulled his hand back and found a small cut on his index finger, from which a bead of blood oozed.

“Your current physical condition is not suitable for delicate work,” Nana said. “The risk of infection is increased.”

"If I don't do it, who will? You can't tighten the screws yourself."

“I can provide guidance.”

"Then you have to teach me how not to cut my hand first."

He grinned, grabbed a pair of pliers, and began to disassemble the small spring on the scrapped hydraulic press. This thing, originally used to control the pressure valve, was now lying in the scrap heap gathering dust. It took him three tries to remove it completely, nearly pinching his thumb in the process.

“The spring’s elasticity is just right.” Nana leaned closer to scan it. “If it’s installed on the back of the hoe neck, it can provide a rebound force of 3.2 Newtons, reducing the load on the wrist.”

"Stop using numbers, speak like a human being."

"It will make you less tired."

"Oh." He nodded. "That's alright."

He placed the spring on the table and found a short piece of steel pipe to use as a support. The welding torch hummed as it preheated, and the flame flickered. He held the steel pipe with his gloves and gripped the torch with his right hand, bringing it close to the seam.

The first weld joint was not aligned.

He cursed and started over.

Halfway through the second soldering, his hand trembled, the flame shifted, and he burned the area between his thumb and forefinger. He jerked his hand away, and the soldering gun fell to the table with a clatter.

"Should we pause?" Nana asked.

"No need." He took a breath. "Again."

He finally got it connected on the third try. He secured the spring to the back of the hoe neck and sealed the joint with resin. While waiting for it to cool, he leaned against the wall, panting, his forehead covered in sweat.

"Give it a try." Nana handed him the hoe.

He took it, walked out of the workshop, and went into the experimental field next door. The soil had been turned over yesterday and was still relatively loose. He gently pressed down on the hoe and pushed it forward.

The soil was turned over, very smoothly.

He tried again, this time with a bit more force. The hoe went deeper into the soil, but his wrist didn't vibrate, and his arm didn't ache.

"Huh." He straightened up a bit. "It's really different."

"Optimized force distribution reduces vibration by 61%."

"It just saves effort."

"yes."

He smiled and hoeed back and forth a few more times. The sun shone on his back, warm and comforting. Suddenly, he felt that this work wasn't so bad after all.

"Can the rest of the stuff be modified too?" he asked, turning around.

"Yes. The existing materials are enough to modify five basic farm implements."

“Then what are we waiting for?” He slammed his hoe on the ground. “List them all out, and we’ll do them one by one.”

They returned to the workshop, and Nana pulled up the inventory list. The screen displayed: hoe, shovel, rake, pickaxe, shears.

"How should we prioritize them?" Chen Hao stared at the screen.

"Based on usage frequency and wear and tear, the recommended order is: hoe, shovel, rake, pickaxe, shears."

"Okay." He picked up a pen and drew a table on the paper. "Check off each one as you change it."

He had just written the first name when his finger suddenly twitched. The burn was still painful, and the broken skin was stained with ash and a little red.

Nana noticed his movements.

Three seconds later, a bottle of disinfectant and gauze appeared on the worktable.

“Treat the wound first,” she said.

"Wait a minute."

"Continuing to handle metal parts could lead to inflammation."

“I know.” He put down his pen, “but I’m afraid I’ll forget which wire connects to which place.”

"I have documented the entire process."

"Then just remember it."

He still didn't move.

She didn't say anything more, but simply soaked the disinfectant cotton and handed it over.

He hesitated for a moment, then took it and wiped his hands. He winced in pain, but didn't cry out.

After bandaging his hand, he flexed it and then went to rummage through the parts box.

This time he found a few small gears, salvaged from a broken automatic door lock. He stared at them for a long time, then suddenly said, "Could we make an automatic gear-turning mechanism for the rake?"

“It’s theoretically feasible.” Nana leaned closer to observe. “Using a crank-connecting rod structure, when manually pushed, it drives the gears to rotate, thus opening and closing the gears.”

"Sounds like high technology."

"Actually, it's old technology."

"Then why didn't anyone do this sooner?"

"Because there used to be machines."

"It's gone now."

"So we do it ourselves."

He grinned and began sketching. The paper was the back of scrap printer paper, and the lines were crooked and uneven. He would draw a stroke, pause, and think for a long time.

I took a sip of water halfway through and almost choked.

The wind picked up again outside, making the tin shed rattle and clang. He looked up at the roof to make sure all the screws were tightened.

Then continue drawing.

Two hours later, the first improved shovel was completed. It was half a pound lighter than the original, the handle was curved, and the bottom was replaced with an alloy plate. He took it to the test field to try it out; it dug deeper and didn't get stuck in the mud.

“This is better than people,” he said.

"You did it."

"You're the one who told me how to do it."

"I'm just providing the data."

"Then you're half a worker too."

He sat on the steps to rest, legs stretched out, soles of his shoes facing outwards. One shoe had long since come unglued, making a clattering sound when he walked. He took it off, looked at it, didn't bother to fix it, and put it aside.

“What’s next?” he asked.

"Rake".

"Let's go," he said, standing up. "While I'm still alive."

They returned to the workshop and began dismantling the old rake. The wooden teeth were so brittle they would break at the slightest touch, and the metal frame was rusted. As he dismantled it, he muttered, "It's a miracle this thing has lasted this long."

Nana took out a set of small bearings, which she had removed from the outdoor unit of the air conditioner.

“It can be used as a rotating axis,” she said.

"Then you can rest now, I'll help you."

He held the frame in place, and she used a robotic arm to precisely insert the parts. Halfway through the assembly, he suddenly said, "Do you think we could make a fully automatic one in the future? The kind that can be pushed around and turn over by itself?"

"It needs a power source."

"Would solar energy work?"

"Inefficient and unstable."

"What about using oil?"

"Fuel is scarce."

"Sigh," he sighed, "all the high technology is destroyed."

"Knowledge has not been destroyed."

"But someone has to do it."

"You're moving right now."

He paused for a moment, then smiled.

"That's right."

They continued working.

The new rake was finished before noon. The toothed blades could open and close freely, making pushing and pulling effortless. He tried it a few times and nodded in satisfaction.

“Next,” he said.

"pick."

"OK."

He was about to rummage through the parts box when he suddenly stopped.

"Wait a minute." He glanced at the corner of the workbench. "Is that saw still usable?"

"The chain broke and the motor burned out."

"Where's the outer shell?"

"whole."

"Is the handle made of rubber?"

"It's made of non-slip material."

"Give it to me." He held out his hand. "I want to modify the shovel handle."

Nana handed him the saw casing.

He began cutting, his movements clumsy but earnest. Halfway through, his glove got stuck, and he had to pull it free.

“Be careful,” she said.

"It's alright." He spat out a loose thread from his mouth. "I can still be saved."

At 1 p.m., the second improved shovel was completed. This time, the handle was more comfortable to hold, and the center of gravity was more stable. He took it to the field and tried it out for ten minutes, and when he came back, he looked more energetic.

“That looks much better now,” he said.

"There are still four things to be changed."

"No rush." ​​He sat down. "Let me rest for five minutes."

He leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, his breathing gradually becoming even. His hands were bandaged, and his clothes were stained with oil. There was a hole in the knee of his pants, revealing the knee pads underneath—they had been ripped off a wrecked motorcycle.

Nana stood to the side, and the camera slowly panned, recording the parameters of each tool.

Five minutes later, he opened his eyes.

“Let’s go,” he said. “Next.”

They continued working.

At 6 PM, the fifth tool—garden shears—was completed. With the added spring assist, pruning became much easier. He tested it ten times, and it didn't jam even once.

“Pass,” he said.

He lined up all the modified tools and stood in front of them for a while.

"Starting tomorrow, everything will be replaced," he said.

“We need to make storage racks,” Nana said.

"Make one with wheels," he added, "so it's easy to push."

"It can be designed to be foldable."

"Then make two."

He turned and walked to the sink to wash his hands. The water washed away the grease, revealing his swollen, red knuckles. He didn't look at them for long, dried them, and returned to the table.

“The list is updated,” he said. “What’s next?”

Nana brings up the interface.

"It is recommended to increase protective equipment: gloves, wrist guards, and reinforced shoe soles."

Do you have the materials?

"Some of them are recyclable."

"Then add it in."

He picked up a pen and wrote down the sixth item on the paper.

He paused for a moment after finishing writing.

“Actually…” he said softly, “I think we can live a little longer.”

Nana looked at him.

"Why?" she asked.

He raised his hand, looked at his bandaged palm, and then at the row of tools on the table that were gleaming faintly.

“Because now,” he said, “I’m no longer someone who digs the ground with just my hands.”