The wind blew the paper to the bottom of the steps, where it got stuck between two cement blocks.

Chen Hao bent down and picked it up. The corner of the paper was a little wet, but the writing was not blurred and could still be read: **User Chen Hao, Authorization Level S**.

He stared at it for a few seconds, folded it twice, and stuffed it into his breast pocket.

“S-rank?” He chuckled. “I thought someone like me would at most get a D, the kind who got in by luck.”

Nana stood beside him, not saying a word, just looking at him.

He dusted off his pants, turned around, and walked towards the square. "Let's go, we haven't finished our business yet."

---

In the center of the base, on an open space, stood a grayish-white monument. It wasn't tall, just reaching his shoulder, its surface polished smooth, its edges gleaming with a cold metallic sheen. It was made of an alloy refined from a new ore vein, incredibly heavy; he almost tripped while carrying it.

"What did you say you wanted to carve?" He pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

"From the depths of winter to the warmth of spring, we have demonstrated human resilience," Nana said.

“This sounds like a speech,” he muttered. “Couldn’t you write something more practical? Like, ‘Three tons of manure were buried here, don’t dig it up.’”

"You can change it yourself."

"Never mind." He shook his head. "This one will do. It sounds plausible."

He took a carving knife from his toolbox, squatted down, and made his first stroke. The metal was hard, and the tip of the knife slipped twice before leaving a shallow mark.

"I should have used the robotic arm."

"You said you wanted to carve it by hand."

"I was out of my mind back then." He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Now the sun is making my forehead burn."

Nana handed him a bottle of water. He took it, gulped down a mouthful, and tilted his head to look at the inscription.

"Do you think... anyone will actually come to see this thing in the future?"

"Possibly."

"What if they're aliens? Can they understand Chinese?"

"I will add a piece of binary code at the bottom."

"Then you have to specify that this is not a recipe."

He continued carving, slowly and deliberately, stroke by stroke. His hand was a little unsteady, and a horizontal stroke was crooked, but he didn't start over. A mistake was a mistake; no one would check every single character anyway.

As he finished the last stroke, his finger scraped the edge, drawing a small cut. A bead of blood oozed out, dripping onto the base of the monument and seeping into the ground.

"Sigh." He shook his hand. "This monument is still drinking my blood?"

“It’s not picky about food,” Nana said.

He laughed out loud, stood up, took two steps back, and looked at the entire monument.

The characters are crooked and uneven, some dark and some light, but they are still there. The wind blows by, carrying the scent of earth and grass.

"Alright," he said. "That's enough."

---

Back in the control room, the terminal screen was lit up, and the progress bar was slowly advancing.

"Data upload has begun," Nana said. "It is expected to take four hours and seventeen minutes."

Is there anything I need to confirm?

"Do you want to delete early failure records? The system suggests cleaning up redundant files to improve storage efficiency."

“Wait a minute.” He sat up straight. “Which part counts as a ‘failure record’?”

"Including but not limited to: accidentally triggering a drainage pump, causing flooding in the vegetable garden; incorrectly configuring the light cycle, causing plants to wither; and accidentally injecting herb extract into the drinking water pipes, causing diarrhea for everyone."

"Ha!" He slammed his hand on the table. "I was wronged that time! It was clearly your program that made a mistake!"

"The records show that the operator was 'Chen Hao'."

"You're trying to shift the blame?"

"I'm just stating the facts."

He leaned back in his chair and thought for a moment. "Keep it."

"Why?"

"If you delete these, you won't have any leverage against me. How will you use this to blackmail me in the future?"

"I don't have the function of 'pressing you'."

You have a mouth.

Nana paused for a moment. "Then I suggest keeping all the records."

"That's more like it." He stretched. "Besides, who hasn't acted stupidly? If it were a perfect start, would we even be alive?"

The light stream on the screen continued to roll, like countless tiny stars moving.

“Storage naming is complete,” Nana said. “'Book of Spring'.”

"This name is more literary than an inscription on a tombstone." He scoffed. "It sounds like a children's book."

"You can change it too."

"No, thank you." He waved his hand. "Whatever you want, I can't understand it anyway."

---

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the sunlight slanted into the leisure garden.

The last mutated herb lay in the tray, its roots wrapped in damp clumps of mud. Its leaves were dark green with purple edges, and it smelled spicy, unlike ordinary herbs.

“This is it,” he said.

The soil beside the flower bed had just been turned over; it was soft and flat. He squatted down, dug a hole with his hands, put the grass in, and slowly covered it with soil.

I had just compacted the soil around the seedling when my foot slipped, loosening the mound of soil beside me. The seedling swayed and leaned to one side.

"Oh no!" He quickly reached out to steady her.

My fingertips touched the base of the rhizome, and I gently lifted it up a little to readjust its position. Then I pressed the surrounding soil down firmly, my movements becoming extremely light.

"Should I get you a brace?" Nana asked.

“No need.” He shook his head. “Let it grow on its own. If it’s crooked, so be it. It’s not like it’s an exam.”

"But it might be blown over by the wind."

"Then just fall down," he grinned. "Fall down and get back up. You'll get stronger after a few tries."

He clapped his hands, stood up, took a few steps back, and looked around.

The grass stood there, a little crooked, but it held up.

“You know what?” he said, “I initially planted this stuff to calm my nerves. But then I found out it couldn’t cure my laziness, my weight, or my bad luck.”

“But it has always been there.”

“Yes.” He nodded. “No matter how many times I crash, it survives. It’s more reliable than me.”

Nana didn't say anything.

He put his hand in his pocket and felt for the paper. The paper was still there; it hadn't been lost.

"Is the spring construction period over?" he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “All systems are running stably, the ecosystem self-sufficiency rate is maintained at over 87%, the defense system has passed seven rounds of stress tests, and the intelligent central control has completed three self-calibrations.”

"So...we've managed to get things going smoothly?"

“You humans always like to name processes,” she said, looking at him. “But living itself is the answer.”

He smiled but didn't refute.

The clouds on the horizon began to change color, from white to orange, and then to a deep crimson. The shadow of the monument stretched longer and longer, eventually covering the entire garden.

He walked to the edge of the observation deck and stood leaning against the railing. A breeze blew in from the other side of the protective netting, carrying the scent of vanilla.

"Tell me, do you think what we've done now counts as... accomplishing something?"

"You asked the same question three months ago."

"At that time, I thought it would be good enough if I could live to see spring."

"You are living longer than spring now."

He looked up at the sky.

A crack appeared in the clouds, revealing the deep blue sky behind. A star twinkled briefly, so faintly it was almost invisible.

“I used to think that the night meant the end,” he said. “The lights went out, the machines stopped, people lay down, and that was it. But now…”

He pointed to the star.

"Now I feel that I can still see things after dark."

Nana looked in the direction he was pointing.

“That’s Polaris,” she said.

“Oh.” He nodded. “I don’t know it, but I know the sky.”

He didn't say anything more.

The wind rustled through the protective netting, stirring the vanilla leaves.

His hands were still in his pockets, pressed against the paper.

Night was approaching, but he showed no intention of going back inside.

Nana stood beside him, the optical mirror reflecting the sunset and the shadow of the monument, the data stream quietly archived inside.

In the distance, a robotic arm slowly rises and places a newly opened flower on the top floor.

The petals were light purple and trembled slightly in the wind.