At 2:40 a.m., Chen Hao removed the second table leg from the workbench. The surface of the wood was pitted and uneven, with several deep scratches as if it had been hit by a hard object. Blood was still seeping from the middle finger of his right hand, and the strip of cloth had turned black and was stuck to the wound.

He didn't continue.

He put the tools away in the drawer, turned off most of the lights, leaving only one to illuminate the pile of wood scraps at the edge of the workbench. He dragged himself out, his shoulders so stiff he could barely lift them, each step feeling like walking on cotton.

Back in the living quarters, as soon as the door closed, a stench filled my nostrils.

It wasn't musty, nor rusty, and it certainly didn't smell like spoiled food. It was all mixed together, elusive and unpredictable. Taking a whiff made my throat dry, but exhaling left a slightly sweet aftertaste—it was quite strange.

"What is this thing?" He unscrewed the vent cover, reached in and rummaged around, but found nothing but dust. He then squatted down and rummaged through the storage cabinets, even opening and smelling the compressed biscuit bags, but everything was fine.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and just as he was about to lie down, the smell returned, stronger than before.

He decided not to sleep. He put on his coat and casually picked up a small piece of wood from the table—a scrap of wood he had shaved off yesterday while sanding; it was about the length of his finger and the thickness of his thumb, and fit perfectly in his hand.

As he walked down the corridor, the smell became less strong. He stopped as he passed the storage area.

This place is different.

There was a light, pleasant fragrance in the air, which effectively masked the strange smell. He looked down at the block of wood in his hand, then brought it closer to his nose and smelled it again.

That's it.

“It was there when I was cutting this wood before,” he murmured. “I was busy sharpening my legs then, so I didn’t notice.”

He turned and went back to the woodworking workshop, the door light turning on automatically. A pile of scrap materials from the core section lay on the workbench, all still carrying that pleasant fragrance. He picked out five pieces of roughly the same size and placed them under the restaurant vent, on a shelf in the corner of the corridor, behind the storage room door, next to the bathroom exhaust fan, and finally placed the last one directly beside his bed.

After doing all that, he sat in a chair, panting.

My hands hurt, and my brain is tired. But I feel a little itchy inside, like I've found some clue, but I can't quite put my finger on what it is.

As dawn approached, he dozed off for a while. The first thing he did upon waking was to sniff around.

The restaurant no longer had that metallic, pungent smell; the toilet no longer smelled bad; and the most noticeable change was at the head of the bed, where the stuffy feeling that I could feel even when I closed my eyes was now much easier to breathe in.

"It really works?" He picked up the piece of wood from the headboard and examined it from all angles. "It kills germs, repels insects, and now it even eliminates odors?"

He shuffled off in his slippers to find Nana.

She stood in front of the control panel, the optical mirror flashing, adjusting the data.

"Did you smell anything strange last night?" he asked.

"An abnormally high concentration of volatile organic compounds was detected in the air, with the peak occurring at 0:37," she said. "The preliminary judgment is that it is due to the release of gas from aging sealant or byproducts produced by moisture on the circuit board."

"Stop using those words." Chen Hao waved his hand. "I'm just asking you, doesn't it taste a bit off?"

"Sensory descriptions are not included in my basic feedback module."

"Never mind." He pulled a piece of wood from his pocket. "I put this in a few places, and the smell is gone now. Don't you think it worked?"

Nana took the wooden block and connected it to the sampling port. Three minutes later, two sets of comparison images appeared on the screen.

“Before placement, the average Voc concentration was 860 μg/m3; after four hours, it dropped to 453 μg/m3,” she said. “The odor molecules showed signs of breaking down, mainly concentrated in the sulfide and amine compound regions.”

"So that means—" Chen Hao grinned, "this wood incense can not only be smelled, but it can also 'eat' dirty things?"

"To be precise, the terpenes it releases have oxidative activity and can decompose a variety of unstable organic molecules." She paused. "Your method is not a standard procedure, but the results are effective."

"What do you mean by 'not the standard'?" Chen Hao glared. "This is a rudimentary innovation! Do you know how the ancients discovered fire? It was just a coincidence."

Nana didn't respond; she simply began to rethink the plan for using the timber.

"Wait a minute." Chen Hao suddenly realized, "You're not going to use all the good materials to make air purifiers, are you? I haven't finished making my table yet."

"The priority has been adjusted," she said. "The air purification system has not yet been restored, and the current environmental hazard level is level two. It is recommended that the remaining scraps be processed into adsorption units to cover the main living areas."

"Alright then." He sighed. "Anyway, I'm having trouble even sawing a straight line now. It's good that this wood can be used even without carving."

The two returned to the storage area and dumped out all the remaining wood chips. The larger pieces were cut into smaller ones, and the smaller ones were put directly into burlap sacks. Each sack was punched with a hole and hung in the corners of various rooms.

Around noon, the oppressive atmosphere in the base completely dissipated.

Chen Hao leaned back against the newly assembled table and chairs, his legs stretched out, his toes rubbing against the ground. The furniture was crooked, the tabletop uneven, and the four legs of different lengths, making it a bit wobbly to sit on. But he didn't care.

"Don't you think it's too depressing to name this series 'Living Series'?" he asked, looking up.

"The naming has been archived and cannot be changed."

“That’s true.” He smiled. “Anyway, it’s alive, and I’m alive too. The wood can also purify the air, so it’s quite suitable.”

Nana stood to the side, her optical glasses switching between air quality reports. The values ​​continued to decrease and were stabilizing.

"Next step?" she asked.

"First, smooth out this table." Chen Hao flexed his hand; the wound was still hurting. "Otherwise, the soup will spill onto the floor."

"We recommend using wet stone drag reduction to minimize skin damage."

"You still remember this?" He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you only recognized machines."

"The record is complete."

"That's good." He stood up, leaning on the table, his movements slow but steady. "Once I've healed this broken hand, we can try something else. Like... a one with drawers?"

"Hardware support is needed."

“Then I’ll remember that.” He patted the table. “Anyway, there’s no rush now. The smell is gone, people can breathe again, and we can work at our own pace.”

He walked to the door and glanced back at the bags of wood hanging there. A faint fragrance wafted in the air, like an invisible veil protecting the entire space.

"If we had more wood, could we make it into wall panels? Or flooring?"

"Theoretically feasible."

"Hey." He chuckled. "Then when other people live here, they won't be breathing in air, they'll be breathing in high-end fragrances."

Nana did not respond, but simply marked the "Proposal for Multifunctional Applications of Timber" as a pending project.

Chen Hao stepped outside, sunlight hitting his face. He squinted and raised his left hand to look at the bandage. The edges of the bandage were frayed, and a little dark red seeped through.

He didn't stop and continued walking towards the woodworking workshop.

On the workbench, the finest millstone was still soaking in the basin of water, a layer of wood dust floating on the surface, gray and white. He reached in and scooped it out; it was icy cold.

Place the stone on the table and start pushing.

The first time, there was a lot of resistance.

The second time, it went a little better.

The third tap produced a slight rustling sound.

His right middle finger split open again, and blood mixed with sawdust, leaving a diagonal line on the side of the millstone.