Chen Hao's finger twitched slightly.

The table vibrated slightly, and the metal bracket hummed as the temperature control module restarted. His eyelids fluttered, and he slowly opened them, his vision blurring for a few seconds before focusing on the green-glowing ore in front of him.

The light is too bright.

He instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes, his brows furrowing. "Who put a searchlight on my head?"

Nana stood beside him, her optical glasses scanning his face. "You're awake."

"Do you think this light is even bright enough to see?" He squinted, a ray of blinding green light seeping through his fingers. "It's giving me a headache; I definitely can't read a book in this light."

“The original light source was not diffused.” She raised her arm, and three sets of projected images popped up in the air: the first image showed the light distribution in the current state, with a white center and almost black edges; the second image had an added curved mask, which reduced the glare but covered less; the third image had a semi-transparent layer embedded in it, which softened the halo, but the brightness was significantly reduced.

Chen Hao sat up straight, leaning on the table, his arms still a little weak. "Directly shooting won't work; we need to spread out."

“We need light-diffusing materials,” she said.

He suddenly remembered something and turned to look at the toolbox in the corner. "Where are the leftover flower petal resin pieces from making the chair cushions last time? The thin kind, the textured kind."

Nana turned around and took out a round, thin slice with slightly rough edges and a faint glow in the center. "There are two remaining slices of material, each 0.8 millimeters thick."

"This is it." He reached out to take it, his fingertips trembling slightly, and he almost dropped the film.

Nana gently placed her hand in his palm.

He looked down at it, then looked up at the ore. "Try sticking it on top, about five centimeters away."

Nana used clamps to secure the resin sheet, adjusted its position, and then turned on the power. Green light shone through the thin sheet, casting a softer glow on the tabletop, like newly sprouted leaves in spring.

"It's alright," Chen Hao nodded. "It's just a bit dark."

“Increasing the brightness will cause the temperature to rise,” she cautioned. “The upper limit of the resin’s heat resistance is 42 degrees Celsius, and the current surface of the ore has already reached 31 degrees Celsius.”

“Then let’s lower the fever.” He touched his forehead; the fever had subsided a bit, and his mind was clearer. “Don’t you have a cooling gel pack? Insert a layer inside.”

“It’s feasible.” She opened the spare parts box and took out a small bag of blue gel. “It needs to be used with an insulation layer to prevent cracking caused by direct contact between hot and cold.”

"Should we add another net underneath?" he asked.

“The metal microporous mesh can be used for support and heat dissipation.” She had already pulled up the structural diagram. “Double-layer design: the mesh isolates the heat source, the gel keeps the temperature low, and the resin sheet is placed on the top layer.”

“It sounds like a sandwich,” he said.

“The analogy holds true.” She began assembling.

Chen Hao wanted to help, but she gently stopped him as soon as he reached out his hand.

"You're in charge," she said. "Don't touch the hot parts."

He withdrew his hand and leaned back in his chair. "Then shift it half a centimeter to the right... Yes, now press it down a little."

Nana adjusted the angle and secured the clips. She then attached several strips of reflective foil to the inside of the lampshade, taken from the old packaging, with the silver side facing inward.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Guide the light downwards," she said, and then turned on the power to test it.

The green light shone again, this time not directly, but slowly spreading out after being filtered through layers. The light fell on the open pages of the old book, the words were clear, and there was no obvious boundary between light and shadow, like the sunlight shining into the room through the leaves at dusk.

Chen Hao picked up the book, flipped through a couple of pages, squinted for a few seconds to adjust, and smiled. "This time it's not glaring, it's like the bedside lamp my mom used to use when she told me stories when I was little."

“The lighting standards meet reading requirements.” Nana recorded the data. “The effective coverage radius is 1.2 meters, and the central illuminance is stable at 180 lux.”

"That's enough." He closed the book, looked up at her, and said, "Shouldn't we be thinking about how to make the whole room this bright next?"

“A single light cannot cover the entire area.” She pulled up the restaurant floor plan. “The dining table is 2.4 meters long, and the existing light source can only illuminate the middle part.”

“Then install more,” he said. “One in each room, and replace the ones hanging on the ceiling in the living room with heated ones.”

"Circuit load and temperature control distribution need to be considered," she cautioned.

"Let's not worry about that far for now." He stood up, his legs still a little weak, and held onto the corner of the table. "Let's get this one done first."

Nana moved the adjusted desk lamp to the center of the dining table and turned off the other lights. The soft green light flowed quietly, illuminating the wooden tabletop and reflecting the drawing next to the lamp base—a little fox with its head tilted to the side, with four words written below: "Turns on when it's warm."

Chen Hao sat back in his chair and stared blankly at the light.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"I was thinking, wouldn't it be so convenient if every light could adjust its brightness on its own, so that it would light up wherever you go?" he said. "For example, if you get up at night, the light will automatically dim so you don't have to touch the switch."

“It can be linked via motion sensors,” she said, “but additional wiring is required.”

“Don’t we have some old wiring?” he said, perking up. “We’ll dismantle the old wiring in the old area, rewire it, and I’ll design the main control panel.”

“Your strength hasn’t fully recovered.” She scanned his wrist. “Your heart rate is still a bit high.”

"It's nothing," he waved his hand. "Using your brain is easy."

He reached out and touched the lamp base; the temperature was just right. "How long will this lamp be stable?"

"Under continuous power supply, it can maintain its light emission for more than eight hours," she said. "It needs to stop cooling after more than ten hours."

"Eight hours is enough." He yawned, his eyes a little sore. "Charge during the day and use at night, just like a cell phone."

“The analogy is inappropriate,” she said. “This device has no energy storage unit.”

"Stop nitpicking," he laughed. "The point is made, that's enough."

He looked down at his notes, flipped through a few pages at random, and suddenly stopped. "Hey, isn't this paper a bit reflective?"

“Regular recycled paper,” she said.

"How about we make a lampshade next time, using this kind of paper as a layer?" he suggested. "It lets in light, protects the eyes, and can be used for writing, drawing, and decoration."

"It's worth a try," she noted down the suggestion.

He continued flipping through the notebook, but his movements slowed down, and his eyelids began to droop again.

"I suggest you take a break," she said.

"Wait a little longer." He rubbed his temples. "Let me finish writing down these ideas."

The pen moved across the paper, the handwriting slightly crooked. Nana looked at his lowered head, the optical glasses flickering slightly.

“The third point you wrote, about the design of the corridor lights gradually brightening at a set time, needs to have a delay module added,” she said.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Otherwise, if everything suddenly turned on in the middle of the night, it would scare people to death.”

"It can be set to gradually increase from 10% brightness to 100% over a three-minute delay," she added.

“Clever.” He grinned, but the pen slipped from his fingers and rolled to a stop on the edge of the table.

He didn't pick it up.

Her head bobbed up and down, and finally she fell asleep leaning against the back of the chair.

Nana got up and gently draped her coat over him. She picked up the pen that had fallen, put it back in her notebook, and then pulled up the next phase of the lighting layout plan.

The light shone quietly on the table.

She moved the little fox drawing to the center to make sure the whole sheet of paper was illuminated.

Chen Hao's hand rested on the edge of the table, his fingertips less than ten centimeters from the lamp base, rising and falling slightly with his breathing.