Chen Hao folded the piece of paper covered in writing and stuffed it into his pocket. His fingers touched the edge of the cloth strip, and he winced in pain. He ignored it, turned around, and rummaged through the bottom of his toolbox, pulling out a pile of odds and ends. Wood chips, dried flower bags, and cracked pottery shards were all dumped onto the workbench with a clatter.

"Time to get to work," he said. "Prizes can't just be talked about."

Nana stood to the side, the camera flashing slightly: "Are you ready to start now?"

"What else?" Chen Hao picked up an oval piece of wood, thick at both ends and thin in the middle, as if someone had taken a bite out of it. "Anyway, I've practiced the piano enough, and my hands are just going to hurt from being idle, so I might as well do something useful."

He took out a thin iron nail, examined it under the lamp, and then looked up at Nana: "You said you can write on it by burning it with fire?"

“A plant-based adhesive sealant makes it more durable,” she said. “We recommend heat-pressing the text to prevent it from peeling off.”

"Okay, then you burn it, and I'll write it."

“The operation must be performed by a human.” Nana handed him the nail. “The system cannot directly handle flammable materials.”

Chen Hao took the nail and muttered, "You're quite the rule-taker." He walked to the stove, stuck the nail tip into the fire, waited a few seconds, and a wisp of smoke rose.

When he returned, he sat back on the low stool, pressing down on the piece of wood with his left hand and lowering the red-hot nail with his right. As soon as it touched the wood, a burnt smell wafted out, his hand trembled, and his first stroke became a wavy line.

"Calm down... take responsibility..." he read as he slowly moved the nail, pausing after each stroke, the sweat rolling down his forehead to his nose without being wiped away.

Nana reached out and handed him a cloth, but he shook his head: "Don't touch it, or all your efforts will be wasted if you let go now."

As he finished writing the last word, the nail jammed, sending splinters flying that landed on his trousers. He blew on it, then held up the sign to examine it closely: "Doesn't it look like a dog crawled out of there?"

"The recognizability meets the standard," Nana said. "The character structure is complete."

"That's fine then." He grinned, tossed the sign into the empty box on the right, and picked up a new one.

The two of them started working together, one after the other. Chen Hao was in charge of ironing the lettering, and his movements became smoother and smoother. Although it was still crooked, at least it was more consistent. Nana sorted the dried flowers, putting the rosemary in one place, the lavender in another, and then picking out some brightly colored small petals to mix together.

She scooped a little clear glue with a small spoon, spread it evenly on the paper holder, gently placed the flowers on it, and then covered it with another layer of glue. When the light shone on them, the flowers looked as if they were frozen in ice, their colors unchanged.

"Who should this be given to?" Chen Hao asked.

"The record holder for best sleep quality," she said.

“Oh, Old Li,” he laughed, “his snoring could shake the ceiling; that’s a kind of talent.”

“The data supports this conclusion,” Nana nodded.

Chen Hao continued carving another piece: "'Persist to the end' - this one is mine."

“There is no corresponding award,” Nana said.

"I'll award it to myself," he scoffed. "I've practiced the piano so much my fingers are practically rotting; I need some kind of recognition, right?"

"Can be labeled as 'the sole creator who participated in the entire process'."

“Too long.” He shook his head. “Just write ‘persevere to the end,’ simple and straightforward.”

After he finished carving, he turned it over and secretly added a small smiley face on the back, which was barely noticeable unless you looked closely.

As dusk settled, nothing changed outside the window, but the lights inside the base were blindingly bright. The fan was still running, causing the edges of a few scraps of paper on the corner of the table to curl up. Chen Hao rubbed his wrists and noticed dust on his sleeves, which he didn't know when he had gotten it.

More than a dozen wooden signs were already lined up in two rows and hung on thin ropes to dry. The blue ropes were for "Calm and Composed" and "Quick Repairman," the pink ropes were for "Most Sharing" and "Loudest Laughter," and the yellow ropes were for "Champion of Dry Jokes" and "Most Successful at Slacking Off."

Chen Hao looked at the row of small signs and suddenly felt a little silly, but also wanted to laugh.

"Do you think they would really go on stage for this?" he asked.

“Humans have an instinctive need for public recognition,” Nana said, “even if it’s in a simple form.”

“True.” He scratched his head. “We’re fixing pipes and changing batteries all the time here. Who remembers that they can still win anything?”

He got up and walked around, collecting all the finished products into a polished wooden box. The box wasn't big, just big enough to hold all the prizes. He checked the position on the lid, reheated the iron nails, and carefully burned out four characters: "Sit anywhere."

After the last horizontal stroke was ironed, the nail fell into the box with a crisp sound.

"It's done," he said.

Nana put the remaining plant glue into an airtight jar and neatly arranged the dried flowers. She looked at the box, the camera flashing slightly: "Do we need a label to indicate the contents?"

"No need," Chen Hao waved his hand. "Let's keep it a little mysterious. When we open it, we'll see it smells wonderful, how fresh!"

“Some prizes are associated with olfactory memories,” she said, “which may evoke emotional resonance.”

"Don't use such cryptic terms." Chen Hao sat back down on his stool. "Just say—it smells nice and makes you happy when you think about it."

"Understood."

The room was quiet for a while. Chen Hao leaned against the wall, his feet propped up on another low stool, rubbing the "Persist to the End" sign back and forth in his hand. His fingers still hurt, especially his middle and index fingers; the cloth strips had been changed twice, and the edges were stiff.

But he didn't pick it.

“Just issuing signs doesn’t seem to do enough,” he suddenly said.

"you mean?"

“An event can’t just be about playing music, giving out awards, and then everyone leaves.” He stroked his chin. “It has to get people moving. Like playing a game? One that uses your brain.”

“It’s feasible,” Nana said, “but it needs the right rules and tools.”

"We'll think about the rules tomorrow." He yawned. "Let's celebrate tonight."

"No specific definition of celebratory behavior."

“Sitting still is a celebration.” He closed his eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve finished something and felt it was worthwhile.”

Nana didn't say anything, but simply turned up the light on her workbench.

After a while, Chen Hao opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling for a moment, and then sat up straight.

"How about... we make a deck of cards?" he said.

"Card-based interactive tools?"

“Yes.” He nodded. “The loser tells a joke, and the winner chooses a prize. It doesn’t need to be too complicated, just draw it casually.”

“We have plenty of materials,” Nana said. “We can use leftover wood chips or cardboard.”

"I'll remember this for now." He raised his hand to stop her. "We'll talk about it tomorrow. Tonight's task is complete."

He pushed the wooden box to the corner of the table and covered it with a cloth, as if afraid of being seen.

Then he looked down at his hands; the strips of cloth were wrapped haphazardly, the top layer already yellowed. He tried to move his fingers, and gasped in pain.

"Do you think... they'll go on stage?" he asked again.

“Based on past behavioral patterns,” Nana said, “when the task is not mandatory and has an entertaining aspect, the willingness to participate is higher than usual.”

"I don't understand." Chen Hao waved his hand. "Just tell me—is there anyone willing to embarrass themselves here?"

“There’s a chance,” she said, “especially if there are penalty mechanisms in place.”

“I knew it.” He laughed. “The more afraid of making a fool of oneself, the more one loves to join in the fun.”

He leaned back, closed his eyes, and hummed the melody: "Start—go—pause—connect—push—pull—collect."

After humming it once, he opened his eyes and looked at Nana.

"How many times do you think we can hold this event?"

Nana's camera flashed slightly, and a line of text appeared on her palm: "The material reserves can support three similar events, the number of participants is stable, and repeated events are sustainable."

Chen Hao paused for a moment, then smiled.

"You really figured this out?"

"Advance planning is a fundamental part of execution logic."

"Alright then." He picked up his guitar and gently strummed a note. "Then let's not do a one-off deal."

He tried a couple of chords, slowly, but each note was clear.

After he finished playing, he put the instrument back on his lap and didn't move again.

The only sounds in the room were the fan and the occasional rustling of his fingers.

After a long time, he suddenly said, "Tomorrow... let's saw out the card plates first."

After he finished speaking, without waiting for a response, he bent down to untie the strip of cloth. He had just torn open a corner when his fingers twitched and he stopped.

The light is still on.