Chen Hao's fingers still ached. The strips of cloth were wrapped crookedly, the outermost layer was yellowed, and one edge was curled up, like a piece of paper that had been gnawed on. He didn't tear it, but instead pinched a pencil with his right hand, rummaged through the pile of cardboard on the corner of the table, and pulled out a piece with neat edges.

"I said I'd do the cards yesterday," he said. "If I don't do them today, I won't be able to do anything tomorrow."

Nana stood beside the workbench, the camera flashing slightly: "The materials are ready, shall we begin cutting?"

"No rush." ​​Chen Hao flipped the cardboard over and scratched a corner with his fingernail. "Let's figure out what to play first. Having cards but no one to play with is pointless."

He sat back down on the low stool, placed his feet on the crossbar of another stool, drew a square on the paper with his pencil, then crossed it out. "The loser tells a joke, the winner gets a prize—that's a good idea, but how do you win? By guessing high or low? Or by seeing who's more shameless?"

A virtual interface appeared in Nana's palm: "You can refer to basic game types. Common classifications are competitive, cooperative, and hybrid."

"Stop using technical jargon," Chen Hao waved his hand. "Speak plainly."

"One option is fighting, the other is working together." She paused. "Which one do you prefer?"

Chen Hao grinned: "Of course it's fighting. Who doesn't want to be the winner? Last time we changed the air filter, Lao Li and Xiao Wang were fighting over it and almost came to blows. In the end, I shouted, 'Whoever is faster gets the points,' and the two of them fought like they were cultivating immortality."

“That mission was twelve minutes overtime,” Nana said. “There were three errors in the equipment installation.”

"Didn't it get fixed in the end?" Chen Hao shrugged. "It doesn't matter if the process is a bit messy, the key is that someone was willing to do it."

“In a closed environment, excessive competition can lead to resource disputes or emotional conflicts.” Nana pulled up the data stream, “In the past six months, disputes over the allocation of resources accounted for 61% of all interpersonal conflicts.”

"So you think we can't play competitive games?" Chen Hao chuckled. "Then you might as well have everyone sing in a circle."

“Collaboration helps enhance group stability,” she said. “For example, completing a task together and sharing the rewards.”

"Sharing? Who did more and who did less, all mixed together?" Chen Hao shook his head. "Then who will work hard next time? If in the end the credit is split equally, it's better to just lie down."

He lowered his head and continued drawing, then paused, pen in hand: "How about this—we all fight monsters together, and see who can fight the hardest?"

“External challenges exist,” Nana analyzed. “Establishing an internal contribution scoring mechanism is feasible.”

"That's right!" Chen Hao slammed his hand on the table. "It's like clearing land for farming. When the dry season comes, everyone has to water the crops. In the end, the harvest belongs to the collective, but whoever waters the most gets their name listed first and receives an extra prize."

“This model combines survival pressure with individual incentives,” Nana noted. “It’s a hybrid mechanism.”

"It sounds complicated, but it's actually simple." Chen Hao tapped the cardboard with his pencil. "For example, five people form a group, and each person draws an action card to decide what they can do. Some people dig ditches, some people transport water, and some people prevent pests. If the total output reaches the target, everyone passes; if they fail, no one gets a reward. But on the basis of success, the top three are ranked according to their contributions and receive extra rewards."

“Highly feasible,” Nana nodded, “and meets the current base’s collaborative needs.”

"See, I knew you'd understand." Chen Hao laughed. "Isn't this how you do your job? The system assigns tasks, you arrange the order yourself, and you have to report the progress after you finish. The more you do, the higher your evaluation, and the faster your privileges are promoted."

"This is the standard operating procedure."

“That’s it.” Chen Hao grabbed a ruler and pressed it onto the cardboard. “We’ll play it this way. There’s cooperation, and there’s ranking. We won’t force anyone to work themselves to the bone, but don’t expect anyone to slack off either.”

He traced lines along the ruler, slowly but deliberately, pressing each stroke firmly to the end. The cardboard made a slight scraping sound. When he reached the third line, his finger suddenly twitched, and the pencil veered off course by half a centimeter.

"Sigh." He frowned. "This hand is really ruined."

"Do you need any help?" Nana asked.

"No need." He gritted his teeth and continued drawing. "If I draw the cards myself, I have to finish drawing them myself. Otherwise, they'll be uncomfortable to touch later."

Nana didn't say anything more, but simply enlarged the structure diagram on the virtual interface, dividing it into two columns: the left side was labeled "Common Goals," and the right side was labeled "Personal Points."

Chen Hao glanced at it: "You're making too clear-cut distinctions. Reality isn't that orderly. Sometimes one person slacks off, and the whole team suffers; sometimes someone works hard but ends up making things worse."

“It can be modeled and corrected,” she said. “We’ve added random event cards to simulate unexpected situations.”

“Sure.” His eyes lit up. “For example, when a water pipe bursts or a sandstorm strikes, everyone has to adjust their strategies on the spot. In these situations, whoever can step up is the true hero.”

“You can also set up ‘trust cards’,” Nana added. “Players can choose to hand over the right to act to others, forming a temporary collaborative chain.”

"That sounds a bit mystical," Chen Hao scratched his head. "But I get the idea. It's like me playing the guitar and you keeping the beat. Even if I don't say anything, you know when to play. That kind of tacit understanding is a plus."

“Emotional connection can be transformed into mechanistic feedback,” she said. “For example, three consecutive successful rounds of cooperation can trigger a team benefit effect.”

"It's getting more and more professional." Chen Hao cut out the outline he had drawn, held it in his hand and examined it. "This game can't be too rigid. The rules need to be flexible, so that people have choices and also have room for regret."

He put down the scissors, stretched his wrists, and the strips of cloth rustled against the edge of the table. "Tell me," he said, "what if someone slacks off the whole time, then suddenly pops up at the last second to steal the credit?"

"A 'public review' phase could be added during the settlement stage," Nana said, "allowing other players to vote on the actual contribution."

"Brilliant!" Chen Hao laughed. "Then it's not just about looking at the data. Those who are bad at talking suffer, while those who are good at talking benefit. Isn't that how it is in the real world?"

“Fairness could be compromised,” she cautioned.

“There’s never been absolute fairness,” Chen Hao said, shrugging. “As long as honest people aren’t completely ruined, it’s fine. Besides, if someone is unanimously voted out…” He paused, “Wait, don’t speak English.”

"All players voted against it," Nana changed her tune.

"Then let him tell ten jokes," Chen Hao chuckled. "He can't sit down until he's finished."

He placed the cut cardboard under the light and rotated it back and forth to check if the edges were smooth. "This thing has to be something that makes people want to play with it at first glance. It can't look like filling out a form or attending a meeting."

“Entertainment takes precedence over complexity,” Nana concluded.

“Right.” He nodded. “Relax, make a fuss. Losing isn’t shameful, winning is pretty cool. It would be best if you could learn something along the way, like how to divide tasks and how to communicate.”

“Educational features can be embedded in event card descriptions,” she said. “For example, ‘oxygen valve clogged’ could provide the correct steps to handle it.”

“Don’t write it too textbook,” Chen Hao waved his hand. “Just say, ‘Old Zhang forgot to check the pipes, and he’s having trouble breathing tonight.’ That’s much more vivid.”

He picked up a new cardboard sheet and pressed the ruler down again. "What should I make for the first card?"

“I suggest starting with resources,” Nana said, “such as ‘water,’ ‘tools,’ and ‘electricity.’”

“Too ordinary.” Chen Hao shook his head. “The opening needs to be more impactful. How about the first card is ‘Sandstorm Warning’—everyone immediately stops what they are doing and goes into emergency procedures?”

"A high-pressure start may discourage newcomers."

“Then let’s add a twist.” He grinned. “The person who draws this card gets two points if they can come up with a solution within thirty seconds. If they can’t answer, the whole group loses one point.”

“The combination of knowledge application and reaction speed,” Nana noted, “has a guiding role.”

“That’s what you call learning through play,” Chen Hao said proudly. “Our cards can not only be played, but can also save lives.”

After drawing the outline, he began writing the title inside. The handwriting was crooked, but each word was pressed firmly against the paper. "'Sandstorm Warning' is placed at the top, with space below for a smaller image later. The effect is written on the left, and the conditions on the right."

Halfway through writing, my finger jerked again, and the pencil pierced the paper.

"Damn it." He muttered under his breath, stared at the hole for two seconds, then walked around it and continued writing.

Nana handed over a new strip of cloth: "I suggest changing the bandage material."

"Wait a minute." He didn't even look up. "Finish this first. A hole is no big deal. A sign isn't a face; it can still be used even if it's ugly."

He finished writing the last word, blew on the paper, and held up the card, shaking it: "How is it?"

“The information is complete,” Nana said. “The visual layout needs optimization.”

"You mean ugly."

No adjectives were used.

"Alright," he laughed. "It's not like it's for exhibition. As long as people can understand it and play with it, it's a success."

He placed the cards on the table, alongside the other materials. The light shone on the pile of cardboard, rulers, pencils, and scattered scraps. The fan was still running, causing a few sheets of draft paper to tremble slightly.

“Next, we’ll define a few card categories,” he said. “Resources, actions, events, and then a special category, such as ‘rumors,’ ‘misunderstandings,’ ‘temporary leaders,’ and so on.”

“We can add ‘emotion cards,’” Nana suggested, “to simulate judgment bias under stress.”

"For example, someone might draw 'I feel like everyone is targeting me'?" Chen Hao laughed. "And then refuse to cooperate, sulking in a corner?"

“The probability is low, but there are cases,” Nana said.

“Then add it.” He picked up a pencil. “The more absurd the reality, the more realistic the cards must be.”

He was about to start when he suddenly stopped: "Wait, isn't this too heavy-handed? We're organizing this event for fun, not to reopen old wounds."

“It can be set as an optional rule,” she said. “The host decides whether to enable it.”

"Smart." Chen Hao nodded. "If you don't want to go too deep, just use the basic pack. If you want something more exciting, go for the expansion card."

He started drawing the border for the second card again, humming the tune of "The Song of the Foundation," broken and incoherent. He stopped halfway through.

“You said…” he looked at Nana, “that what we’re doing can also be considered a collaboration?”

“The current behavior aligns with the definition of collaboration,” she said. “We jointly develop a framework and divide the work.”

"So, would we be considered a team?"

"Logically correct."

"So, should we score?"

"A scoring system has not yet been established."

Chen Hao laughed: "Then I'll add one point to myself first."

He lowered his head, and the pencil fell on the cardboard again, slowly drawing a straight line. Another piece of the cloth strip curled up, but he ignored it, pressing the cardboard down with his left hand and continuing forward with his right.