Chen Hao placed the pencil on the corner of the table. The "Sandstorm Warning" card lay askew among a pile of cardboard, its edges curled up. He moved his hand; the bandage was looser than yesterday, and his fingers brushed against the wound with every movement, burning like fire. He ignored it, only rubbing his temple with his right hand.

"What went wrong with that round of testing just now?" he asked.

Nana stood beside the workbench, a virtual interface appearing in her palm, displaying three sets of data streams. "In the first round, it was a pure points system. After you drew the 'Tool Shortage' card, you chose to monopolize the repair opportunity, earning six points. As a teammate, I did not participate in the key action, so the system judged the cooperation to have failed, but you had the highest individual score."

"Isn't that just encouraging people to scramble for jobs? Who cares about other people's lives?" Chen Hao scoffed. "If this is how they play the game, the base will be in chaos tomorrow."

"In the second round, individual scores will be eliminated, and only task completion will be the standard," Nana continued. "You took the initiative to perform the high-risk operation in the 'oxygen valve blockage' incident, which took the longest and made the greatest contribution. However, I misjudged the situation and left my post early, causing the overall team to exceed the time limit by two minutes, and no one will receive a bonus."

"I've done all that work for nothing?" Chen Hao glared. "Who would dare take on troublesome tasks in the future? The more you do, the more mistakes you make. You might as well sit in a corner and wait to finish."

“The third round includes a phased evaluation node.” Nana pulled up a new chart. “Temporary contribution values ​​are settled every three rounds, and an internal review is opened once. The results show that, with the consensus-based decision-making mechanism in place, the willingness to cooperate increased by 43%, and the decline in individual enthusiasm was kept within a reasonable range.”

Chen Hao stared at the string of numbers for a few seconds, then suddenly grabbed a piece of scrap paper, drew a large outline with a pencil, and divided it into four smaller sections. "Wait... I get it. It's not that there are too few rules, it's that the priorities are not clear."

He pointed to the top square: "We must first establish an ironclad rule—if the task is not completed, no one can expect to receive an award. This is the bottom line."

Nana nodded: "Setting the common goal as the highest priority makes sense."

"And then?" He tapped the second square. "Whoever does more work gets a higher score. But the score isn't just based on the result, it's also about the process. For example, if someone spends a long time repairing the pipes, but they also clean the filter screen, that kind of bonus will be counted."

“It can record assistive behaviors and assign them basic weights,” Nana added, “such as support, information sharing, and emergency response.”

“Right.” Chen Hao grinned. “A third square—something could happen at any time. We’ll decide by drawing cards, a maximum of two per round. Crisis-type cards force you to react, while opportunity-type cards let you seize the rhythm. That way, things won’t get chaotic.”

"The scope of the impact of random events has been capped," she said. "They will not disrupt the overall process."

"The last one." He paused. "Before the final awards ceremony, everyone will vote. Let's not talk about the numbers, just speak from the heart—who do you think gave it their all, and who slacked off? The votes will affect the total score, but they can't exceed 30%."

“To prevent extreme biases,” Nana noted, “public opinion, as a moderating factor, aligns with social realities.”

Chen Hao pushed the entire sheet of paper to the middle and let out a long breath. "Alright. It's settled then. Cooperation is the premise; whether we compete or not depends on our actions. In the end, we'll hear a fair word."

Nana reorganized the structure diagram, dividing it into two columns. The left column was labeled "Must Achieve," and the right column read "Can Strive for First Place." Below, she added a smaller line of text: "Unexpected events are common, and human nature is unpredictable, but the rules must be upheld."

"Read it once?" she asked.

"Come here." Chen Hao moved closer.

"Article 1: All players must work together to complete the designated task. There will be no reward for failure."

"Article 2: After a task is successfully completed, the merit statistics will be activated, and the base score will be automatically accumulated based on the actual participation."

"Article 3: Unexpected situations may occur during the game, and the response process will be triggered by the event card."

"Article 4: The final reward distribution will combine the system score and the on-site voting results, with the voting weight not exceeding 30%."

After listening, Chen Hao laughed: "It sounds like a meeting, but it went much smoother than before."

"Do you need a simplified explanation?" Nana asked.

“Of course.” He picked up his pen. “Old Li is too lazy to even read the instruction manual, so we have to make sure he understands it immediately.”

He lowered his head and rewrote:

"We can only win a prize if we complete the task together."

Whoever does more work gets a higher score;

Unexpected events may occur along the way; it depends on how you respond.

Finally, everyone can judge for themselves who truly gave it their all and who slacked off.

After writing it down, he read it aloud to himself, then slammed his hand on the table: "This time it feels like a game."

Nana entered the revised version into the terminal, generating four lines of standard text, which she attached to the top of the rules explanation page. "It can be printed directly on the back of the card for easy and quick understanding."

"Smart." Chen Hao stretched, his shoulder making a cracking sound. He looked down at the pile of sketches on the table, his fingers starting to itch again.

“Now here’s the problem,” he said. “These words are too messy to be used directly for card design.”

He picked up the sample cards he had written before; the handwriting was crooked, and some parts were even torn. He tried to copy them again, but after writing just two words, his finger trembled, and the pencil slipped far away.

"Damn it." He shook his hand. "This hand is ruined."

“I can standardize the documents,” Nana said. “I will organize them into a uniform format and export print templates.”

“Then you do it.” Chen Hao simply put down his pen. “Anyway, I don’t want to be a calligrapher.”

Nana connected to her portable terminal and began proofreading line by line. The text on the screen quickly arranged itself neatly, with consistent font size and clear paragraph breaks. She added numbers and category tags, and archived the resource cards, action cards, and event cards separately.

Chen Hao sat to the side, watching the lines of text being neatly arranged, and suddenly felt a little unreal. "After all this fuss, all we wanted was for everyone to play cards?"

"The essence is to build a lightweight collaborative simulation mechanism," she said.

"That's too lofty a statement." He waved his hand. "Actually, it's just an excuse to get everyone together, have a few arguments, laugh a bit, and use their brains a little."

“There are many ways to achieve this functionality.” Nana paused for a second, “The current solution is feasible.”

"That's true." Chen Hao smiled. "Do you think if we really start doing this, some people might find it annoying? Or think we're just going through the motions?"

“The possibility exists,” she said, “but the preparation process itself already reflects the will of the participants.”

"What do you mean?"

“I didn’t replace the cards you insisted on drawing; I preserved the original meaning of every colloquial expression you suggested. This is not a one-way design, but a collaborative effort.”

Chen Hao paused, then looked down at the "Sandstorm Warning" card. The edges were charred, the handwriting crooked, and it had a hole in it. He didn't speak, but gently placed it into the wooden box.

The box already contained more than a dozen prizes, with strings of various colors hanging out. Now, a few more card samples have been added, crammed together, making it look a bit messy.

"At least it didn't end up being a complete disaster." He leaned back in his chair, his wrists resting on his knees, a corner of the cloth dangling down and brushing against the ground.

He looked up at Nana: "Do you think... if everyone really starts playing with this thing, will it end up like we did, arguing and then getting things done?"

Nana's camera flickered slightly: "The probability is 87.3%. But positive conflict itself is a process of building cohesion."

Chen Hao smiled and didn't say anything more.

He carefully stacked the remaining sketches and tucked them into a side compartment of the box. He put the scissors in the drawer, laid the ruler flat on the right side of the table, and returned the pencils to their holders. Finally, he turned the terminal screen towards himself to confirm that the rules document had been saved.

"Shouldn't we start drawing next?" he said.

"The visual presentation is about to begin," Nana responded.

Chen Hao nodded and reached for the new cardboard. His fingers had just touched the edge when he suddenly stopped.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Is the first card still a ‘sandstorm warning’?”

Nana replied, "The original settings have not been changed."

He picked up the torn sample card, looked at it over and over several times, and then slowly placed it on top of the wooden box.

"Let's start here."