The wooden needle hovered in mid-air, Chen Hao's wrist trembling like a tattered rag in the wind. He stared at the end of the thread, not letting it fall.

It's not that I'm afraid of making mistakes, it's that even if I know I'm wrong, it's useless.

If that needle had fallen, it would most likely have been a wasted effort. He slowly withdrew his hand, inserting the wooden needle into a piece of cork next to him, as if giving it a small funeral.

“We can’t keep doing this haphazard sewing,” he said. “We can’t afford to waste a single piece of material.”

He looked down at the torn piece of fur on the ground. The seams were cleanly torn, and the fibers were scattered into frayed edges, like a rope that had been chewed and spat out by a dog. He then touched the emergency suit he had taken out of the escape pod, his fingertip brushing against a folded edge—where the stitching was neat and there was an inner lining pressing down the seams, clearly much stronger than the outer layer.

“Showing me just the outline is useless.” He looked up at Nana. “I need to know how it was made layer by layer, from the first stitch to the last, the order, the technique, the pressure, everything.”

Nana's optical lens flickered slightly, and a stream of data rolled rapidly beneath her eyes. A few seconds later, a dynamic image appeared in the air: two pieces of fabric folded in half, with a three-millimeter margin at the edge, and double-stranded threads passing through in a backstitch pattern, reinforcing every three stitches by turning back, reducing tension at corners to avoid stress concentration.

“The parameters have been optimized based on the thickness and stretch of the fur,” she said. “We recommend using a ‘three-zone cutting method’: separate material for the shoulders, triangular reinforcement under the armpits, and pre-reserved stretch pleats at the waist.”

Chen Hao squatted down and used a charcoal stick to draw a rough human shape on the stone surface, then divided it into three areas as she instructed. As he drew, he muttered to himself, "Slice the shoulders separately? Doesn't that mean I don't have to use a whole piece of skin to forcibly create the shape of a garment?"

“Correct.” Nana projected a comparison image: one of a top cut from a single piece of leather, and the other of a top made of five smaller pieces pieced together. “Distributing the stress reduces the risk of tearing.”

"Wow, isn't this just like building with Lego?" His eyes lit up. "I thought it had to be done in one go, like a master sculptor. Turns out, they've already taken it apart and made it from parts."

He grabbed a piece of spare leather, first securing the four corners with small stones, then redrawing the lines according to the new three-zone method. This time, instead of randomly tracing with charcoal powder, he gently pressed his fingernail along the edge of the projection to ensure that each stroke was in place.

“I was too idealistic before,” he said, gesturing as he spoke. “I always thought I could do it all in one go, but every time it ended up being a complete failure.”

When cutting, he switched to a short, light pushing motion, moving forward only a little bit each time, like sharpening a pencil. He pushed a few more times on areas with thick fur and lightly passed over thin areas to avoid cutting all the way through and causing deviation.

The first shoulder template was finally completed, and the curve was fairly smooth. He held it up to the skylight to examine it, then compared it to the projected model, flipping it back and forth several times.

“The thickness is matched, the curvature is close, and the edges are straight…” He nodded. “Although it’s a bit ugly, at least it looks like a usable part.”

Instead of starting to sew, he put down the leather, turned around and picked up the few pieces of thread that had failed before, spreading them out one by one on the ground.

“I’ve discovered a problem,” he said. “It’s not that my hands are shaking badly, it’s that I simply don’t know when to apply pressure and when to loosen it.”

Nana demonstrates the backstitch technique in slow motion: keep the needle insertion angle at 45 degrees, the thread should be taut but not stretched too tight after the needle comes out, and reduce the force in advance when encountering a turning point to prevent excessive local tension.

“Look, it’s not constantly tight.” Chen Hao stared at the screen. “It’s rhythmic, like breathing—tighten twice, relax once, then tighten again.”

He tried to imitate the rhythm, picking up the wooden needle to thread the needle. This time, he first twisted the fiber into two strands, wrapped it three more times when making the knot, and finally bit one end with his teeth and pulled it tight.

"If this happens again, I will announce my withdrawal from the primitive clothing industry."

The first stitch went slightly off-center.

He didn't yell or dismantle it; he just pulled the wire out, repositioned it, and started again.

The second injection was still crooked.

The third injection finally stabilized the situation.

He continued sewing, pausing for a second every two stitches to check if the stitches were even and if there were any bulges in the leather. On the fifth stitch, his finger slipped and almost poked his palm, but he managed to pull the needle back, preventing his movement from becoming distorted.

A seam about ten centimeters long was completed. He gently tugged at it; the joint didn't crack, and the thread didn't break.

"It's done?" He tentatively tugged at it again. "I can't say for sure yet. But at least... it's willing to cooperate with me."

He grinned, then frowned: "But this is too slow. At this rate, sewing only five centimeters a day, I'll be a monkey by the time the clothes are finished."

"I suggest establishing a standardized process," Nana said. "Cut the cutting, punching, threading, and sewing processes into separate steps and optimize them one by one."

“That makes sense.” He nodded. “Otherwise, I’d be doing this and that all the time, my mind would be a jumbled mess like a ball of yarn that’s been scratched by a cat.”

He found several flat stones, labeled them "cut," "drill," "sew," and "inspect," and arranged them in a row, like a small workshop assembly line.

The first step was cutting. He strictly followed the three-section method to divide the leather: one piece for the shoulder, two pieces for the chest, and a separate piece for the underarm patch. He controlled the pressure of each cut, preferring to be slow rather than rush.

The second step was to make holes. He found that directly threading the needle would easily tear the edges, so he first used the tip of a stone to make small holes evenly along the stitching line, about one centimeter apart, as a guide.

“This is called a pre-embedded anchor point,” he muttered to himself. “Sounds pretty high-tech.”

The third step is threading and sewing. He uses the backstitch method, strictly following the rhythm of "two steps forward and one step back," and after sewing each section, he uses his palm to flatten the stitches to prevent them from twisting.

The fourth step is inspection. He took the finished section from a distance, compared it with the projected model, recorded the location and cause of the deviation, and prepared for the next improvement.

He practiced the same movement repeatedly until the sun began to set and his shadow stretched long, falling on the back of his hands, which were covered in charcoal ash and bloodstains.

The wound on his thumb was still bleeding, the blood mixing with the black ash and turning into a dark red mud. He ignored it and continued stitching up the next small section.

“I’ve noticed a pattern,” he suddenly said. “The more you try to rush things, the more likely you are to make a mistake. On the contrary, if you take it one step at a time, you can see progress.”

Nana's blue light quietly reflected on the fur, looping images of the best craftsmanship, like a silent master craftsman.

As night deepened, the campfire was relit. Sparks crackled and popped, occasionally landing on his trousers before being swatted away.

He sat beside the stone platform, holding a threaded wooden needle in his hand, practicing basic needlework techniques while referring to the projection. His movements were still clumsy, but the underlying principles were already apparent.

“I used to think that making clothes was just about cutting and sewing,” he said. “Now I realize that it’s a complex process.”

He paused, then looked up at Nana: "Do you think we could write a book about this method? How about calling it 'A Beginner's Guide to Clothing Making on Wilderness Star'?"

“Our current priority is survival,” she replied. “Publishing plans are not currently on the agenda.”

"Sigh, you robots just don't understand romance." He pouted. "When I actually publish a book someday, I'll definitely put half of your face on the cover."

He lowered his head and continued sewing.

The needle tip passes through the pre-drilled hole, and the thread is slowly pulled tight, forming a crooked but complete stitch.

He didn't stop, but took a deep breath, preparing to administer the injection.

The wooden needle hung in the air, swaying slightly.