The wooden needle tip hovered in the air for a few seconds before slowly falling.

This time, the line didn't break.

Chen Hao stared at the crooked yet complete and continuous stitch, as if he had witnessed a miracle. He didn't speak, but simply gently inserted the needle into the cork next to him, as if to give it a sigh of relief.

"Alright." He rubbed his numb fingers. "Practice alone isn't enough; we need real equipment."

He stood up, dusted off his trousers, and picked up a new piece of leather from the stone platform. This piece had been reprocessed by Nana last night; the edges were neat, and the surface still had a faint layer of dampness—she said she had wrapped it in moss and left it to sit overnight to soften the leather.

“Separate material for the shoulders.” He muttered as he pressed his fingernail along the projected shadow to make a mark. “Add triangular reinforcement under the armpits, leave pleats at the waist… We’re not after aesthetics, we just want it to be sturdy.”

He didn't rush to cut, but first clearly marked the positions of all the parts. He used charcoal to draw several thick lines on the leather, like dividing lines on a map. Then he cut piece by piece in order, each cut short and light, like sharpening a pencil, moving forward little by little.

When the first shoulder piece was formed, the sun was already high in the sky.

He held it up to the light, compared it to the projected outline, and flipped it back and forth twice.

"The curvature is alright, and the thickness is sufficient." He nodded. "Although it looks like it's been chewed by a dog, at least it's still usable."

Next is drilling.

He used the tip of a stone slab to poke small holes evenly along the seam, one centimeter at a time, neatly and precisely. The work was tedious, but he did it earnestly, humming an off-key tune as if to keep himself in rhythm.

“Pre-embedded anchor points,” he muttered to himself. “It sounds impressive, but it’s actually just like staples; you drill holes first and then thread the wire through.”

He re-twisted the yarn this morning, twisting it into two strands and then warming it by the fire. The plant fibers softened when heated, becoming less brittle and less prone to snapping when pulled.

When threading the needle, he held his breath and carefully tucked the thread end in little by little. After successfully threading it, he didn't rush to sew, but instead pulled on it a few times to make sure the thread wouldn't come undone before he officially started sewing.

The backstitch method involves advancing two stitches and retreating one.

He remembers it perfectly clearly.

The first needle went in, but it was off by half a point.

He pulled it out and started over.

The second injection was still crooked.

The third injection finally stabilized the situation.

He continued, pausing every two stitches to check the evenness of the stitches and whether the leather surface was bulging. On the fifth stitch, his finger slipped, almost pricking his palm, but he managed to pull the needle back without faltering.

The 10-centimeter seam is now complete.

He gently tugged at it; the connector wasn't cracked, and the wire wasn't broken.

"Huh?" He grinned. "It actually recognizes me as its owner?"

He didn't stop and continued sewing the second section.

This time the speed was noticeably faster, and my hands weren't shaking anymore. Although the stitches were still crooked like earthworms, at least they were connected and didn't look like they were about to fall apart.

"Looks like it's not that I'm clumsy," he muttered. "It's just that I was too impatient before, always wanting to get fat in one bite—oh, I was already fat to begin with."

Nana stood to the side, the camera flashed slightly, and blue light swept across every seam.

"The shoulder assembly is complete, the stress distribution is even, and there is no risk of tearing," she reported the data.

"Did you hear that?" Chen Hao gestured with his chin at her. "We're a regular army now."

He rested for a moment, drank some water, and then resumed working on the two main pieces of fabric for the front of the chest. This time, he changed his strategy, finishing all the cutting work at once. The shoulder piece, the front piece, and the underarm patch—five pieces in total—were neatly laid out on the ground, like puzzle pieces.

“Before, I would cut and sew at the same time, and my mind was a complete mess,” he said. “Now, it’s all done in a streamlined way. Cutting is cutting, drilling is drilling, and sewing is sewing. Nobody can cut in line.”

Drill holes, thread the needle, and push the needle back in.

After a set of movements, there was actually a sense of rhythm.

Around noon, the main structure of the jacket was finally pieced together.

He picked it up and shook it. Although it was rough in appearance and had some burrs on the edges, it looked like a piece of clothing overall—it had a collar, armholes, a clear front and back, and you could even see the shoulder line.

"Come on, let's see how it works." He took off his old emergency suit and put on the new one.

As soon as I put it on, it got stuck.

The cuffs are too tight; I can't move my arm halfway up.

"Oh my god!" He exclaimed, his face turning red. "Is this supposed to be armor for me, a warrior in armor?"

He tried to pull himself up, and the seam on his shoulder snapped open with a "pop," revealing a small tear.

"No, no, no!" He stopped immediately. "It's my manhood! If it's ruined, I'll have to start all over again in three days!"

He carefully took off his clothes, laid them flat on the stone surface, and stared at the cuffs for a long time.

“It’s not a big problem.” He touched the crack. “It’s just a bit narrower, about half a finger’s width.”

Instead of disassembling and redoing the entire section, he removed only five stitches, widened the opening, and then re-stitched it.

"It saves materials, saves time, and doesn't affect the overall structure," he said proudly. "This is called precision minimally invasive surgery."

After the alterations, I tried it on again, and this time it went much more smoothly. I could do basic movements like raising my arms, bending my elbows, and turning around. Although it was a bit tight, it didn't affect my movements.

"Barely passing," he commented. "I'll truly graduate when I can run two laps in them without them cracking."

Next up are the pants.

He chose a thick piece of leather to make the main body. The leg area needed to be flexible, so he referenced the design of emergency suits and made folds above the knees to increase the range of motion.

The first attempt failed.

There was a large bulge in the crease, and the wiring was twisted like a stepped-on wire.

"How come this thing is even harder to predict than an exam?" He scratched his head. "I followed the instructions exactly, so why doesn't it listen?"

He calmed down and recalled the slow-motion footage that Nana had shown.

Breathing-style needle manipulation—two needles tight, one needle loose.

He slowed down at the turning point, reducing pressure in advance to allow the thread to naturally conform to the fold. The second attempt was much better. Although it was still a bit uneven, at least there were no bulges and the thread didn't break.

He added an extra plant fiber drawstring to the waistband of the trousers, which can be adjusted for tightness. This way, even if there are slight errors in the cutting, the drawstring can compensate for them.

After the pants were shaped, he put them on, stood up and walked a few steps, then squatted down to try them on.

"Hey, it actually moves." He grinned. "Although it looks like it's pieced together from rags picked up by a homeless person, the key thing is—it doesn't fall apart!"

With the top and pants on, the person suddenly looked more presentable.

He was no longer a savage draped in animal skins, but rather resembled a proper primitive tailor engaged in handicrafts.

"Come on, let's do a scan." He turned around and gestured for Nana to scan.

Blue light swept from head to toe.

"The seam strength of the top meets the standard, the density of the insulation layer meets the standard, and the freedom of movement is acceptable," she reported. "There is a certain risk of friction and wear at the joints of the pants, and it is recommended to optimize the lining structure in the future."

"As long as it's wearable, it's fine." Chen Hao patted his chest. "At least I won't be shivering while sleeping by the fire tonight."

He walked back and forth around the campfire, raising his arms, bending over, and jumping twice in place. His clothes weren't torn, the threads weren't broken, and even the belts weren't loose.

“It’s a bit ugly, but practicality comes first,” he said. “Besides, with my build, I look like a sackcloth in anything, so I don’t need this one.”

He sat back down by the stone platform and began to organize his tools.

Wooden needles were inserted back into the cork pieces one by one, the remaining leather was neatly stacked and set aside, and the charcoal sticks and stone chips were also put away. The entire work area was tidied up, like a small workshop that had just finished work.

"Do you think we can teach this method to others?" he suddenly asked.

“There are currently no students to teach,” Nana said.

“Hey, I don’t really mean to teach.” He waved his hand. “I mean, what if new people come in the future? We can’t let them all hit a brick wall from the beginning, can we? We need to have a tradition.”

He paused, looking down at the wounds and stains covering his hands.

"Chapter One of 'The Wilderness Star Clothing Beginner's Guide': How to Avoid Sewing Yourself into Your Clothes," he read aloud. "Section One: Choose your thread carefully, or you'll be woken up in the middle of the night by the fibers; Section Two: Punch holes accurately, or you'll think you're sewing clothes, but you're actually making a sieve for yourself..."

Nana didn't reply, but the blue light flickered slightly, as if she was recording something.

Chen Hao smiled, picked up the last piece of spare thread, and prepared to reinforce the edge of his trousers.

He picked up the wooden needle, threaded it, and aimed it at the first hole.

The needle tip slowly approaches the skin surface.

The firelight reflected off his hand, casting a long, thin shadow that lay across the spot where the needle was about to fall.