As dawn broke, the maintenance team's lights were still on. Chen Hao squatted in the corner, rummaging through a cardboard box. Inside were leftover drafts of the plans printed last night and a few blank poster sheets. He pulled one out, dusted it off, held it up to the light to check its thickness, and muttered, "If this paper were a little thicker, I could use it as a shield to block the food flying in from the cafeteria."

Nana stood by the table, the terminal screen lit up, displaying a thumbnail of the cultural festival implementation plan finalized yesterday. She tapped a key, breaking down the three main sections into several keyword boxes, and dragged them into a new document. "Susan's design reference data has been generated," she said. "Visual elements suggested include handprints, puzzle edges, and sound wave lines."

"Don't make it too abstract." Chen Hao flattened the paper. "People here, when they see a circle, their first reaction is a rice bowl, not the universe."

Susan was sharpening a pencil at another table and didn't even look up when she heard this: "I've already drawn a big hand, with each of the five fingers forming a board, and I've added some signal lines to the background. If you think it looks like an electrical wiring diagram, I can't stop you."

Carl leaned over from next door, a thick marker in his hand. "The theme is finished." He slammed a piece of paper on the table. "'We are together,' six words, filling the top half of the page, with three event names listed below. The font is large enough to be seen from ten meters away."

Chen Hao leaned closer to take a look. The characters were indeed large, with straight horizontal and vertical strokes, as if they had been written using a ruler.

"You've also practiced calligraphy?" he asked.

“I haven’t practiced,” Carl said, “but I know how to make the writing look like it was written on the spot.”

Susan took the manuscript, placed it above the drawing board to check its position, and nodded: "Okay, it holds up the picture." She began to draw lines, the pencil scratching on the paper, the outline of the figure gradually taking shape.

Chen Hao paced back and forth, holding a poster paper. "What about the slogan? We can't just write words; we need to make sure people know what to do at a glance."

Nana pulled up a clip from the audio recording: "You said at the meeting—'Write down what you want to say here.'"

"That sounds familiar," Chen Hao said. "It sounds like a notice posted on someone's door."

“But it understands,” Nana said. “Database shows that more than 70% of effective slogans come from natural dialogue.”

Susan wrote this sentence in the corner of the canvas, next to a small box illustration. "This is the 'Heartfelt Words Wall'," she said. "And add a small line next to it: It's not shameful to write it, it's a loss not to write it."

"Good heavens," Chen Hao laughed out loud, "This is forcing people to write."

“That’s how it has to be.” Susan tossed her pen aside. “Some people are stubborn, they have a lot to say. We give them an opening, and they’ll let it all out themselves.”

Carl, who was checking the text layout again, suddenly looked up and said, "Should we add a prompt to the Night of Sounds? Like 'What you say goes'?"

“No,” Nana immediately objected. “Participants might be worried about being remembered. Anonymity should be emphasized.”

“Then write it down—” Chen Hao continued, “each of you say one sentence, and we’ll listen to the whole thing.”

“That’s fine,” Susan nodded. “It doesn’t sound heavy, and it’s not untrue.”

The group finalized the slogans for the three main areas:

**Jigsaw Puzzle Wall: Each piece you put together adds a page to history.**

**Wall of Heartfelt Words: Write down what you want to say here.**

**Night of Voices: One person speaks a sentence, and we listen to the whole thing.**

By the time the poster draft was finished, the sun had already climbed over the roof ventilation window. Susan blew on the still-wet edges of the paint and carefully rolled up the entire sheet of paper. Carl sealed both ends with tape and handed it to her: "Don't smudge it."

"I'll put it up." Chen Hao took it. "Nana, can you add a QR code to the heat map? Scan it to listen to the pre-heating audio."

“Okay.” Nana opened the design template and inserted a grid code in the lower right corner. “The link points to the edited discussion recording, which will last about one minute and twenty seconds.”

"It started when I said, 'The water in the glass is cold'?" Chen Hao asked.

“There’s a five-second gap in that section,” Nana said.

“Keep it,” he said. “Let people hear how long the silence can last.”

Nana clicked "Confirm." The QR code was successfully generated, with a small note next to it: "Scan the code to hear our voice."

The first poster was put up at the cafeteria entrance. Breakfast had just ended, and a few grains of rice were still on the ground. Chen Hao stood on tiptoe and pressed the poster against the wall, securing the four corners with nails. Nana stood two steps away, watching, and pointed out, "The left side is three centimeters too low."

“This isn’t an art museum,” Chen Hao said as he knocked. “As long as it’s visible, that’s fine.”

“Being able to see doesn’t mean you can see,” Nana said. “Position affects how long attention spans. Being five centimeters higher makes it easier to catch something with your eyes.”

Chen Hao had no choice but to pull the nails out again. This time they were aligned, and he stepped back so the two of them could look at them together.

The posters were spread out on the gray-white wall; the colors weren't particularly vibrant, but the lettering was large enough and the images were clear enough. Passersby gradually stopped in their tracks.

"Is this some kind of party?" a woman in overalls asked.

"Sort of," Chen Hao said. "It's a cultural festival called 'We Are Together.' You can participate in things like puzzles, writing, or listening to people talk."

"You can write about anything?" she asked.

“Anything can be written,” Nana said. “No restrictions on content, no need to sign your name, just put it in the box.”

The woman laughed: "Then I'll have to think about who to scold."

The second poster was put up in the maintenance team's handover area. Carl was leading his team to change shifts when he saw the poster up and simply said, "The location is correct."

Chen Hao dusted off his hands: "Aren't you going to say something nice?"

"Whether the work is done well or not, we'll see the results," Carl said. "It's too early to say anything now."

But he neither tore it off and re-pasted it, nor did he ask anyone to move it to another location.

The third stop was the main corridor of the living quarters. This was a necessary route, with the heaviest traffic in the mornings and evenings. Nana pulled up the heat map on her terminal and confirmed that this point covered more than 70% of the daily travel routes.

Just as Chen Hao unfolded the poster, a young man wearing glasses came over and asked, "Can this jigsaw puzzle really be assembled?"

“Yes,” Nana said. “Each person can submit one piece, and the materials will be provided by the base.”

Can I send a smiley face?

“Okay,” Nana said. “The system will record the shape and position.”

The young man took out a pen, sketched a draft in his notebook, and muttered, "I'm going to put it in the middle so everyone can see me smiling every day."

After walking for a while, Chen Hao suddenly stopped: "Should we add a light at night? This corridor is dark at night, I'm afraid no one will notice us."

“We can add one,” Nana said, “but we need to apply for a power interface.”

“Let’s get Carl to approve it,” Chen Hao said. “Just say that sacrificing a little electricity for cultural undertakings is worthwhile.”

“He can calculate energy consumption,” Nana said. “He suggests explaining the expected rate of return.”

“I’ll say it—” Chen Hao grinned, “For every additional person who looks at the poster, the mental health index rises by 0.1 points.”

“The data is unfounded,” Nana said.

“Then you make one up,” Chen Hao said. “He won’t know anyway.”

“I don’t falsify data,” Nana said, “but I can use simulated values.”

They continued walking; two posters remained to be put up. As they rounded the corner, two security guards on patrol approached. One of them stared at the poster for a long time before suddenly speaking, "That 'Moment of Light'... was it the sentence I wrote after fixing the ventilation duct that day that got selected?"

"The content has not yet been extracted," Nana said. "It will be read aloud on the day of the festival."

"Oh." The man scratched his head. "I was just asking. I was quite nervous when I was writing it that day."

"This proves it's effective," Chen Hao said. "Even the pipe repairman wants to leave some trace, so this part is done."

The last poster was pasted on the outer wall of the medical facility. There used to be a list of medication dispensing rules there, but someone had torn half of it off. Chen Hao covered it up, hammering the nails firmly in place.

"Alright." He cracked his knuckles. "All three high-traffic areas are in place."

Nana closed the terminal: "The feedback collection system has been activated. Over the next 24 hours, we will monitor the duration of stay, the number of scans, and the frequency of verbal inquiries."

"I reckon someone will come asking tomorrow if they can write a few more notes," Chen Hao said, "or they might want to make their jigsaw puzzle particularly elaborate."

“Personalized expression is allowed,” Nana said, “as long as it doesn’t disrupt the overall structure.”

They walked back down the corridor, and as they passed the cafeteria, they noticed several people gathered around a poster, pointing and commenting. A child tried to touch a QR code, but an adult pulled him away, saying, "Don't scan it randomly, what if it's a virus!"

"This isn't an advertisement," the child exclaimed. "It's a cultural festival!"

Chen Hao smiled but didn't step forward to explain. Some things, once spread, become the truth.

Nana suddenly stopped in her tracks: "Should we add nighttime signs?"

“Add it,” Chen Hao said. “Otherwise, in the dark, who can see clearly what you want to say? Write it here.”

“I can design reflective stickers,” Nana said. “I can make them using scraps, so the cost is controllable.”

“Then you do it,” Chen Hao said. “I’ll be responsible for persuading Karl to take over the electricity.”

They turned and walked towards the repair area. Sunlight slanted across the wall, and a corner of a poster curled up slightly. A breeze blew, and the page trembled gently, as if it were about to fly away.