The yellow wire inside the main unit was bent more noticeably, as if it had been slowly bent into an arch shape by an invisible hand.

Carl immediately turned on the cooling spray and sprayed it continuously at the bottom of the wire. A white mist instantly filled the air. He used tweezers to grab a metal plate and quickly wedged it into both sides of the wire, securing the deformed section. Three seconds after spraying, he released it, and the metal clamp firmly held the wire, which could have broken at any moment.

"It won't stop for now," he said, "but it can't get any hotter."

Nana slid her finger across the console, closing all background processes. The screen flickered a few times, eventually leaving only a cached image—the dark blue planet was still slowly rotating, updating only one frame every two seconds, its edges blurred, but it hadn't gone out.

"It starts in the lowest mode," she said. "It can only maintain basic audio and still images."

Chen Hao wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked up at the clock. The opening ceremony was about to begin in two minutes, and footsteps and voices could be heard outside as the audience entered.

He grabbed the megaphone and strode toward the booth.

The moment the lights came on, he stood in front of the holographic projection, and his voice rang out: "Everyone, welcome to the Cross-Civilization Cultural Festival."

The crowd fell silent for a moment, then applause erupted. Someone whispered, "Why is this image so choppy?" The person next to him pulled him aside, "What do you know? It's good enough that it's even displaying."

Chen Hao ignored him and continued, "This planet in front of us is the first Earth-like planet we've detected. Its atmospheric composition is similar to Earth's, and there are traces of liquid water on its surface. It's not on the star map; Nana dug it out from a discarded data stream."

When Nana heard her name mentioned, her fingers paused slightly. She quietly brought up the background program, created a new folder in the database, named it "Today's Records," and then saved a scanned copy of Susan's sunrise painting into it.

After Chen Hao finished his opening remarks, his legs felt a little weak as he walked off the stage. But he had a big smile on his face. He knew that his speech had actually exceeded the allotted time by ten seconds, but no one interrupted him.

The science and technology exhibition area gradually became lively. Several children gathered around the projection, pointing to the clouds on the planet and asking their mothers, "Does it really rain?"

Before the parents could answer, Nana's voice came over the radio: "According to meteorological models, this planet has a precipitation cycle of 312 days per year."

Everyone was startled. A man wearing glasses squatted down and asked the child, "Did you just press the question-and-answer button?"

The child nodded, still clutching the small green button in his hand.

Chen Hao stood to the side, grinning. He hadn't actually set up any question-and-answer system; he simply had Nana listen to the ambient sounds and automatically respond once she detected a keyword in a question. This feature, originally intended for testing voice interaction, had now become the most popular element in the exhibition area.

"One more!" a little girl raised her hand. "I want to know what aliens look like!"

Nana paused for a moment. "No signs of intelligent life have been found so far," she said. "But if they do exist, they might be more like potatoes than you imagine."

The crowd roared with laughter. Even Karl raised an eyebrow.

Susan stood at the entrance of the art exhibition area, watching the bustling scene, and quietly moved a painting to the side of the main passageway. It was a painting she had made of the base in the early morning, with sunlight shining on the metal roof and reflecting a faint golden hue.

She posted a note: Write down the emotions you understand and stick it next to the painting.

The first one was written by an old man: "Lonely. But warm."

Next, a young man said, "It's like the courtyard of my old home when I was a child."

More and more little notes were posted. Some wrote "hope," some drew a smiley face. Others wrote "hungry," which drew laughter.

When Carl returned from his rounds, he found that there was still hardly anyone around the sculpture "On the Verge of Falling." He moved a spare set of light fixtures, adjusted the angle, and let the light shine obliquely upwards from below. The sculpture cast a long shadow, forming a crack-like outline on the ground.

Someone stopped to take pictures. Then two more people who looked like students came and circled around them several times.

"What's holding it up?" one of them asked.

“An invisible force,” Carl said, “like trust.”

The man paused for a moment, then laughed: "You're quite the smooth talker."

“I’m stating the facts.” Carl looked down to check the base sensor. “Vibration amplitude of 0.3, normal.”

When Chen Hao strolled into the art district, he happened to witness this scene. On a whim, he ran back to the technology zone, grabbed a small sign, and wrote on it: "Susan's paintings were inspired by ecological data provided by Nana; the structural design of her sculptures was modeled by Carl."

He placed the sign in the middle of the exhibition area.

Sure enough, many people started running back and forth between the two. First they looked at the planet, then at the painting, and after looking at the painting, they turned back to Nana and asked, "Is the data you mentioned the cloud in the painting?"

Nana nodded: "The coordinates are the same, but the time difference is four hours."

"Wow." The person took out their phone. "I'm going to post this on my WeChat Moments."

The flow of people gradually formed a loop. People who finished their explanations in the technology area automatically moved to the art area, while those who had seen the sculptures curiously returned to the projector to ask questions. The atmosphere in the entire venue was like a lit fuse, burning all the way through.

Chen Hao stood in the central aisle, watching the crowd flow by, when he suddenly felt incredibly hungry. He reached into his pocket, looking for a biscuit, but instead pulled out a crumpled piece of paper that read, "Don't forget to eat lunch."

He remembered that he hadn't written it himself.

She looked up to find Susan, only to find her surrounded by a crowd. A woman wearing a hat grabbed her hand: "Can I buy one of your paintings?"

“Not for sale,” Susan shook her head, “but I can give you a printed copy.”

"Really? Thank you so much!"

Someone nearby said, "Could you make me a small sculpture too? Just this size." He gestured with his hand, indicating the size of a palm.

Susan thought for a moment: "We don't have enough materials, but I can teach you how to make it."

She took a small booklet out of her bag; the cover was handwritten with the words "Simple Metal Shaping Guide." She had hastily put together the night before.

Carl heard the noise and came over. He looked at the booklet and said, "Do you need me to add a page of circuit connection instructions for you?"

"You can draw?" Susan raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Carl said, “but I can draw standard wiring diagrams.”

The two immediately squatted down to revise the manual. Chen Hao watched with amusement, snapped a photo, and posted it on the public screen with the caption: "A typical collaboration between an artist and an engineer."

Immediately, comments appeared below: "Requesting an electronic version!" "When does the course start?"

Nana silently entered the manual into the system and marked it as "Cultural Festival Derivative Material Grade A".

Time flew by. Two hours passed, and the screen was still spinning. The image of the planet became increasingly blurry, and the frame rate dropped to once every five seconds, but the screen never went black.

Chen Hao touched the casing of the main unit every ten minutes. The temperature was a bit higher than before, but still within a manageable range. He didn't dare to relax and stayed nearby the whole time.

Susan was getting busier and busier. She set up a small interactive area where people could make miniature sculptures from scrap materials. A group of children crowded around, clumsily bending wire with pliers.

A little boy made something crooked and distorted, held it up, and asked, "Is this also considered art?"

“Yes,” Susan said, “as long as you think it makes sense.”

The boy happily placed it in the sand tray, lining it up with the other works.

Carl was constantly recording the motherboard temperature. Every thirty seconds, he would glance down at the handheld meter and jot down a number. His position hardly moved; he was like an integral part of the computer.

Nana's console was piled high with hastily generated data reports. She monitored the system load, answered audience questions, and archived and saved newly generated interactive content.

Chen Hao finally found a chance to catch his breath. He leaned against the wall, took a sip of warm water, and watched the people coming and going.

At this moment, a staff member ran over and said, "The host asked if the event could be extended because the audience doesn't want to leave."

"Ask Nana," Chen Hao waved his hand, "and see how much longer the machine can last."

Nana glanced at the system status: "The system must be shut down in fifteen minutes. Overheating has reached its limit."

“Then let’s hold on for another fifteen minutes.” Chen Hao straightened up. “I’ll go announce the final step.”

He walked up to the booth, cleared his throat, and said, "Next up is the last project of the day—'The Future Through Our Eyes.' Please describe the world you just saw in one sentence, and we will randomly select ten people to receive a souvenir."

The crowd became active again.

Someone shouted, "I hope houses can fly in the future!"

Another said, "I want to have a robotic cat!"

The little girl at the front raised her hand and said, "I hope the clouds on this planet will really bring rain!"

As Nana listened, she suddenly added a pre-set reply in the background. The next time someone mentioned "rain," she would reply, "According to the humidity model, the probability is 67 percent."

Chen Hao walked off the stage with a smile. As he passed the control panel, he noticed that Nana's indicator light was glowing a faint blue. He knew it was a sign that she was in a good mood.

Susan was helping an old man put on a homemade metal wreath. The old man laughed and said, "My grandson must think I've gone mad."

Carl squatted down next to the computer, opened his toolkit, and took out a spare wire. He didn't connect it; he just placed it aside for later use.

The planet on the display screen suddenly paused, the image freezing at halfway through the clouds.

Nana immediately switched the buffer source. Three seconds later, the image reloaded and continued to rotate slowly.

Chen Hao stood at the edge of the booth, looking at the swaying yet unyielding planet, a smile playing on his lips.

Just as he was about to say something, a slight crackling sound came from inside the main unit.

Carl looked up abruptly, dropping the thermometer he was holding to the ground.