Chen Hao yawned and rubbed his face. A few lights in the square were still on, making the ground appear white. He looked down at the faint indentation on his palm, a result of gripping the control board for too long. He ignored it and simply placed the bottle at his feet.

Susan stared at the little robot on the rock for a long time. Its wire-bent hand gleamed dimly in the light. She suddenly spoke: "If even a child can express their innermost thoughts using scrap material, why can't we let more people try?"

"What did you say?" Chen Hao looked up.

“I mean… could we start a group?” Susan’s voice was soft. “We can teach people to draw, do crafts, or express themselves however they want. It’s not for competitions or to showcase our talents, it’s just… when we want to do something, we want to have someone to do it with.”

Nana stood to the side, the plane leaning slightly forward, as if listening attentively.

Carl was crouching on the ground, closing the last equipment box. He stopped what he was doing, looked up at her: "Are you serious?"

“Yes.” Susan nodded. “The holiday is over, but the feeling is still there. I don’t want it to just disappear like that.”

Chen Hao slapped his thigh and stood up abruptly: "Then why don't you hurry up and get to work? There's so much I can do to help with this!"

"For example?" Susan raised an eyebrow.

“For example—” Chen Hao grinned, “I can be in charge of shouting, recruiting people, and even being the first student. Anyway, I don’t have much to do.”

"Last time you drew a flowchart, you even managed to draw smiley faces on the arrows," Susan laughed.

"That just means I have artistic talent!" Chen Hao said dismissively. "Besides, who says a drawing has to be realistic? Look at that kid's robot, its joints are so crooked they could fall off, but it's just like me. Do you still say it doesn't look like me?"

Susan didn't say anything, but the corners of her mouth curled up slightly.

Nana then raised her arm, her fingertips lightly touching the data interface on her wrist: "There are 372 interest community operation plans in the database. Based on the base's personnel structure and resource distribution, we recommend adopting a 'three-day promotion period + work display wall' model. The initial threshold is set to zero, and there are no skill level restrictions for registration."

"It sounds like an advertisement written by a robot," Chen Hao said, scratching his head.

“This is the optimal solution,” Nana said calmly. “Data shows that a sense of participation can increase a sense of belonging by 63.5 percent.”

Carl stood up and dusted off his pants: "I can handle the registration. The communication system can also send group notifications, covering all living areas and workplaces."

"You're willing?" Susan was a little surprised.

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have said it.” Carl’s tone remained unchanged, without any inflection. “Besides, I think this is more interesting than fixing the pipes.”

"Wow!" Chen Hao slapped him on the shoulder. "So you have an artistic soul too!"

Carl didn't dodge; he just swayed slightly.

“Then it’s settled.” Chen Hao turned to Susan. “You provide the content, Nana will come up with the plan, Carl will handle the communication, and I’ll create the buzz. Let’s get this team up and running.”

"And your name?" Susan asked.

“Let’s call it…the Art Creation Group,” Chen Hao blurted out.

"That's too blunt," Susan frowned.

"That's called the 'Skillful Hands Club'?"

"Even more fake."

"Free Expression Workshop?"

"Sounds like a repair shop."

The group was silent for two seconds, then laughed at the same time.

“Let’s call it the Art Creation Group,” Susan finally said. “Simple, and it doesn’t lie.”

"Alright!" Chen Hao waved his hand. "Let's begin now."

The first poster was put up on the bulletin board early the next morning.

The paper was old, with traces of a failed printing on the back. The front, however, was brand new. Susan had drawn a face by hand, pieced together from fragments of different colors; the eyes were blue glass panes, and the hair was a few strands of intertwined copper wire. Below was a line of large text:

What do you want to say? There are people here listening.

There was also a line of smaller print next to it: "Art Creation Group is recruiting members. No prior experience is required. Materials are recyclable."

Nana simultaneously released an electronic version through the internal communication system. The title consisted of only four words: **Start Speaking**.

Carl set up registration channels at terminals at three frequently used entrances; registration was as simple as swiping an ID card. He also added a note: **Just enter your name; no reason is required.**

Chen Hao wandered around, asking everyone he met, "Do you want to join an art class? No exam, and tea is provided."

Someone shook their head: "I haven't held a pen in over thirty years."

“That’s perfect,” Chen Hao said. “This time we can make mistakes.”

Some people hesitated: "Can I do it?"

"Whether it works or not is not important," he said. "The key is whether you want to try."

The first day passed, and no one signed up.

That evening, the four of them gathered again by the square. A corner of the poster was blown up by the wind, and Chen Hao casually placed a stone on it to weigh it down.

“People might think it’s a joke,” Susan said, looking at the empty registration list. “Or they might think this kind of thing won’t last long.”

"It's only been one day." Chen Hao leaned against the railing. "What's the rush?"

“Two days is normal,” Carl said. “Information needs time to spread.”

Nana stood in front of the control panel, the screen displaying the access log: "The electronic poster has been viewed 127 times, with an average viewing time of 44 seconds. More than half of the viewers have revisited the page."

"That means someone's watching secretly," Chen Hao laughed. "They just don't dare to make a move."

“Give them a little push,” he said.

The next day at noon, he added a small blackboard next to the poster, which read:

Yesterday, a child wanted to learn how to draw a moving robot.

He has already registered.

And you?

On the morning of the third day, Nana received her first official registration message.

Submitted by: Li Xiaoyang, age nine, position: none (student), with only one sentence in the remarks column: I want to learn to draw moving robots.

Submission time: 06:17.

Nana immediately pulled up the record of yesterday's craft class at the cultural festival. In the picture, the thin child sat in the corner, head down, twisting and bending metal wire one by one. He didn't look up at anyone else's work the whole time.

She pushed the information to the three terminals simultaneously.

“It’s him,” Susan said softly.

“The kid who gave you the robot.” Carl looked at Chen Hao.

Chen Hao didn't speak, looking down at his hand. The rough little robot still seemed to be lying in his palm.

Less than ten minutes later, a second registration message came in.

Wang Zhihua, Repair Team, Postscript: I want to try drawing with solder.

Next is the third one.

Liu Wen, a logistics and cleaning staff member, left no comment, only checking "willing to participate".

Then came the fourth, the fifth...

By noon, a total of seventeen applications had been received. These came from various positions including research, security, kitchen, and power. The oldest applicant was fifty-two years old, and the youngest was seven.

Chen Hao stood in front of the bulletin board, watching the electronic screen scrolling updates: "The art creation group has been established, and the date of the first meeting is yet to be determined."

He whistled.

“Someone is coming.” Susan looked at the list, her finger lightly swiping across the screen. “More than one.”

"There's no such thing as a once-in-a-lifetime event," Chen Hao said with a smile. "People are afraid of being alone. If you dare to start, they'll dare to follow."

Nana is updating database permissions to add all applicants to the new community directory. She has set up an auto-reply function: **Welcome to join us. The materials are ready and waiting for you.**

Carl silently noted down the time of the first meeting in his notebook, which he carried with him. The pages were slightly curled, but the handwriting was neat.

Susan folded the printed list and put it in her breast pocket. She looked around.

The poster was still swaying gently in the wind. The collage of the human face looked particularly bright in the sunlight.

"When do we start?" she asked.

“Anytime,” Chen Hao said. “As long as you’re ready.”

"I am ready."

"Then I'll go and inform everyone." Chen Hao took out his communicator, "and while I'm at it, I'll ask if anyone has any colored pencils."

“I can borrow it,” Susan said. “Old Zhang in the kitchen has a box of them, he said they were left over from last Children’s Day.”

"Then it's settled." Chen Hao pressed the call button. "Hey everyone, the art creation group has been formed! Anyone who wants to come, please take note, so you don't get lost!"

A few laughs came from the other end of the communicator.

Someone replied, "It's finally here. I've collected a bunch of scrap plastic sheets, just waiting to make something of it."

Someone else said, "Can I bring my son with me? He keeps drawing on the walls at home, and his mother is going crazy."

"Welcome the whole family!" Chen Hao said loudly. "We don't discriminate, we just need everyone to be committed."

He hung up the call and turned to look at the others.

Susan stood in the sunlight, clutching the list in her hand. Nana was closing the system interface. Carl closed his laptop.

Chen Hao opened his mouth, about to speak—

Footsteps approached from afar.

A child in overalls ran up, holding half a colored pencil in his hand, and asked breathlessly, "Uncle! Is it still possible to register?"