When Susan returned, Chen Hao was switching the terminal interface to the data statistics page. A row of numbers lay quietly on the screen: the number of violations reported was 60% less than last week, and the number of people scanning the QR code to learn was still rising.

"I forgot to mention," she said, leaning against the doorframe, "Old Zhou asked me to pass on a message to you."

"What?"

He said, "Now that the rules are in place, we have to let them run their own course."

Chen Hao nodded without saying a word. He stared at the rising curve for two seconds, then suddenly spoke up: "Let's hold a meeting."

What meeting?

“A cultural sharing session.” He tapped his finger on the table. “It’s not a lecture or a hearing, it’s just a place for people to sit down and talk about their own experiences.”

Susan was taken aback. "You're really planning to do this?"

"Otherwise what?" Chen Hao pushed his chair back, stood up and stretched. "Rules can control what you do, but not what you say. Now everyone is afraid to do anything reckless, but you can't keep your true feelings bottled up either."

He walked to the wall and tore off an old notice. As the corner of the paper curled up, a small piece of plaster fell off the wall and landed on the ground, untouched by anyone.

“We’ll do it right here,” he said. “Remove a few rows of chairs and make room. It starts at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Participation is not mandatory, but if you come, you have to speak.”

Susan looked at him: "Are you serious? These kinds of events are prone to awkward silences, and nobody wants to be the first to speak."

“I know.” Chen Hao pulled out a stack of blank cards from the drawer. “So we can’t just have them sit and listen. We need to divide them into groups, take turns, and have them talk about specific things.”

He took out a pen and wrote a title on the card: **The most outrageous violation I've ever committed**.

“Let’s start with this.” He handed the card to Susan. “Whoever dares to speak first gets a packet of instant coffee.”

"You're quite willing to do that."

"We still have seventeen packs left in stock, might as well use them."

As the two were talking, Nana slid in from the end of the corridor. Her chassis made a slight vibration as it pressed against the crack in the floor, and the optical module flashed, announcing the current time and ambient temperature and humidity.

“Unplanned gathering behavior detected,” she said. “Initiate recording mode?”

“Start,” Chen Hao said. “This isn’t a law enforcement record; it’s an activity registration. It’s called ‘Gossip Base,’ and the theme is—People on the margins, their mouths don’t stay shut up.”

Nana paused for half a second. "This naming scheme has the risk of ambiguity. I suggest changing it to 'Community Experience Exchange Meeting'."

"So who's going to come?" Chen Hao waved his hand. "Let's call it 'Gossip Base.' The less serious the topic, the more curious people will be."

Susan chuckled. "Then you'll have to make the topic a bit more hurtful. Like 'Why I hate the rules,' or 'That time I almost killed someone by breaking the rules.'"

“We can add it to the shortlist.” Chen Hao took out another card and wrote a new title. “But let’s keep the first round light and not scare people away right away.”

At that moment, Carl walked over from the direction of the repair station, carrying a loose wire connector in his hand.

"I heard you're going to hold a sharing session?" he asked, standing at the door. "What's the schedule? My equipment maintenance is scheduled until noon the day after tomorrow."

"It will end at 3 pm tomorrow and is expected to last two hours," Chen Hao said. "The process is simple: the first forty minutes will be individual presentations, followed by four roundtable discussions, with one recorder for each group."

Who recorded it?

“Volunteers.” Chen Hao pointed to the poster sketch Susan had brought. “We’ll post it out to recruit people. Each person who serves one event will receive a priority meal in return.”

Carl frowned. “Time is too tight. The sound system needs to be tested, and the backup power needs to be checked. And—” He looked up at the main light on the ceiling, “this place is too much like an office; nobody can relax here.”

"So we have to make changes," Chen Hao said. "The curtains, the lights, the seating—everything has to be changed. We can't let them feel like they're being interrogated."

Ten minutes later, the four of them gathered around the control panel for a meeting. Nana pulled up a small community activity structure model from the database, and the screen listed three common formats: one-way presentations, Q&A interactions, and group rotations.

"The analysis shows that the group rotation model had the highest participation rate," she said. "The average speaking time increased by 53 percent, and the proportion of silent participants decreased to 18 percent."

“This is it,” Chen Hao decided. “I’ll start by telling a story to warm up the audience, then we’ll divide into groups of six to eight people each, and we’ll switch tables after thirty minutes.”

Who is hosting?

"I'll volunteer," Chen Hao said. "I'll fill in for any group that's empty."

The task assignments were quickly finalized: Susan was in charge of venue setup and visual design, Carl coordinated the timeline and provided technical support, Nana prepared audio backups and real-time recording, and Chen Hao was in charge of theme setting and opening guidance.

"There's one more thing," Chen Hao added. "No reading from prepared speeches, no bureaucratic jargon. Anyone who stands up and says 'according to Article X, Clause X,' will be asked to leave the stage immediately."

Susan jotted down the key points and turned to find the volunteers. Carl, on the other hand, contacted the maintenance team to borrow a transport vehicle to clean the central area. Several spare equipment boxes, which had been piled up around the dispatch console, took up about a third of the space.

In less than half an hour, the boxes were moved away. The original seams on the ground were exposed, like floor tiles that hadn't been turned over in a long time finally seeing the light.

When Susan returned with two workers, she carried several rolls of colorful fabric and a string of handmade paper lanterns. They hung the fabric on a frame to create a semi-open area, and then hung a hand-drawn map of the planet's ecology from the top—a replica of the original manuscript from when the base was first built.

"This is getting interesting." Chen Hao stood at the door and looked around. "It doesn't look like a meeting, it looks more like... preparations for a dinner party."

“The point is to make it feel less like a meeting.” Susan squatted down to connect the light cord. “People will only tell the truth when they feel safe.”

Carl then adjusted his portable speaker and played a short piece of soft music. The volume was low, just enough to drown out the low rumble of the pipes in the distance.

"The speakers are dual-channel, and the switching between primary and backup can be completed within three seconds," he said. "The projector stand is also installed, and we can play a guide video when needed."

Nana updated the workflow chart accordingly, specifying each step down to the minute, and set reminder ringtones.

“The lighting intensity was still too high,” she said. “I recommend dimming it by 40 percent to reduce the feeling of oppression.”

Chen Hao pressed the switch on the wall, and the lights slowly dimmed. The originally cold white light turned yellowish, casting a soft glow on the curtains.

“Okay,” he said. “Move two more rows of chairs in and arrange them in an arc. Leave space in the middle so it’s easy to move around.”

Everyone continued working. A worker climbed a ladder to secure the last painting, accidentally knocking over a sensor in the corner. The alarm sounded for half a second before being quickly deactivated by Carl.

“It’s alright,” he said. “Automatic detection is off, manual monitoring is on.”

Chen Hao didn't blame anyone. He checked his watch; there were still twelve hours left until the scheduled time.

"I'll start the first topic tomorrow," he said. "I'll talk about the first time I was caught violating the rules."

"Have you ever done that?" Susan looked up.

“Of course,” he laughed. “Did you think I was this law-abiding from the start?”

Tell me about it.

"No," Chen Hao shook his head. "I'll save it for tomorrow. Otherwise, you'll be surprised if you find out beforehand."

Susan rolled her eyes at him and continued adjusting the angle of the paper lantern. A lantern hung in the center, swaying slightly, its shadow sweeping across the ground.

Nana walked to his side and quietly announced the equipment usage hours for tomorrow. As Chen Hao listened, he crossed out an old arrangement on the card.

Carl added a note at the end of the flowchart: **If a group's discussion exceeds the time limit, the facilitator has the right to interrupt and prompt the discussion to end.**

"We can't let them get so carried away that they can't stop talking," he said.

"We can't be too harsh on them," Chen Hao said. "Some people never get to hear a single word from them in their entire lives, so what's wrong with letting them say a few more words?"

“Then let’s set up a buffer zone,” Karl changed his mind. “Exceeding five minutes won’t be considered a violation.”

"Okay." Chen Hao nodded. "It's settled then."

Everyone remained in their positions. Susan crouched down to check the stability of the last light, Carl stared at the flowchart to confirm the timelines, and Nana stood in the corner on standby, the optical module dimly lit.

Chen Hao held the unfinished list of topics in his hand. Several new items had been added:

- The time I was stopped was the one I was most grateful for.

- The person I didn't apologize to

Did the rules save my life?

- I actually really wanted to take advantage of the loophole.

Just as he was about to flip the card over, Susan suddenly looked up.

What if no one takes the initiative to speak?

Chen Hao put down his pen.

“Then I’ll go first,” he said. “After I’m done, I’ll call on someone to take my turn.”

Whom do you want to order?

“Random.” He tossed the card into the air and let it fall. “The person whose number corresponds to the card that lands facing up will go on stage.”

The card landed on the edge of the lamplight and stopped. The front read: **The most outrageous violation I've ever committed.**

Number seven.

Chen Hao bent down, picked it up, and glanced at it.

"Tomorrow," he said, "starting from the 7th."