The door was pushed open a crack, and the small cloth bag, still hanging on the doorknob, swayed slightly.

Chen Hao walked over and took it down, pausing as his fingers touched the fabric. He didn't open it immediately, but turned and walked towards the display stand. The room was already occupied; Susan was adjusting the lighting in front of the counter, Carl was squatting next to a machine tightening screws, and Nana's information screen was lit up, playing a video.

He placed the cloth bag at the front of the display stand, gently shook the opening, and the stained glass shards inside scattered, flashing a few times in the light.

“It happened yesterday,” he said. “Someone brought over the toys that the kids had taken apart.”

No one responded, but all three of them stopped what they were doing.

“It’s not waste.” He looked at the pile of fragments. “Someone thinks we can conjure something up from here.”

He looked up and around. The walls were covered with diagrams and flowcharts, the fan of the combing machine in the corner was still running, and the display cases contained nearly twice as many items as last week. Wicker bracelets, metal pendants, and jewelry made by encasing circuit boards in resin—each item had a label indicating its region of origin and the name of the provider.

"At first, I just wanted to create a holiday," he said. "But now it's become something I do every day."

Nana's information screen switched screens and automatically started playing a summary record. The first frame was a photo from the day of the cultural festival, with dozens of people crowded at the workshop entrance, holding freshly made items. Next was a curve showing the growth in the number of participants, from the initial three to new faces every week now. Following that was a statistics on the number of collaborations, with more and more names appearing, such as Area B, Area C, the repair team, the logistics station...

The last line appeared: "Materials were collected from 7 districts, with 23 co-initiators."

The video ended, the screen went dark for a second and then lit up again, indicating that it had been archived.

“The data doesn’t lie,” Chen Hao said. “We thought it was just for fun, but some people actually took it seriously.”

Susan walked to the display case and pointed to one of the star-shaped ornaments. "This one was made from scraps that were thrown away in section B," she said. "They later asked if we could make a few more, saying they wanted to give them to people who helped them last month."

Carl stood up and brushed the dust off his hands. “Last week, Section C borrowed two projectors,” he said. “They said, ‘We want to help with your cultural matters too.’”

"Look," Chen Hao chuckled, "At first we were begging them to come, now they're the ones asking us what else we can do."

He picked up the cloth bag and shook it gently; the glass shards made a soft, crackling sound.

“These things can’t be pieced together to form a complete pattern,” he said. “But if everyone takes a piece, they can put together something new.”

The room was quiet for a while.

Then Nana said, "Twelve regions have submitted letters of intent for long-term collaboration, eight of which have requested to participate in co-creation day activities regularly."

“Then it’s settled,” Chen Hao said. “From now on, the first Friday of every month will be a fixed open collaboration period. Anyone who is free can come, whether they bring materials, ideas, or just want to take a look.”

He walked to the whiteboard, turned to a blank page, and wrote the words "Co-creation Day".

“There are no requirements,” he said. “There’s no rush either. Whether you do it quickly or slowly, as long as you’re willing to put in the effort, it counts as one assignment.”

Susan took the pen and added below: "Provide basic tools and safety guidance."

Carl thought for a moment and added in parentheses: "Including operating guidelines for minors."

“Yes.” Chen Hao nodded. “Only things that even children can participate in can be truly implemented.”

Nana's information screen lit up again, displaying a new document title: "Construction Plan for Cultural Archives".

"All design drafts, process records, and participant comments will be archived in a unified manner," she said, "allowing for easy access and traceability at any time."

"Don't let any story disappear," Chen Hao said. "Some people may only come once in their lives, but what they leave behind must be remembered."

He glanced back at the display case; the "electro-trace bracelet" was still in its original position, with the provider's name on the label.

“What we’re doing now is not just making a souvenir,” he said. “We’re building a new habit—you help me a little, I help you a little, and in the end, no one can do without this chain.”

Carl leaned against the machine, hands in his pockets. "Before, people would only talk about mission progress," he said. "Now, people will ask, 'Could you teach me how to make that ornament you made last time?'"

“That’s right,” Chen Hao said. “Working isn’t the only goal; making friends while working is what makes it lasting.”

Susan said softly, "People are starting to use these handicrafts as gifts."

“I know,” Chen Hao laughed. “The day before yesterday, someone asked me if I could make a small version that could be worn inside the cuff of a work uniform.”

“It’s all designed,” she said. “We can start trial production next week.”

“It’s good,” he said. “The more ordinary the life, the better you can live.”

He looked down at his wrist, where he wore a rough rattan ring, a product he made on his first day, already worn and frayed.

“I’m not afraid of things being ugly,” he said. “I’m just afraid that no one will make them. As long as people keep making them, they will always get better and better.”

Nana brought up a map projection, with seven areas marked and lines connecting the center of the workshop.

"Currently, the collaborative network coverage rate has reached 63 percent," she said. "It is expected that the entire base will be connected within three months."

"No rush," Chen Hao said. "Take it slow. Going too fast will only make it easier for it to collapse."

He read the words on the whiteboard again to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

“This place will be more than just a workshop in the future,” he said. “It will be a place where people can stop and relax. If you don’t feel like talking, you can do some crafts; if you do feel like talking, you can find someone who is willing to listen.”

Susan looked at the exhibits in the display case and suddenly said, "Someone has started taking pictures."

What are you filming?

“I filmed what I made,” she said. “I posted it on a public channel, and people commented, ‘Can I learn this?’”

“Then reply to him,” Chen Hao said. “Yes, I’ll come tomorrow.”

Carl grinned. "Now people recognize me when I go out," he said. "Not because I fix machines, but because someone took the ornaments I made."

“This is more valuable than fixing a piece of equipment,” Chen Hao said. “Equipment may break down, but favors may not.”

He walked to the display stand, retied the small cloth bag, and put it on the top shelf of the cabinet.

“Looking back later,” he said, “we’ll find that it all started with such a small bag.”

Nana's information screen refreshed for the last time, displaying a message: "The draft of the long-term construction plan for cultural development has been generated and is awaiting submission for review."

“No need to rush to hand it over,” Chen Hao said. “Let it grow here for a few days first. Once it’s strong enough, then we can take it out.”

He looked around; none of the four people in the room had moved.

“We’re not afraid of being slow,” he said. “We’re afraid of stopping.”

Susan picked up a pen and drew a simple design on the new drawing paper.

Carl checked the machine's status and confirmed that the heat dissipation was normal.

Nana turned off the information screen, and the optical module flashed once.

Chen Hao stood in front of the booth, holding a whiteboard marker in his hand, staring at the words "Co-creation Day" for a long time.

A sound came from outside the door, and someone pushed the door open and came in.

He didn't turn around, he just said:

"When you arrive, register your name. The tools are on the second shelf on the right."