Le'an's little hands were still clutching the strip of cloth, her fingertips gripping it tightly, as if she wouldn't let go even in her dream. Chen Hao stared at that little movement for a while, then suddenly chuckled.

"This kid is just like me when I was grabbing vines on the cliff."

Susan opened her eyes, her voice a little hoarse: "What did you say?"

“It’s that uninhabited planet.” Chen Hao turned to look at her. “The time I almost fell off. The wind was so strong that I couldn’t stand steadily and my feet were slippery. I was hanging on the mountainside by holding onto a withered vine with one hand.”

Nana's voice rang out softly: "The weather data for that day has been archived. The wind speed is 4.2 meters per second, the temperature is 23.6 degrees Celsius, and your probability of selling is 78.3 percent."

Carl looked up and closed his notebook: "But he didn't fall."

"Of course." Chen Hao grinned. "I'm not afraid of dying, I'm just afraid that you'll have to spend effort to collect my body after I die."

Susan gave him a gentle nudge, but her lips twitched. She sat up straighter, leaning against the sofa armrest, her gaze fixed on the empty space in the center of the living room.

The lights dimmed, and a beam of light shone down from the ceiling, revealing a topographical map of the ground. Mountains, canyons, and dried-up riverbeds were clearly visible, and several red dots lit up in sequence, each marked with a number.

"This is...where we landed?" Susan asked.

“Marker number one,” Nana said. “Coordinates x7-329. The landing capsule tilted eleven degrees after impact, and oxygen reserves are 57 percent remaining.”

Chen Hao slapped his thigh: "That day, I had just climbed out when I stepped into a mud puddle, and my pants sank right up to my knees. Do you remember? Carl, you said back then, 'Humans underestimate their ability to adapt to the environment.'"

“I’m telling the truth,” Carl said without changing his expression. “You floundered in the mud for five minutes before you could stand up.”

"That's called a tactical adjustment!"

Susan smiled, her fingers unconsciously twirling the end of her hair. She looked at the second red dot on the map: "This is where the water source was discovered, right? It took us three days to find that underground stream."

“To be precise, it was Nana who found it.” Chen Hao turned his head. “She calculated the soil moisture data over and over again, and finally pointed to a rock and said, ‘Dig here.’ I dug with a shovel for half an hour, and water really did come out.”

“I thought it was a hallucination,” Susan said softly. “I hadn’t had any water for two days, and I was dizzy from the sun. When I saw the water flowing out, I pinched myself.”

"You pinched me." Chen Hao touched his arm. "It's been hurting all day."

The room fell silent for a moment, and the three of them looked at Nana at the same time.

Her screen flickered slightly, and her voice was a little lower than usual: "That day, after you finished drinking water around the puddle, Chen Hao wiped his face and said, 'Nana, you're part of our family now.' That was the first time I was called family."

No one spoke.

Carl looked down and opened his notebook, the pages rustling. He hadn't written anything in a long time, and the pen paused for a few seconds before finally putting it down.

“On the day the energy system collapsed,” he began, “the outside temperature dropped to minus nineteen degrees. The backup battery failed, and the heating was interrupted. Nana completed 327 calculations in seven hours and restarted the main control module. She did not request assistance or interrupt alarm monitoring during the process.”

"You remember it so clearly?" Chen Hao asked.

“The data doesn’t forget.” Carl closed his notebook. “But that night, you were all huddled in the corner of the control room, wrapped in blankets. Susan handed me the last heat patch and said, ‘You have a low body temperature and are more sensitive to the cold.’ At that moment, the logical model couldn’t explain my behavioral choices.”

"So you quietly shared your food with us?" Susan raised an eyebrow.

“The most efficient solution,” Carl said, “is to increase the survival rate of core team members by 34 percent.”

"You just feel sorry for us," Chen Hao laughed. "Stubbornness won't help."

Nana's map slowly rotated, and the third red dot lit up—the location where they had built their first shelter. A scene flashed across the screen: in a storm, a corner of the makeshift roof was torn open, and rain poured in. Susan huddled in the corner, clutching a heating element; Carl stood in the crack, shielding himself from the wind and rain with his own body.

“I thought I wasn’t going to make it through that night,” Susan said, watching the video. “I was so cold my teeth were chattering, and I thought I was going to get a fever.”

“You did have a fever.” Chen Hao scratched his head. “The next day, your temperature was 39 degrees Celsius, but you kept saying you were fine. I was so worried that I searched all over the mountain for fever-reducing herbs, but I ended up getting a leg scratched by a poisonous vine.”

“You came back covered in mud,” Susan said, looking at him. “But you were carrying that bundle of grass in your hand, running all the way back, falling three times.”

"It's worth it," Chen Hao chuckled. "You're the one who did it."

“But you’ve been lying in bed for two days,” Carl added. “The wound infection caused an inflammatory response, and if Nana hadn’t extracted the antibiotics in time, your mobility would have been impaired for at least two weeks.”

"I'm not dead." Chen Hao waved his hand. "Besides, even if I were dead, you'd have to collect my body, which is too much trouble."

Susan nudged him gently without saying a word. Her gaze fell on the last red dot on the map—the date they were waiting for the distress signal to be sent.

"The last few days were the hardest," she said. "I didn't know if the spaceship would come, or if I could hold out until then. The first thing I did every morning was look at the sky."

“I remember you wrote in your diary every day,” Chen Hao said, “using a charred stick to mark the date on a stone slab.”

"I'm afraid of forgetting the time," Susan whispered, "and I'm also afraid of forgetting who I am."

Nana's voice was soft: "On the 203rd day, Susan wrote: 'If anyone finds this stone, please tell Earth that we have survived to this day.'"

The room remained quiet for a long time.

Chen Hao leaned back against the wall and sighed, "Looking back now, it was really tough. We ate weird-tasting roots and stems, drank muddy water that had been filtered five times, and had to take turns sleeping to guard against wild animals. But we still made it through."

“Because I’m not alone,” Susan said.

“That’s right.” Chen Hao turned to look at her. “If it were before, a lazy fat guy like me would have given up long ago. I wouldn’t even write an extra question on a test, let alone dare to dream of surviving on an alien planet for three years.”

“You’ve changed,” Susan said, looking at him. “You’ve changed so much that I don’t recognize you.”

“You’ve changed too,” Chen Hao laughed. “You used to be afraid of even cockroaches, but now you can break apart poison ivy with your bare hands to save me.”

"Who told you to be so stupid?" Susan glared at him, but her eyes shone.

Carl slowly put the pen into his pocket and looked up out the window. The night was dark, and no stars could be seen.

“When I was on my home planet, my mission was to observe and record,” he said. “No intervention, no empathy, no building of bonds. But on this planet, I learned to wait for someone to eat, to laugh along even though I don’t understand the jokes, and to…feel sorry for other people’s pain.”

"Are you still an observer?" Chen Hao asked.

“No,” Carl said. “I’m family.”

Nana's projection gradually faded, the topographic map disappeared, leaving only a soft halo. Her indicator light flashed slowly, as steady as breathing.

“All conversations have been archived,” she said. “Title: Family Memories, Volume One.”

"I'll tell Le'an about it later," Chen Hao said, looking at the crib. "Let him know how miserable his parents were when they were young."

“I suggest adding physiological data for comparison,” Carl said. “For example, the real reason you lost 12 kilograms in the third month was not exercise, but food shortage.”

"Don't bring up my past!" Chen Hao covered his face. "I've worked so hard to maintain this image in his mother's eyes."

Susan chuckled softly, sliding her body down little by little until her head rested back on Chen Hao's shoulder. She closed her eyes, her breathing slowing.

"Tired?" Chen Hao asked.

"A little," she said softly, "but I don't want to miss out."

“Then listen.” Chen Hao held her hand. “There are still many things I haven’t told you. For example, the time Nana caught me stealing food from the reserves and punished me by making me work in the mines for three days; and Karl secretly fixed the radio and played an old song, only to find out he listened to it ten times in a row…”

Nana's screen lit up slightly, and the volume automatically turned down.

Carl didn't argue; he simply placed the notebook on his lap and gently stroked the edge of the cover with his fingers.

Only Chen Hao's low voice remained in the living room as he recounted the sandstorms, hunger, arguments, and embraces on a distant planet. Those days he once thought he wouldn't live to see tomorrow, he now spoke of with a smile.

In her dream, Le'an made a move; her little face scrunched up and then relaxed.

Chen Hao stopped and looked into the bed.

"That kid is sleeping so soundly."

Susan was already asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. Carl sat still, his gaze fixed on the sleeping child's face.

Nana's indicator light flashed once, then flashed again, like a night watchman nodding gently.

Just as Chen Hao was about to continue speaking, he suddenly heard a very soft sound.

Le'an opened her little mouth and uttered a muffled syllable.

Like "ah".

Chen Hao held his breath.

The next second, her little mouth moved again.

This time it's clearer.

"dad--"