Carl stood by the window, his shadow pressed against the glass. Susan's fingers were still tapping on the table, the rhythm slow but persistent. Nana's screen resumed scrolling, as if the previous words hadn't interrupted anything, or perhaps she had memorized everything.

Chen Hao opened the door and leaned half his body in, "By the way, who's on duty for the first day?"

No one spoke.

"Let's draw lots," he said. "That's fair."

Susan pulled three slips of paper from her bag, tore them into different sizes, crumpled them into balls, and threw them on the table. "Whoever draws the one with the red dot is the first administrator."

Nana raised her hand. "I can't participate. I'm the system recorder."

"You weren't even human to begin with," Chen Hao laughed.

She didn't refute it; the optical module flashed, as if it had tacitly agreed.

Carl walked back, picked up a crumpled piece of paper, and unfolded it—it was white. Susan opened a second one; it was also white. The last one remained on the table.

Chen Hao reached out to grab it, "I can't be that unlucky, can I?"

He unfolded it—there was a red dot of nail polish on the corner of the paper.

"Damn it." He slammed the paper on the table. "You just explained the rules and now you have to follow them yourself. That's called reaping what you sow."

“You suggested it.” Susan handed her the pen. “From now on, you are the administrator. You have the authority to issue warnings, lock permissions, and organize discussions.”

"I'm warning myself now not to stay up all night." Chen Hao took the pen and wrote in the notebook, "First rule: Chen Hao, stayed up all night last night, violating the rest regulations, banned from entering the laboratory for twelve hours. Not to touch the equipment before nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

“You’re too ruthless,” Carl said.

"To set rules, you have to cut flesh from your own bones." He looked up. "Otherwise, who will believe you?"

Nana suddenly spoke up: "The preliminary model of the resource allocation draft has been completed."

The projection switches, and a table appears. It has two columns: Request Submission and Contribution Points.

“Basic supplies are allocated according to survival needs,” she said. “Food, water, and electricity rations are fixed for each person. Additional resources are calculated based on a weighted average of mission risks and outcomes.”

"What do you mean?" Chen Hao asked.

“For example, Susan’s ecological mapping is energy-intensive, but it’s a long-term, cumulative task.” Nana pulled up the data. “Karl’s mass spectrometry analysis requires a lot of computing power per run, making it a high-load task. Both should receive bonus points.”

"Then what about me taking photos every day?" Chen Hao pointed to himself, "Writing a diary for the grass, is that considered a contribution?"

"The image recording completeness is over 90%, with no omissions for seven consecutive days," Nana said. "The system has automatically added it to the basic points pool."

"You're secretly keeping accounts?" he glared at.

“I told you I could remember,” she said. “For the past six days, you’ve been second in points, just behind Carl.”

"What? I'm taller than Susan?"

Susan sneered, "While I was drawing yesterday, you were lying in a chair eating an energy bar."

"That's to replenish my energy!" Chen Hao protested. "Besides, I didn't stop recording. Who among you dares to say they didn't miss a single day?"

Carl checked his terminal. "I had two delays in uploading data because the device restarted."

“That counts as a miss,” Nana said. “The system marks it as ‘non-continuous operation’ and it’s not counted in the total contribution for that day.”

Chen Hao grinned. "See? I'm not the worst."

“But this isn’t a competition,” Susan said. “We’re not here to compete for points. We’re here to figure out how people live on this planet.”

“But with so many people, there needs to be a standard,” Carl said. “Otherwise, who should use the last centrifuge? By connections? By seniority? Or by drawing lots?”

“Then let’s set a limit,” Susan said. “Points can only be exchanged for resources, not for privileges. For example, you can’t use points to buy other people’s time, nor can you skip the queue.”

“Agreed.” Chen Hao scribbled on his notebook. “The points system is established. But add one condition: the points will be reset at the end of each month to prevent people from accumulating points and not using them, thus turning them into hidden power.”

“It works.” Nana entered the command, “The system will automatically settle and reset on the last day of each month.”

“Next question,” Carl said, opening his notebook, “Environmental protection.”

"Environmentally friendly?" Chen Hao frowned. "We even use chemical decomposition in our toilets, so where does the pollution come from?"

Susan pulled up a chart: "This is an analysis of impurities in soil samples collected last week. The concentration of microplastic particles is nearly five times higher than three months ago. There are also metal residues, from discarded sensor casings."

"Shouldn't these things be piled up in the recycling area?" Chen Hao asked.

“Some people didn’t handle it according to regulations,” Nana said. “In the past thirty days, the purification chamber has been activated forty-seven times, all due to overload of external pollutants.”

"Who did this?" Chen Hao asked Karl.

“It wasn’t me,” he said. “But I checked the logs. All three operations were at night, and the identities were not registered.”

"Unregistered resident?" Chen Hao raised his voice.

“It’s more likely that he forgot to swipe his card,” Susan said. “But the result is the same—the environment is getting worse.”

"So you're going to establish a new rule?" Chen Hao asked.

“It’s not just about rules,” she said. “It’s about the bottom line. This planet isn’t a dumping ground. We use its resources, so we have to protect it.”

"What if someone insists on littering?" Chen Hao asked. "Should we punish them by making them sweep the floor, or deduct points from their record?"

“We will establish ecological protection red lines,” Susan said. “Three rules: prohibit the indiscriminate discharge of waste, prohibit the destruction of the landform for material extraction, and prohibit the overuse of non-renewable materials. One violation will result in the suspension of all resource access for 48 hours.”

"Isn't that too strict?" Chen Hao scratched his head.

"You think it's not strict enough?" she retorted. "What if the mycelium dies from heavy metal poisoning one day? Will we starve?"

The room was quiet for a few seconds.

“I support it,” Carl said. “Ecological collapse is irreversible. Prevention must come first.”

"Can Nana be monitored?" Chen Hao asked.

“Yes,” she said. “The environmental sensor network already covers a five-kilometer radius around the base. Any abnormal emissions or terrain changes will be automatically recorded and trigger an alarm.”

“Then add it.” Chen Hao wrote in his notebook, “Fourth code of conduct: Ecological protection red line. Triggering an alarm is considered a violation, and the administrator will review and impose penalties.”

“But we need to leave an appeal channel,” Susan said. “What if it’s a false report?”

“Record the explanation on the spot.” Chen Hao recalled the suggestion from last night, “and record it in the system afterwards, with the administrator giving a ruling within 72 hours.”

“I’m adding a monitoring mechanism,” Carl said. “Nana is responsible for recording and issuing alerts, but not for direct penalties. All alerts must be confirmed by the rotating administrator before they take effect.”

"Human-machine collaboration." Chen Hao nodded. "Robots handle the evidence, humans handle the judgment."

“The system is ready,” Nana said. “A simulation test can be conducted.”

"Come on," Chen Hao stood up, "let's put on a show."

He walked up to the terminal and deliberately poured a glass of water on the floor, "assuming it was a waste liquid leak, and then left without cleaning it up."

The alarm sounded immediately, and a red light flashed.

Nana's voice broadcasts simultaneously: "Abnormal liquid discharge detected, location: east side of the conference room floor. Operator identified as Chen Hao, time: 2:03 PM. It is recommended to initiate the violation procedure."

“Received.” Carl, playing the administrator, said, “Notify the person in charge to handle this immediately and submit a written explanation.”

"I've taken care of it." Chen Hao wiped the floor with a mop.

“The system records have been cleared,” Nana said, “but I haven’t received any explanation. There are two hours left; otherwise, it will be marked as concealment.”

"I'll fix it," Chen Hao said to the terminal. "828th test, artificially simulated leak, now cleaned up. Purpose: to verify the process."

"The statement has been entered," Nana said. "The incident is closed and does not constitute a violation."

“Okay.” Chen Hao sat down. “This system is even stricter than my homeroom teacher.”

“But it’s not emotional,” Carl said. “And it’s not biased.”

“But it doesn’t know how to be flexible,” Susan said. “For example, if it’s raining outside and we temporarily change the sampling route, moving the equipment beyond the originally planned area, would that be considered a violation?”

“No,” Nana said. “The system will make a comprehensive judgment based on weather data, mission objectives, and personnel movement. No alarm will be triggered unless there is a subjective deviation.”

"What if someone deliberately takes a detour to mine?" Chen Hao asked.

“Mineral exploration is not part of our routine tasks,” she said. “An alarm will be activated immediately if unauthorized excavation is initiated.”

“That sounds fine.” Susan finally nodded.

"There's one more thing," Chen Hao said, flipping through his notebook, "Freedom of Exploration Day."

“One day a month,” Susan said. “No topic restrictions, no attendance records, and no reporting required.”

"Even if I disassembled the console and put the game console in place that day, nobody cared?" Chen Hao asked.

“Nobody cares,” she said, “but you have to fix it yourself.”

"Deal." He drew a checkmark.

“However…” Susan paused, “I want to add a condition.”

"More?" Chen Hao groaned.

“It’s not a restriction,” she said, “it’s a reminder. After each free exploration day, everyone has to submit an ‘inspiration briefing.’ It doesn’t have to be long, just a hundred words. Once you’ve written it, you’ve completed the task.”

"Why?" Karl asked.

"I'm afraid everyone will actually go and sleep all day," she said. "Since we've given them freedom, we have to give them something in return. Otherwise, no one will be willing to give up this day next time."

“I can accept it,” Chen Hao said. “Anyway, I’ll definitely have something to say then. Maybe I can even find the alien Wi-Fi password.”

Nana suddenly said, "The integration of the rules module is 60% complete. The first draft is expected to be completed in 40 minutes."

"Don't rush," Chen Hao said. "I still want to make a few more changes."

“If you change it now, it’s like making me recalculate,” she said. “I suggest we reach a consensus first, and then update in batches.”

"You still find me annoying?" he laughed.

“My processor isn’t limitless,” she said. “Frequent modifications impact efficiency.”

“Listen,” Chen Hao turned to the others, “the robot has started complaining.”

No one laughed.

But the atmosphere relaxed a bit.

Susan leaned back in her chair, tapping the table lightly with her pen. Carl was drawing his flowchart, the lines sharp and clear. Nana's screen continued scrolling, categories popping up one by one: Schedule Management, Resource Allocation, Code of Conduct, Monitoring Mechanism, Special Clauses.

Chen Hao looked at the red circles on the notebook and muttered, "Points reset, environmental protection red line, Freedom Day, human-machine collaboration... almost done."

“We’re still missing one,” Susan said.

"What?"

"Emergency situations," she said, "like someone being injured and needing immediate life-saving equipment, without time to follow procedures. Is that considered a violation?"

Chen Hao was stunned.

“No,” he said, “but that’ll have to be explained later.”

“Then let’s add an exception clause,” Carl said. “The principle of life first. Any unconventional procedures performed for the rescue of personnel or critical systems, with documentation recorded within 48 hours afterward, will not be considered a violation.”

“Agreed.” Chen Hao wrote it down. “Fifth additional rule: Life takes precedence. Everything is based on saving lives.”

“The system has already included it,” Nana said.

Chen Hao closed his notebook and stretched. The clock on the wall pointed to 2:17 PM.

“We argued all morning,” he said, “and we actually managed to produce something.”

“It’s just a draft,” Carl said.

“But we’re heading in the right direction,” Susan said.

"What's next?" Chen Hao asked.

Just as Nana was about to answer, a notification suddenly popped up on the screen:

[WARNING: Unregistered heat source movement detected 20 meters outside the western fence of the base]