Even after the flames died down, the weld still glowed a dark red.
Chen Hao didn't let go; the welding torch hovered in mid-air, as if afraid of disturbing something that had just fallen asleep. He slowly exhaled, and the breath hit the protective mask, condensing into a layer of white mist before slowly dissipating.
“Welding complete.” Nana’s voice came from the side. “The joint penetration is up to standard, with no porosity or incomplete weld.”
"So..." He took off his mask, grinning, "our handmade product can at least survive three seconds after being turned on?"
“Currently, we're only conducting static testing.” She swiped her finger across the terminal screen. “The next step is to withstand a temperature of 800 degrees Celsius and a current surge of 200 amperes. The part you made is currently just a conductive metal block.”
"Hey, don't splash water so fast." He waved his hand. "At least let me be smug for ten seconds first."
"Timer begins."
He rolled his eyes and looked down to inspect the relay. There were fine scratches on the alloy surface, left from the previous milling process; they were irregular but did not affect the structure. He reached out and touched it, feeling a slightly rough texture on his fingertips, like touching the scales shed by some wild beast from a desolate planet.
“Next is cooling,” Nana said. “The cooling rate must be controlled, otherwise internal stress will cause cracks.”
"Can't you be exposed to the wind?"
"Yes, but we need to use inert gas for slow-release cooling. We only have fifteen liters of nitrogen in reserve."
"Then use it sparingly." He stood up and secured the parts to the bracket. "What setting do you want?"
"The initial flow rate is 0.3 liters per minute, which lasts for ten minutes, and then decreases."
He turned on the valve, and the air hissed, like a thin snake crawling past his ear. The red weld gradually darkened, from cherry red to iron gray, and finally sank into the original cool tone of the metal.
"The infrared scan shows a uniform temperature gradient," Nana said, staring at the data. "There are no localized hot spots."
"So that means it's done?"
"Initially stable."
"Can't you just say it all at once?" he complained. "You have to squeeze it out bit by bit."
"Information output follows the principle of precision first."
"Then give me a 'perfectly qualified' rating."
"Please wait for the test results."
He snorted, leaned against the workbench, grabbed a bottle of water, and gulped it down. Water dripped from the corner of his mouth onto his work pants, leaving a dark stain.
"What's the next step?"
“Perform surface pressing on the contact area.” She brought up the 3D model. “The current tolerance is ±0.12 mm, which needs to be compressed to ±0.05 mm.”
"You want me to embroider again?"
"To be precise, it's precision shaping."
"Let me tell you, I wasn't this serious when I was playing with clay as a kid."
"The cost of this failure is much higher."
“I know, I know.” He put down the water bottle. “It’s just a high voltage breakdown, a short circuit explosion, the kiln being destroyed, and us being blown away by the heat wave. It’s a small matter.”
Nana glanced at him but didn't say anything.
He knew what she was thinking—this man was using jokes to cover up his nervousness again.
But he didn't say anything, and she didn't expose him either.
This is the tacit understanding between them: one is responsible for being anxious, and the other is responsible for playing dumb, which is a perfect balance.
“The pressing tools are ready.” She pointed to the manual fine-tuning table in the corner. “The clamps that were modified last time are still usable.”
He walked over and clamped the alloy block into the fixture. The knob turned once, and the pressure gauge jumped slightly.
"For the first test, it is recommended to load up to 3,000 Newtons."
"Three thousand? That sounds like a grocery price."
"This is a unit of force."
"I know, but I just don't want to seem too professional."
He slowly increased the pressure, the handwheel making a soft clicking sound as it turned. The numbers on the display screen gradually increased: two thousand five, two thousand eight, two thousand nine hundred and fifty…
"Stop," Nana suddenly said.
"What's wrong?"
"The deformation rate is abnormal, and a local dent is appearing in the upper right corner."
He immediately let go, and the pressure dropped to zero.
Upon removing the part, it was indeed found that the curved edge was slightly collapsed, as if someone had gently pressed it with a fingernail.
"It's ruined?"
"It does not meet the standards, but it can be repaired."
"How do I fix it?"
"Abandon overall suppression and instead use segmented point suppression. Utilize the elastic rebound properties of metal to gradually approach the target curvature."
"It sounds like psychotherapy."
"What's the meaning?"
"Correct it little by little, slowly."
"This is not a metaphor."
"I know, I'm just praising you."
She didn't respond, but simply reset the operating procedures.
In their second attempt, they changed the pressure to 1,000 Newtons each time, held it for three minutes, released it, and then repeated the process. Each time, they used 3D scanning to record minute changes.
The third time, the fourth time... until the sixth time, the arc finally approached the ideal value.
“Final fine-tuning,” she said. “Target deviation is less than 0.06.”
He took a deep breath and tightened the clamp again.
The handwheel turned slowly, his arm taut, his knuckles slightly white. Sweat slid down his forehead, falling onto the metal table with a soft thud.
"Stop," she said softly.
He immediately let go.
The scan results show a curvature error of ±0.048 mm.
"Pass." She nodded.
“I told you I could do it.” He laughed, leaning back so hard he almost knocked over his chair. “You see, human ingenuity has finally triumphed over cold, machine standards.”
"It took you seven tries to succeed."
"That's still better than starting a new game."
"Now we move on to the insulation and encapsulation stage." She picked up the last bottle of ceramic coating. "Thirty milliliters, one-time application."
"The pressure is back."
"It's not pressure, it's a constraint."
Do you really have to slice up romance and let it dry?
"I'm just stating the facts."
He took the bottle, unscrewed the cap, dipped a small amount into the brush, and held it above the part.
My hands are shaking a little.
“Your breathing rate has increased,” she said. “I suggest you adjust your posture.”
"I'm not nervous."
"Data shows your heart rate has increased by 22 percent."
"That's because I was excited!"
"Excitement can also affect stability."
He closed his eyes, took three deep breaths, and when he opened them again, his hands were steadyer.
With the first stroke, the paint spreads along the curved surface, and a transparent film gradually covers the metal.
The initial strokes may be too heavy, creating a break at the edges, like a road suddenly interrupted on a map.
“The coating continuity is damaged,” Nana said. “If it is not remedied, the dielectric strength will drop by forty percent.”
Is there any hope?
"Yes. Capillary drainage is used."
"It sounds like a folk remedy."
"The principle is to use the surface tension of the liquid to automatically fill the damaged area. You need to drop the paint at a high point and let it flow naturally."
"Then I have to apply it in a circular motion?"
"correct."
He carefully dripped a small drop, then slowly rotated the part. The paint flowed like a stream along the curved surface, gradually filling in the cracks.
The whole process was so quiet that the only sounds were the faint hiss of the leaking valve and his occasional swallowing.
“Thickness detection in progress…” Nana stared at the sensor, “Final deviation ±0.006 mm.”
"Did it meet the standard?"
"Meets the standard."
He suddenly raised his hands, almost knocking the bottle over: "Yay! The first handmade relay on the desolate planet has officially become a god!"
"It has not yet passed the pressure resistance test."
"Could you wait until it dies before reading the eulogy?"
"I am simply issuing an early warning of the risks."
"Alright," he waved his hand. "Come on, let it see the world."
They moved the parts to the test bench and connected the analog circuit. Nana started the program, and the voltage gradually increased.
500 volts, 800 volts, 1200 volts...
The indicator light remained steadily lit.
"It passed the dielectric test," she said.
"Then let's go for something even tougher."
They accessed a high-temperature simulation chamber, set up an environment of 800 degrees Celsius, and maintained it for 30 minutes.
The outer casing of the part is slightly warm, but the structure is intact, without deformation or cracks.
"Thermal stability is acceptable."
"So..." he rubbed his hands together, "it's ready to be installed?"
"Theoretically feasible."
"Then let's not argue about it."
They carried the parts to the kiln control area. The interface was located on the side of the main control box, and the four pins needed to be precisely aligned.
Chen Hao picked up the part and inserted it.
stuck.
“The contact resistance is too high,” Nana said after scanning. “There are tiny burrs on the edge of the pins, which prevents them from fitting completely.”
"Then polish it."
"Ordinary sandpaper is not precise enough and may damage the coating."
"Then what should we do?"
"Using nano-grinding heads, the amount of dressing in a single pass can be controlled within 0.002 millimeters."
She took out the miniature device and gently polished the pins. Metal shavings fell like gold dust, flashed in the light, and disappeared.
"Try again."
He reconnected, and this time it was still slow, but more stable.
With the aid of magnetic guide fixtures for positioning, the parts are slowly pushed forward.
Click.
A soft sound.
"Connection successful," Nana said. "Phase B voltage restored, system self-test initiated."
On the main control screen, the temperature curve began to rise, slowly climbing from room temperature.
"It...it's really alive?" He stared at the screen, his voice trembling slightly.
"Initial operation is normal, but a complete thermal cycle verification is still required."
"how long?"
Six hours.
"So..." he grinned, "we're going to have to keep watch here all night?"
"yes."
He sighed, dragged a folding chair from the corner, plopped down, crossed his legs, and clutched the empty paint bottle in his hand.
“You know what?” he said, “I think we should keep this bottle.”
"Why?"
“It has sentimental value.” He shook the bottle. “It witnessed how a mediocre student saved an entire production line with a bottle of glue and a pile of scrap metal.”
Strictly speaking, paint is not glue.
"But in my dictionary, anything that can stick things together is called glue."
She did not refute it.
He knew she wouldn't argue—because she knew that this moment of relief was earned through countless failures.
The temperature on the screen continued to rise, and the numbers jumped like a heartbeat.
He leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the kiln door, twirling an empty bottle in his hand.
“You know…” he suddenly began, “if this thing really lasts for six hours, should we give it a name?”
Nana stood in front of the terminal, the machine tilted slightly forward, monitoring every parameter.
She didn't turn around.
He only said one sentence:
"Let's wait until it survives tonight before we talk about it."
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