Chen Hao sat in the main seat, elbows propped on the table, fingers still lightly tapping. The sunlight warmed his face. He stared at the spots on the opposite wall for a while, then suddenly spoke: "Do you think this place should be made cleaner and more modern, or should it retain some of its old-fashioned feel?"
Nana didn't move, and the optical mirror flashed.
“I think it’s too plain as it is now,” he said. “The walls are white, the floor is gray, and although the tables and chairs are made, they still look like they’re just put together temporarily.”
Nana finally responded: "According to visual weight analysis, retro style can increase the sense of belonging index by up to 89%."
"Data again?" Chen Hao tilted his head to look at her. "Can't you just say something based on your gut feeling?"
“My intuition is based on calculations,” she said. “While modern minimalism is clean, it lowers the emotional temperature by 12.7 percentage points. Wood, on the other hand, has the potential to evoke a sense of age, and when combined with distressed finishes and accent decorations, it can enhance the narrative of a space.”
Chen Hao stood up, walked to the east wall, and placed his palm on it. It was cool, smooth, and completely flat.
“This wall looks like a hospital waiting room,” he said. “Should we paint it light gray? Keep the lines simple, and it will look clean and crisp with these dark wood chairs.”
Nana immediately projected two images. The left side was a cool-toned space with all the furniture in right angles and no lights in sight; the right side was bathed in warm light, with a decorative shelf on the wall made of imitation copper frames and old wooden planks, and a few metal pieces engraved with patterns.
"Where did you get that thing on the right?" Chen Hao frowned. "We don't have copper, nor sheet metal, let alone those carving tools."
“Scrap parts can be used as substitutes,” she said. “The texture can be restored by hand carving. The support structure has been designed and has a 96% pass rate in load-bearing tests.”
"Why bother with all this?" He shook his head. "What we lack most right now is time, not aesthetics. Saving materials and being easy to maintain are the key points."
“Aesthetics is also part of function,” she insisted. “Human emotional responses to the environment directly affect psychological stability. Being in a monotonous space for a long time increases the probability of anxiety levels by 34 percent.”
"So you mean I'll go crazy in the future?"
"We cannot rule out the possibility."
Chen Hao rolled his eyes: "You're using data to intimidate me."
"I am just providing the optimal solution."
“But even the optimal solution has to be realistic!” He pointed to the bronze ornament in the projection. “Where am I supposed to find something like this? Pick up a tin can from a junkyard and carve a pattern around it with a knife?”
“The technical difficulty is manageable,” she said. “And there are already similar cases to refer to. The Third District Shelter once used discarded circuit boards to create wall art installations, which increased residents’ satisfaction by 20 percentage points.”
"That's theirs," Chen Hao waved his hand. "We don't even have many circuit boards here."
The two stood in the center of the restaurant, one looking at the projector, the other staring at the wall. Neither gave in.
After a few seconds, Chen Hao suddenly laughed: "Alright, let's stop arguing."
Nana turned off the projector, and the mirror surface flickered with a faint light, as if waiting for the next part to follow.
“How about this,” he said, “we’ll try it out first. We’ll pick a corner and do a small section in the retro style you described. If it looks really good, I’ll admit defeat and do everything you say from here on out.”
Nana paused briefly, and the sound of calculations began softly.
“The experimental verification aligns with the optimal decision-making path,” she said. “The recommended area is the triangular area against the wall on the east side, with an area of 1.8 square meters, which will not affect the main traffic flow.”
"This will do." Chen Hao walked over and squatted down to examine the open space. It was just the right size to put a small shelf or hang something.
"What materials are needed?" she asked.
“Tell me what you want to do first.” He looked up. “You can’t expect me to move a rock up here and display it as an antique.”
"The preliminary plan includes: an antique wood panel wall with a beveled splicing technique; a wall-mounted shelf for displaying small tools or souvenirs; and a design at the top to simulate light and shadow angles and highlight the texture and layers."
“Wait a minute,” Chen Hao interrupted. “What kind of ‘memorial item’ are you talking about? What do we have worth displaying? A rusty wrench? Or the sandpaper we wore out last time?”
“Any item that shows signs of use has narrative value,” she said. “For example, the first scrap you leave behind when you sanded a table leg can be marked with the date and purpose, forming a personal history.”
"Do you remember where that thing is?"
"The third compartment of the storage bin, numbered d-7."
Chen Hao was stunned: "You even kept this?"
“All raw materials are documented,” she said, “including usage progress, loss rate, and residual value assessment.”
He stood up, supporting himself on his knees, and sighed, "You robots are even more afraid of wasting things than humans."
"Resource management is the foundation of survival."
“Alright.” He clapped his hands. “Since you want to build an exhibition hall, then go ahead. But I have one condition—you must use existing materials, and you are not allowed to consume any additional tools or manpower.”
"agree."
"And the construction period cannot exceed one day."
"It can be completed within ten hours."
"That's just being unreasonable," Chen Hao grinned. "Who works ten hours a day without a break?"
“You worked on the table legs for eleven hours and seventeen minutes yesterday,” she said. “You only paused three times, with a total break time of forty-one minutes.”
"You remember such details?"
"Automatic data collection."
"Why do I feel like I'm not doing renovations, but taking a physical fitness test?"
Nana didn't answer, she just stood there quietly, the mirror surface shimmering.
Chen Hao scratched his head, turned, and walked towards the storage cabinet. He opened the drawer and pulled out several short pieces of wood that had been left over. They varied in color, some still had bark, and some had rounded edges.
"Can these be used?"
“It meets the standards for an aged look,” she said. “I recommend carbonization to enhance the contrast of the surface colors.”
"Carbonize? Burn it?"
"The open flame is kept below 300 degrees Celsius and can last for 30 seconds."
"Then you do it. I don't want to set the house on fire."
Nana took the wooden strip and walked towards the kitchen partition area. There was a small heating platform there, originally used to soften resin, which now came in handy.
Chen Hao stayed in the restaurant, measuring the wall with a tape measure. It was 2.1 meters high and 1.5 meters wide, with an electrical outlet hole at the bottom, which he had to avoid.
He was drawing marks with his head down when Nana returned, the wooden strip in her hand now different. The surface was blackened, as if it had been scorched by fire, but not completely burned through, and it felt rough yet textured to the touch.
"This is quite interesting." He took a piece and examined it from all angles. "It really does look like an old object."
"The next step is to fix the support," she said. "I recommend using L-shaped connectors, as they provide more stability with three points of force."
Where are the connectors?
"It was dismantled from a decommissioned ventilation duct and has been disinfected."
She turned around and took out a set of metal corner brackets. The surface was scratched and the edges were slightly bent, but the screw holes were still usable.
"You've hidden these things deeper than a rat hole." Chen Hao took them and tried to place them on the wall. "Would it be okay to put them here?"
“The position is reasonable,” she said. “The deviation is less than 0.5 centimeters.”
"You just love calculating like this," he muttered, picking up the drill and starting to make a hole. The screw got stuck a bit when he screwed it in, and he had to turn it a few times to make it secure.
After installing the first corner bracket, proceed with the second. Once all four points are secured, the support beam is placed on top, and everything is stable.
“Next is the wall,” Nana said.
Chen Hao laid out the burnt wooden strips one by one on the ground, trying to assemble them. "Should we arrange them diagonally like this?"
“I recommend a staggered arrangement of three columns,” she said. “It creates a more balanced visual center of gravity.”
He tried to arrange them, but found that the middle piece was too short, leaving a gap. Just as he was thinking about what to do, Nana pulled a thin piece of sheet metal from her pocket, about the size of her palm, with jagged edges, as if it had been broken off from some machine.
“This can fill in the gaps,” she said. “The oxide layer naturally creates a mottled effect, which contrasts with the wood grain.”
"You even brought this?" Chen Hao took it and held it up to the gap. "It does match quite well."
He secured the sheet metal with small nails, then pressed the last wooden strip on top. The entire wall was instantly transformed; it was no longer just plain white, but now possessed layers and a sense of story.
“It’s missing a name,” he said. “Since it’s going to be an exhibition wall, it needs to have something written on it.”
"Suggested plaque content: 'The Birth of the First Dining Table', with date and maker information."
"Should the creator write about you or me?"
"Collaboration complete."
“Then let’s write ‘Chen Hao and Nana’,” he laughed. “It sounds like a couple starting a business.”
“There is no risk of misinterpretation,” she said. “That’s how it’s marked in the system records.”
Chen Hao shook his head, took a marker from the pen holder, and wrote on a small piece of wood. The writing was crooked and messy, like that of an elementary school student.
He nailed the wooden piece to the corner of the wall, right in front of the scaffold.
"Alright." He took two steps back. "This is your vintage corner?"
Nana activated the scanning mode, and the optical mirror flashed rapidly. A few seconds later, she nodded: "Visual fusion has increased to 78%, and the emotional resonance index has increased by 16.3."
"So...it's not even close to the passing grade?"
"Currently, it is only a localized pilot program."
“But I think it’s already much better than before.” He looked at the wall, then at the entire dining room. “Do you think it would be too messy if the whole house were like this?”
"We can proceed gradually by area," she said. "We will preserve the simplicity of modern functional areas and enhance humanistic elements only in the living areas."
Chen Hao stroked his chin: "It sounds pretty good."
As he was thinking, his stomach suddenly growled.
"Ouch." He patted his stomach. "I've been busy all day and haven't eaten yet."
“Nutritional intake is delayed by 43 minutes,” she said. “It is recommended to replenish energy as soon as possible.”
“We’ll talk about it later.” He pointed to the wall. “I’d like to add something else.”
"For example?"
“For example…” He looked around, his eyes lighting up, “Are the axe marks left from when you chopped down the tree still on the stump?”
"Keep it intact".
"Bring it here! Nail it to this wall, and write 'First Axe' next to it."
"feasible."
"Find another piece of rag, write 'The day I sweated the most' on it, and hang it up."
“Emotional symbolic expression is effective.”
"That's settled then." He stood there with his hands on his hips. "Don't we have a history now?"
Nana remained silent for a moment, and the mirror slowly rotated.
“You just said that humans need a sense of belonging,” Chen Hao grinned. “Actually, I don’t care whether the walls are gray or white, or whether the lights are bright or dim. What I care about is—when I sit here to eat, knowing who made this table, how this injury happened, and which piece of wood is wafting this smell from.”
He paused for a moment, then said, "This is probably what you mean by retro."
Nana didn't answer, but simply brought up the projector again. This time, instead of displaying cold, hard data comparisons, she generated a dynamic image: sunlight streamed into the restaurant, the wood grain glowed warmly, and the sheet metal on the wall reflected dappled shadows, like stars.
Chen Hao looked at it and smiled.
“Okay,” he said. “Then let’s leave the main wall for now. We’ll leave this corner as is and see if I want to change it back to a modern style in a few days.”
He turned and walked toward the door to get the axe.
Nana stood still, the optical mirror flickering slightly.
Just as he opened the door, he glanced back at the wall.
Then he said:
"Actually, I think it's quite pretty."
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