Chen Hao finished pasting the last poster and had just removed his hand from the wall when he heard a slight mechanical whirring sound behind him. Nana stood at the restaurant entrance, her camera panning across the entire space, as if checking some data.
"How much material is left?" he asked.
"One and a half rolls of rattan, seventeen balloons, and three strings of dried flowers." Nana walked in, her robotic arm unfolding as she began to count the supplies. "According to the original plan, this is enough to complete the basic setup."
"Then let's not skimp on it." Chen Hao stretched his shoulders. "We need it tomorrow anyway, so if we don't finish it today, we won't be able to sleep tonight."
He bent down and dragged an old wooden box from the corner, filled with decorations he had collected over the past few days. Some were scraps that others didn't want, while others were wind chimes he had made himself from wood chips. He picked up a ribbon, wrapped it around his hand twice, and then let it go.
"Would you call this a last-minute attempt to cram?"
“It falls under the category of reasonable planned delays,” Nana said. “The degree of delay does not exceed the threshold of human behavior models.”
"You're saying that to comfort me."
"I'm just stating the facts."
Chen Hao smiled and didn't say anything more. He walked to the ceiling and looked up at the beam. There used to be a row of fluorescent tubes hanging there, but now they had been replaced with soft mineral lamps, the light yellowish, making the walls look as if they were covered with a thin layer of dust.
"Can you get up there?" he asked, pointing at the beam.
“Okay.” Nana took two steps back, her knees slightly bent, and the next second she sprang up, her arms precisely gripping the edge of the beam. Her body was suspended in the air, the mechanical joints making a slight clicking sound, and then a thin rope extended from her wrist, wrapped around the beam, and tied in place.
"Okay, you're something else." Chen Hao watched from below. "Next time, let me do it."
“Your body fat percentage is not suitable for working at heights,” Nana said, glancing down at him. “The risk factor is three times higher than mine.”
"...That explains why I had to tell the truth."
Nana didn't respond and started lowering another cable. Chen Hao shook his head, squatted down, and unwrapped the rattan roll. This thing was picked up from the maintenance depot; it was originally used to bundle cables. The colors were bright enough, red and green, and although they had faded a bit, they should still be clearly visible when hung up.
As he untied the rope, he said, "Pull the main axis from this side, and thread a light strip through the middle. Hang balloon clusters on both sides, but not too densely, or it will look like a funeral parlor."
“Funeral halls usually use white and black drapes,” Nana corrected. “We chose a warm color scheme, with a celebratory mood.”
"I know, I was just using an analogy."
“Metaphors can easily lead to misunderstandings,” Nana said. “I suggest directly describing the target effect.”
“I want this place to look like a place where people can sit down and chat.” Chen Hao stood up and handed over one end of the rattan cane. “Not a cafeteria, not a duty room, just… the kind of place where people would want to stay a little longer.”
Nana took the vine and steadily tied it to the rope. Her fingers were nimble, and each knot was tied firmly and neatly. Working together, the two pulled the entire vine over their heads, securing both ends to hooks on the walls on either side.
"The LED strip is connected," she said.
Chen Hao pressed the switch, and a string of small lights lit up, winding along the vines like flowing stars in the night. He looked up at them for a while, and the corners of his mouth slowly turned up.
"It's alright," he said. "Better than I expected."
"Seventy-three percent meet the community's holiday decoration standards," Nana commented. "The rest depends on the ground layout."
"Then let's continue."
They started moving the tables and chairs. The spare wooden tables that had been piled in the center were moved to the wall, forming an arc-shaped partition. These tables were handmade by Chen Hao; the surfaces were fairly smooth, and the edges were engraved with simple patterns. He had originally intended them to be displayed as samples, but no one had paid attention to them until now, and they had become part of the decoration.
“It’s fine here.” He patted the table. “It doesn’t get in the way, and it shows off my skills.”
“Showing off can negatively impact teamwork,” Nana cautioned.
"This is not showing off, this is cultural export."
Nana didn't refute it, but silently recorded the data label for that sentence.
Next came the balloons. Seventeen inflated balloons were divided into four groups and hung in the four corners. Mostly red, interspersed with yellow and blue, they were suspended by thin strings and swayed gently. Chen Hao originally wanted to secure them with nails, but Nana stopped him.
“Perforating the wall could lead to water seepage,” she said. “We should switch to a magnetic base.”
Where did the magnet come from?
"I dismantled two discarded motors." Nana opened her toolbox and took out a few small metal pieces. "The suction power is enough to support lightweight objects."
"You really are capable of anything."
"I just prioritize security."
After the balloons were in place, the entire space suddenly felt different. What was once a dining area now had a sense that "something was about to happen." Chen Hao stood in the middle and circled around, feeling that something was missing.
“There’s a lack of sound,” he said.
Do you need background music?
“No need.” He shook his head. “I mean, it’s too quiet here. When people come tomorrow and it suddenly gets noisy, I won’t be used to it.”
He thought for a moment, then walked to the corner and took the guitar out of its case. It was a guitar he had spent a long time repairing and piecing together; there was a crack in the body, which had been patched with resin, making it look a bit ugly, but the pitch was fine.
He casually strummed a few chords, the sound echoing in the empty restaurant. Nana stood beside him, and the camera flickered slightly.
“Pitch accuracy is 92 percent,” she said. “There is a slight noise in the low register.”
"As long as it's audible," Chen Hao said, putting his hand down. "At least it won't scare people away right from the start."
They continued setting up the game area. The card table was placed on the left, directly opposite the performance area. Chen Hao placed the cardboard box with the sign "Don't touch mine" on it, opened the lid, and inside, dice, beans, and divination sticks were neatly arranged. He reached out and touched the resin-coated indicator sign to make sure it wasn't loose.
"Put the prizes on the right," he said.
Nana displayed the sachets and wooden carvings one by one. These items were all handmade, some rough and some exquisite. The sachets were filled with dried plants and had a faint grassy scent. The wooden carvings were various small animals—rabbits, birds, and fish—all carved by Chen Hao in his spare time.
"Should we put a price tag on it?" he asked.
“This is a free gift,” Nana said. “It doesn’t need a price.”
"I mean write an explanation, like 'You can get it by answering three questions correctly' or something like that."
“A sign has been designed.” Nana pulled a small board from her bag, on which was written a summary of the rules. “Just place it in front of the table.”
Chen Hao nodded and put the sign in place. He then took a few steps back and looked at the overall effect. The performance area, game area, and prize area were three separate but connected sections, and the movement routes were smooth.
“Almost there,” he said.
"The lights have not yet been finalized."
“No, that’s not it.” He looked around. “It’s the atmosphere. It’s not…lively enough.”
Suddenly, he remembered something, turned around, and rummaged through the box, pulling out several pieces of cardboard. They were scraps left over from making posters, still bearing traces of paint. He picked up a pen, wrote a few large characters on the paper, and then cut them out.
"Welcome to play." He read it aloud, then handed it to Nana, "Hang it in front."
Nana took the cardboard, climbed onto the low platform, and nailed it directly above the performance area. The lettering was crooked and the color was uneven, but it was eye-catching enough.
"That's fine," Chen Hao said. "It doesn't need to be too beautiful; the more it looks like it was written by a human, the better."
Nana jumped off the platform and stood beside him. The two looked at the scene before them together. Ribbons hung down, balloons floated, LED lights flickered, a guitar leaned against a stand, and cards lay quietly in a box.
"How many people do you think will come tomorrow?" he asked.
"Based on registration data and crowd forecasting models, the preliminary estimate is twelve to sixteen people," Nana said, "with an error margin of ten percent."
"More than I expected."
"Your publicity efficiency exceeds the baseline by 18 percent."
"It seems that cracking your voice can be considered a kind of attraction."
“Vocal cord distortion is not a proactive marketing strategy,” Nana said, “but it did generate buzz.”
Chen Hao smiled but didn't say anything more. He sat in the newly made chair, his legs a little sore. He had done a lot of work that day; his body was tired, but his mind was very clear.
“Actually, I didn’t expect it to be too lively,” he said. “As long as someone is willing to sit down and play for a while, listen to some music, and take a little gadget with them, that’s enough.”
“An emotional feedback mechanism has been established,” Nana said. “The sense of participation itself is a reward.”
"That's a really heartwarming thing to say."
"I am simply restating conclusions from a psychology database."
"Same."
As darkness fell outside, the light from the mining lamps became more pronounced. The entire dining room seemed to be encased in a small shell; outside lay the deserted corridors of the base, while inside were brightly lit rooms.
Chen Hao looked up at the vine-like light strip that stretched across the ceiling. He suddenly realized that this place had truly changed.
It wasn't because there were a few more ribbons, nor because there were a few more balloons.
Rather, it's because he knows there will be sounds, laughter, people talking, and people moving around here tomorrow.
He slapped his thigh and stood up.
"Alright," he said. "That's enough for today."
Nana stood still, the camera flashing slightly, indicating that the system was performing a self-check.
Chen Hao walked to the door and then looked back.
The ribbon swayed slightly.
He reached out and grabbed the door frame, pausing for a second.
A small piece of thread that hadn't been properly cut was stuck in the grout between the floor tiles near the door.
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