"Can we... just tell us everything we need to know? Stop hiding things from each other."
Nana stood still, and the camera flashed slightly.
"Permission request received. Verifying user security level and energy quota..."
A few seconds later, her voice changed slightly, like a pausing cassette tape suddenly becoming smooth again.
"Original high-temperature ceramics module, loading. Estimated time: three minutes."
Chen Hao nodded, plopped down on the low stool next to him, and crossed his hands over his stomach, as if waiting for his number to be called at the hospital. He didn't speak, but his fingers tapped lightly on his knees, the rhythm steady, not like he was nervous, but more like he was keeping time for himself.
"You have to wait in line for this system upgrade?" he asked casually. "Do I have to download an app first? Register an account? Link my email address?"
“No,” Nana said. “But advanced processes involve structural stress calculations, heat conduction models, and mineral phase transformation data, which require 17% of the main control core’s computing power. The current fuel reserves can only support continuous operation for 4.2 hours, so they need to be allocated first.”
"Got it." Chen Hao waved his hand. "I just thought it was too slow. If you say 'I can't wait,' then I'll go dig coal."
Three minutes passed.
Blue light flashed three times in Nana's eyes, as if a reboot had been completed.
"The advanced process knowledge base has been unlocked. It includes: stepped heating curves, pre-drying standards for billets, kiln ventilation design drawings, and anti-explosion treatment solutions."
As soon as she finished speaking, a projection appeared on the table—not the previous rudimentary six-step flowchart, but a complete set of annotated kiln modification drawings. The location of the chimney, the angle of the exhaust vents, the thickness of the refractory layer, and even how the bricks were laid were all clearly drawn.
Chen Hao leaned closer, his fingers tracing the lines.
"So it's not just a matter of poking a hole... This slit has to be opened at an angle so that the airflow can rise on its own?" He looked up. "You really had a trick up your sleeve."
“It wasn’t intentional,” Nana said calmly. “It was a permission wall that you humans set up back then, supposedly to prevent AI from rebelling if it mastered too much manufacturing technology.”
Chen Hao was stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing: "So I should thank you for not killing me?"
"No need for that suggestion."
He shook his head, stood up, and walked towards the furnace. Without further hesitation, he began dismantling the furnace roof. The brick that had been blown away yesterday hadn't completely cooled, so he used his gloves to carefully move it aside, and casually peeled off half of the solid wall on the west side as well. He then rummaged through the scrap heap and found a few intact broken bricks, using them to build a low, perforated wall according to the blueprints, leaving a sloping passageway at the top, and finally covering it with a flat stone slab as a rain shelter.
“This thing is a bit ugly,” he said, taking two steps back to examine it, “but at least it looks like a proper chimney.”
“Function met.” Nana confirmed with a scan, “Exhaust efficiency is expected to increase to 83%, and the risk of pressure buildup will decrease by 61%.”
"That's good then." Chen Hao patted the dust off his hands. "Next step, sculpting the clay."
He returned to his workbench, opened the sealed cloth bag, and took out the remaining clay. The color was darker than yesterday, and the surface was a bit hard—it had become damp from the moisture that splashed in during last night's explosion.
"This soil won't do." He rubbed it a couple of times and then stopped. "It's too loose; it'll crack at the slightest touch."
"I suggest re-kneading and extending the drying time." Nana adjusted the parameters, "The ideal moisture content should be below 8%, currently it is 14%, so it needs to be air-dried for at least 48 hours."
"Two days?" Chen Hao's eyes widened. "I can't wait that long."
"If you force the shaping, the yield will be less than 12%."
He sighed, looking down at the lump of mud as if he were looking at a disappointing child.
"Alright... let's practice first."
He broke off a small piece, placed it on the metal plate, and began to knead it repeatedly. His movements were slower than before, pausing for half a second after each knead to observe whether the texture was even. He recalled the breakdown of the movements Nana had shown him in the projection—"kneading the clay—calming—lifting—trimming," four steps, each with a standard hand gesture.
"Could you play it again?" he asked.
The image reappeared, showing the robotic arm slowly demonstrating the entire process at 0.5x speed. Chen Hao watched and imitated it, gently pushing the muddy surface with his fingers, careful not to use too much force.
It collapsed the first time. The edges cracked, and the bottom tilted, like a hamburger that had been stepped on.
He didn't curse or throw anything; he just threw the scraps back into the basin and kneaded them again.
The second time, I lifted it too quickly, and the wall was too thin, so it collapsed as soon as I touched it.
The third time, he used his left hand to support the bottom and the inside of his right thumb to slowly apply pressure, pushing upwards in circles. He stopped to check the thickness after each small upward movement. Ten minutes later, the basic shape of a shallow bowl emerged. The curve wasn't perfect, but it was symmetrical overall and the base was stable.
"Huh?" he grinned. "Now it looks like a bowl."
He carefully moved it to the drying rack, even turning it slightly to ensure more even ventilation. Then he took out a new sheet of paper and wrote on the side: "Try 4, slow and steady wins the race."
He then did the fifth and sixth. His technique became smoother and his mistakes fewer. By the seventh one, he was even humming a song while doing it.
"Do you think this counts as craftsmanship?" he asked Nana while cleaning his mouth. "Even though we've never been paid, and we don't have social insurance or housing fund."
“Currently, the behavior meets the definition of ‘repetitive skill refinement’,” Nana said, “but has not yet reached the ‘craftsman’ rating standard.”
"Well, you actually have a rating system?"
"have."
"What score do I have now?"
"4.3 out of 10."
"Ha." He sneered, "Back in college, failing a course didn't hurt my self-esteem this much."
By the time the eighth clay piece was finished, it was completely dark. He didn't turn on the light, but used the glow of the kiln fire to tidy up his tools. The improved kiln sat quietly in the corner, its chimney pointing towards the night sky like an iron pipe pointing to the future.
He walked to the stove, opened the fuel valve, and added half a basket of charcoal.
“The real show is about to begin,” he said. “Low-temperature dehydration, 24 hours, slow roasting over low heat.”
Nana simultaneously activated the monitoring program: "Target temperature ≤ 150°C, ventilators open 30%, humidity controlled below 45%. Timed reminders have been set, recording data every two hours."
Chen Hao spread a canvas next to the stove, sat down, and took out a small notebook and a short pencil from his pocket.
He turned to the first page, which was completely blank.
After thinking about it, I wrote down the first formal entry:
**Phase 1: Dehydration Period. Temperature ≤150°C, duration 24 hours, ventilation opening 30%.**
After finishing writing, he closed the notebook, placed it on his lap, and looked up at Nana.
"You tell me... how many more steps are we going to complete the ninety-nine steps this time?"
Current progress: 78%.
"Are the rest the tough ones to crack?"
"The risks are manageable."
He nodded, his gaze returning to the fire. The flames licked the embers quietly, without roaring or agitation. The firelight reflected on his face, no longer scorching, but serene.
He raised his hand and looked under his fingernails—this time, there was only mud, no ash.
There was no trembling.
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