Chen Hao put down his water glass, the bottom of which hit the table with a dull thud. He stared at the piece of paper he had just torn off, on which the words "collective voice" were written in crooked handwriting, and next to it was a drawing of a little person holding a megaphone.
“We need to get this sorted out,” he said. “Otherwise, if everyone asks me tomorrow morning and I say, ‘I have an idea, but it hasn’t materialized yet,’ that would be so embarrassing.”
Nana swiped her finger across the terminal, and the screen changed. The title of the previous draft had changed to "Cultural Festival Plan V2.1," and a new collapsible bar had appeared below, revealing a dense list of timelines and task assignments.
“I have already implemented the event management model,” she said. “The event will last seven days from preparation to conclusion, and the daily tasks have been prioritized. The peak period is on the third day, when three areas need to be opened simultaneously.”
Susan leaned closer to look at the projection, her brow furrowing slightly. "We've arranged for two people to take turns at the puzzle wall, but what if someone wants to tell the story of their puzzle piece? If no one listens, wouldn't it be a waste of time?"
Carl flipped through the work schedule: "Add a recorder? But the maintenance team's repair requests exceeded 15% today, so we can't spare anyone."
“No dedicated recorders are needed,” Nana said. “I installed mini recorders in the corner of each booth, and participants can choose whether or not to leave a message. The data is automatically archived and played back after the holiday.”
“It sounds like he’s talking to himself,” Carl said.
“Data shows that brain activity is 20 percent higher when speaking alone than when giving a public speech,” she replied. “Many people are more willing to tell the truth to machines.”
Chen Hao laughed: "So, the spiritual civilization construction of our base is supported by a bunch of obedient iron boxes?"
The room fell silent for a moment.
Then Susan laughed out loud: "That makes sense. After all, it won't laugh at you."
Nana didn't respond, but simply added the "voice collection points" to the floor plan, marking them as small green dots, distributed at the exhibition area exit, the side of the interactive corner, and the outer corridor of the cafeteria.
"Next is the process." She pulled up the timeline, "The opening ceremony will be held at nine o'clock on the first day, with the metal plate being struck for seventeen seconds, followed by the playback of the cooking process video of 'The Meal We Eat Together' recorded yesterday; the puzzle wall and the heartfelt message wall will be opened at noon; and the first collective voice-synthesized audio will be played at six o'clock in the evening."
"No gaps in between?" Susan asked. "What if everyone all comes at noon?"
“There is a flow control mechanism,” Nana said. “Each activity has a maximum participation limit. The jigsaw puzzle wall has a limit of 30 people per day, and they can enter in the order of their reservations; the message wall has no limit on the number of people, but each person can only write one note, which cannot be taken out after being put into the recycling bin.”
“What if someone finishes writing but doesn’t want to submit it?” Susan said. “What if they just stand there tearing up the paper repeatedly?”
“The box has a double opening,” Nana said. “The outer layer is for collecting waste paper, and the inner layer is for storing the actual contents. It covers both psychological safety and privacy protection.”
Carl nodded: "Okay. At least no one will be blocking the door and making a scene."
Chen Hao picked up a pen and drew an arrow on the paper: "Wait—the opening music uses hitting a metal plate, but what about the ending? We can't hit it again, can we?"
“The ending will be silent,” Nana said. “Everyone will place their hands on the sensor strips embedded in the main hall floor. The system will record their body temperature and the duration of contact, generating a dynamic heat map that will be left on the wall as a memento.”
"In other words..." Chen Hao said slowly, "whoever stands the longest becomes part of the background?"
“The accuracy rate is 98 percent,” she said.
“Then I’ll definitely be the brightest one.” He grinned. “I’m the least afraid of standing.”
As Susan watched the details of the plan being filled in, she suddenly spoke up: "Let's give this festival a name. We can't keep calling it 'that event'."
“Reboot Festival?” Carl said. “Sounds like a system booting up.”
“Symbiosis Festival?” Susan tried it. “It sounds too much like botany terminology.”
"How about calling it 'Blue-Gray Sun'?" Chen Hao said. "We've developed an attachment to these colors over time."
“Naming influences willingness to participate,” Nana said. “According to database statistics, names with verbs are more likely to trigger action. For example, ‘Sharing Day,’ ‘Building Together Festival,’ ‘Speak Out.’”
“Then let’s call it ‘We’re Together,’” Susan suddenly said. “It’s not complicated, and it’s not fake. It’s just a sentence, a sentence that can make people stop and take a look.”
The room was silent for a few seconds.
Carl looked up: "This name... won't be mistaken for a malfunctioning broadcast, will it?"
"Even if I play it a hundred times, it won't work," Chen Hao said. "As long as people can understand human language, that's enough."
Nana has changed the title. The new document reads at the top: **"We Are Together" Cultural Festival Implementation Plan (Prototype)**.
The three main sections below are clearly arranged:
**Technology Witness Zone** – Jigsaw Puzzle Wall, Equipment Evolution Exhibition, Signal Challenge
**Artistic Expression Area** – Heartfelt Words Wall, Craft Corner, Night of Sound
**Interactive Sharing Area** – Share porridge, take photos using the heat map, and enjoy moments of quiet reflection.
Each item is followed by the name of the person in charge, a list of resources, and a timeframe.
“I’ll be in charge of the ‘Voice of the Heart’ wall,” Susan said. “I’ll revise the text, I’ll set the rules, and I’ll be the first to hold anyone who tries to cause trouble accountable.”
“The jigsaw puzzle wall is mine,” Carl said. “I’ll oversee everything: material scheduling, staff rotation, and emergency replacements.”
“I will be in charge of the Sound Night and the Moment of Light,” Nana said. “Audio synthesis, data storage, and wooden box making will all be completed today.”
Chen Hao looked at his name, which was blank in the "Overall Coordination" column, and sighed: "So, I'm just responsible for the opening ceremony speech? Saying some nonsense to inspire people?"
"You'll be in charge of hitting the metal plate at the beginning," Nana said. "The movements are simple, and the failure rate is less than one percent."
"At least make it a little more difficult for me," he muttered.
“You could try tapping it with your eyes closed,” Susan laughed. “It might feel more ceremonial.”
"What if I miss and hit my foot?"
“The medical room is right next door,” Carl said expressionlessly. “They’re clearing out their inventory recently, and they have more bandages than they can use.”
Everyone laughed.
As the laughter subsided, Nana had already uploaded the final version to the public directory. A checkmark was placed next to the filename extension, indicating "confirmed." Synchronization notifications were set for all members, and the release time was set for 7:00 AM the following morning.
"There's still one thing missing," Chen Hao said, "a slogan. Every activity needs a simple, straightforward phrase that tells people what it's about right away."
“What do you mean by a jigsaw puzzle wall?” Susan asked.
“Every piece you put together adds another page to history,” he said.
“Taiwen,” Susan shook her head. “Change.”
"Never mind, you do it."
She thought for a moment: "The traces you leave behind are visible to others."
“Okay.” Carl nodded. “I can understand this.”
What about the "heartfelt voice wall"?
“Write what you want to say here,” Chen Hao said. “No need to sign it, and it won’t get lost.”
"Night of Sound?"
“Each person says one sentence, and we listen to the whole thing,” Nana said. “The data model supports the efficiency of emotion transmission in this structure.”
“That’s good,” Carl said. “They can even fit my words in.”
What about shared porridge?
"Leftovers mixed together don't taste much different," Chen Hao said. "They're all burnt anyway."
“Change it to ‘The meal we ate together,’” Susan said. “Less depressing, more heartwarming.”
“The essence hasn’t changed,” Nana said, “but acceptance is projected to rise by 29 percentage points.”
"Then it's settled." Chen Hao stood up, stretched, and the chair leg scraped against the floor with a long thud. He walked to the projector and tapped the three main sections on the screen. "Technology keeps people alive, art lets people know they're alive, and interaction makes people feel—hey, there are still people living with you."
No one responded.
But he doesn't need it.
Nana's optical lens flickered slightly, as if adjusting its focus. She gently closed the paper proposal and tucked it into a folder. She placed it face down on the table, edge aligned with the table's edge.
Susan copied the words "Just write whatever" onto a sticky note and stuck it at the beginning of her notebook. She poked the words with the tip of her pen, and her lips twitched slightly.
After reviewing the final scheduling matching report, Carl turned off his tablet. He leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands over his stomach, and surprisingly, didn't frown.
Sunlight slanted in and fell on the terminal's heat dissipation vent, where a wisp of white smoke rose and quickly dissipated.
Chen Hao picked up the first page that had just been printed; the paper was still warm. He pushed it to the center of the table and said, "This is what our first cultural festival will look like."
Nana's screen stopped at "Solution V3.0_Final Confirmation Version", the automatic archiving was completed, and a notification sound rang once.
Susan whispered the theme title: "We're Together".
Carl glanced at the time and said, "Shall we start posting notices tomorrow?"
“Once Nana finishes making the poster,” Chen Hao said, “I suggest adding a QR code so that scanning it will allow you to listen to past sessions… oh wait, there aren’t any past sessions yet.”
“We can record a warm-up audio clip,” Nana said, “using the original audio clips from today’s discussion.”
“Okay.” Chen Hao nodded. “Let’s start from when I said, ‘The water in the glass is cold.’”
“There’s a five-second gap in that section,” she said.
“Then keep it,” he said. “Let people hear how long the silence can last.”
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