Chen Hao paused for three seconds on the paper with his red pen, then wrote the words "Add video recording." The pen tip pressed down a little hard, causing a slight dent in the paper.
Without looking up, he pushed the notebook to the center of the table. "Fill this in, and anyone with objections, speak up now."
Susan stared at those three words for two seconds, then tapped her finger lightly on the table. "How long will the recording be stored? Who will access it? How can misuse be prevented?"
"It's not open to the public," Chen Hao said. "It can only be viewed when there's a report or a dispute. Accessing the data requires the joint signature of three administrators; even one missing signature isn't acceptable."
Carl leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Sounds like he's tied his own hands and feet."
“That’s how it is.” Chen Hao grinned. “If we’re going to manage others, we need to make sure they can investigate us. Otherwise, what’s the difference between that and just setting up a random rule?”
Nana's screen lit up, and lines of data scrolled rapidly. "According to historical case statistics, when the monitoring mechanism is verifiable, the member violation rate drops by 72%. The psychological pressure mainly comes from 'the possibility of being discovered,' rather than the punishment itself."
"So you're exploiting human weaknesses?" Karl raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.” Chen Hao nodded. “I understand that people are lazy, afraid of trouble, and want to take shortcuts. That’s how I am. But most people won’t do anything if they know someone might be watching.”
Susan was silent for a moment, then said, "What about the equipment? Cameras throughout the entire base?"
"Key areas," Chen Hao held up two fingers, "the maintenance station, the energy module, and the entrance to the ecological zone. We won't install them anywhere else. We're not making a documentary."
Carl slowly sat up straight. "If we're really going to do this, I suggest linking video recording permissions to paper logs. Every day at eight o'clock, after posting the paper, upload the encrypted files simultaneously. Two tracks running in parallel, serving as backups for each other."
“Okay.” Chen Hao picked up a pen and scribbled a couple of lines on the notebook. “Write it into the supplementary clauses like this.”
Nana's optical module flashed twice. "New entry added: Oversight mechanism upgrade plan. Includes three aspects: physical disclosure, image recording, and retrieval process. The system will automatically mark the revision in the next version."
Chen Hao closed his notebook, stood up, and stretched. A soft cracking sound came from his shoulder.
“Then let’s do it one last time,” he said. “Go through it from beginning to end, line by line. If there are no problems, sign it, post it out, and it will officially take effect tomorrow.”
The four people gathered around the projector. On the screen, the seventeen provisions of the "Basic Operating Rules of the Base (Revised Edition)" were neatly arranged, with three additional explanatory notes at the end.
The first is the ecological protection red line.
"Inadvertently triggering the reduction/exemption clause will be punished if it is malicious." Susan read aloud, "Is this part reserved?"
“Keep it,” Chen Hao said. “Everyone remembers what happened with the mycelium last time. Accidental stepping and intentional stepping on it cannot be treated the same.”
Carl nodded. "I agree. But how do we define 'malice'?"
"The panel will decide," Chen Hao said, pointing to himself. "Who crossed the line? The rotating administrators will hold a meeting to decide the nature of the offense. The result will be decided by vote and recorded on the spot."
The second point is resource allocation.
“Basic support + task weighting.” Nana read out the mode name. “Each person receives a basic score of thirty points per day, with an additional five to twenty points awarded for high-risk tasks. These points are used to claim equipment usage time, special materials, and priority repair services.”
“We did the math last time,” Chen Hao said. “The energy Susan uses to draw a single graph is equivalent to Karl running a simulation analysis. It’s unreasonable not to compensate for that.”
Susan didn't speak, she just nodded slightly.
The third is the Day of Free Exploration.
"Submission is voluntary, and the format is not limited," Chen Hao read aloud. "Voice, images, and text are all acceptable. It must be completed on the same day; late submissions will not be counted."
"You actually recorded that 'Hey, I went to the East District today' segment?" Susan looked at him.
"I recorded it," Chen Hao laughed. "I even posted it in the group chat. Nobody liked it."
Carl snorted. "At least it's true."
Article 4 is the oversight mechanism.
“Paper logs are printed daily, posted at 8 a.m., and taken back within 10 minutes.” Chen Hao paused here, “Now, with video backup, it’s running on a dual-track system.”
"What if the administrator violates the rules?" Susan asked.
“I’ll handle it the same way,” Chen Hao said. “Whoever reports me will be the one to preside over the case, and I’m no exception. If I find that I have a problem, feel free to come and criticize me.”
No one laughed, but the atmosphere relaxed a little.
Article 5 is the temporary access procedure.
"It will not be included in the main text for now," Nana explained. "We will discuss it in a separate meeting later."
“Yes,” Chen Hao said, “Let’s deal with what we can secure first. We can work out the rest slowly.”
He turned to the last page, where a blank space was left for his signature.
"Sign now?"
Susan picked up a pen and was the first to write her name and the date. Her handwriting was neat and precise, each stroke carefully executed.
Carl's second signature. He wrote quickly, with a small hook at the end of the last letter.
Nana uses the terminal to generate an electronic signature and archives it synchronously. The cursor flashes, confirming the completion.
Chen Hao was the last to put pen to paper. He wrote slowly, and his name was drawn out a bit.
After signing, he handed the original to Nana. "Keep one copy, and print three copies. Put one copy at the entrance of the cafeteria, the rest area, and the repair shop."
"Do you need it sealed?" Nana asked.
"No need." Chen Hao shook his head. "It's fine if it's exposed to the wind and sun. It'll show everyone that this thing isn't just for show."
The three got up and walked out. Chen Hao stayed behind, holding a stack of printed documents.
When he arrived at the cafeteria entrance, he stuck the paper on, and as soon as he let go, the wind lifted a corner of it.
He frowned, took out magnetic clips from his pocket, and pressed the edges of each clip together.
Susan stood by, watching. "You said, 'This is how we're supposed to live every day,' is that really true?"
“Really.” Chen Hao patted the clipboard. “I don’t like writing rules, and I especially don’t like being told what to do. But now that there are people watching, we can only sort ourselves out first.”
Susan didn't say anything more, turned around and left. She returned a few minutes later with a colorful poster in her hand.
She posted her version at the entrance of the children's activity area. It had simple lines, small illustrations, and even the points redemption table was drawn as a progress bar.
Carl added a QR code next to each rule sheet. Scanning the code leads to an electronic version, where you can also see a summary of the discussion.
"It looks pretty convincing." Chen Hao stood in front of the first poster and reached out to smooth out a crease.
Moonlight streamed in from the end of the corridor, falling on the "Supervision Mechanism" section. The words "Add Video Recording" were clearly visible.
“Starting tomorrow,” Susan suddenly said, “I’ll also be submitting my exploration log.”
“I’ll be the first one to be randomly checked,” Carl said.
Nana's voice rang out: "System time locked. This version's rules will take effect at midnight today."
The four people stood in front of the bulletin board, their shoulders almost touching.
No one applauded, and no one spoke.
Chen Hao looked at the neat row of papers on the wall. A gust of wind blew by, and the clips held the edges firmly.
His hand was still resting on the bulletin board.
The paper beneath my fingertips trembled slightly.
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