As Chen Hao bent down to pick up the booklet, his fingers touched a folded page. The words on it were crooked and illegible: "I wanted to tell you about my dad fixing the ventilation ducts, but nobody listens." He closed the booklet and dusted off the cover.
"We need to make people not only write, but also be heard."
Susan, who was putting a crayon into the pencil case in the children's section, stopped when she heard this. "What are you up to now?"
“It’s not about making a fuss.” Chen Hao walked to the graffiti wall and pointed to a blank space. “It’s about changing the way we live. Our culture is always circulating within the same circle, and everyone who sees it is a familiar face. No matter how lively it gets, we’re just applauding ourselves.”
Carl poked his head out from behind the speaker. "You want to push it out? But people in other districts haven't even participated in the cultural festival."
“Then let them see it first.” Chen Hao turned around. “Nana, do you have any projects in your database that…something someone did, but nobody knows about?”
Nana stood beside the projector stand, and the optical module flashed. "Thirty-seven records match the description. Among them, the 'underground pipeline marking system' was spontaneously established by maintenance team members and has not been reported for six years, with a usage rate higher than official signs."
“This is it.” Chen Hao clapped his hands. “We’re not just going to exhibit the paintings and show the videos, we also need to dig up things that nobody talks about. Who repaired the wiring, who patched the water pipes, write it all down. Make small signs and hang them at the scene of the incident.”
Susan frowned. "But is this considered culture?"
“Why not?” Chen Hao laughed. “People who live in this place have to leave some trace. It’s not just about painting to be cultured. Your dad wrote on the wall back then, wasn’t it because he felt it was something worth talking about?”
She didn't speak, but looked down at her drawing tube.
Nana suggested, "We should set up 'story collection stations.' Establish fixed recording points and allow anonymous submission of oral accounts. Simultaneously launch a cross-regional cultural exhibition program, moving the results from this region to regions B and D for a traveling exhibition."
Carl tightened the screws on the bracket. "Will the other districts even bother with us? We sent out holiday invitations last month, and we didn't even get ten replies."
“This time it’s different.” Chen Hao leaned against the podium. “Before, we invited people to watch the performance. Now we invite them to tell stories. We don’t do any competitions, we don’t give scores, and we don’t record names. We just say one thing—what you say, people will listen.”
Susan slowly squatted down and placed the travel booklet into the newly installed wooden box. "What if we really made an open workshop? No restrictions on enrollment, anyone could come and learn to paint and do crafts. The materials would be local plant fibers from the planet, and the colors would be extracted from the soil."
“Interstellar wilderness vibe.” Chen Hao grinned. “It sounds depressing, but it’s pretty real. Our place isn’t fancy to begin with, so why pretend to be sophisticated? Cracked walls can be used as canvases, and broken parts can be pieced together into sculptures.”
“I know a few kids who like to collect discarded circuit boards,” Susan said softly. “At the last exhibition, they made a spaceship model out of copper wire.”
“Then let them keep posting.” Chen Hao stood up. “The theme of the first session of the workshop is ‘Waste Utilization Competition’. There are no prizes, no honors, just a handwritten certificate with a mud stamp.”
Carl tightened the last screw and looked up at the ceiling. "What about transportation? The wheel exhibition needs to go to three districts, and the current trolley can only make one trip at most."
"We'll transport them disassembled," Chen Hao said. "The display panels will be modular, and we'll assemble them once we get there. We won't move large items; we'll just copy them locally. Nana, how many design drawings have you saved?"
"A total of 214 templates are available to suit venues of different sizes."
"Then let's pick the five simplest sets and modify them into universal versions. Place a message box in each area, with paper and pens inside, so people can write whatever they want. Open them next week and select a few to make the next issue's content."
Susan stared at the words on the wooden box: "Your story, take it or leave it."
“Yes.” Chen Hao nodded. “We don’t force participation, nor do we demand perfection. Misspellings are fine, and it doesn’t matter if the drawing doesn’t look right. The key is to make people feel—this has nothing to do with me, but I can still get involved.”
Carl stood up and brushed the dust off his hands. "Who's going to talk to the other districts about contacting them?"
“Nana, send a message,” Chen Hao said. “Keep the message concise, don’t use those ‘invitations’ nonsense. Just say: We did something silly, do you want to join us? Attach a few photos, and add—do you have similar stories over there?”
Nana's optical module flickered slightly. "A draft of the contact text has been generated, with seven tone options. We recommend using the fourth option: a neutral, declarative style, to reduce the probability of a defensive reaction."
"This is it." Chen Hao waved his hand. "Don't make it sound like we're begging. We're not asking for resources, we just want our voices to travel a little further."
Susan suddenly spoke up: "If people actually come to the open workshop, what will they teach?"
"I'll just teach you what you already know," Chen Hao said. "How to mix paints, how to cut paper, how to make a painting look less rigid. If you don't know something, we can all look it up in a book together, and Nana can even show you instructional videos on the spot."
"What about time?" she asked. "Everyone's on a schedule, where's the free time?"
"Half an hour counts too," Chen Hao said. "If you don't want to sit in the classroom, you can teach in the corridor. Today you talk for five minutes about how to draw shadows, tomorrow he talks about how to dye cloth with rust. Little by little, it adds up, and the base has plenty of time anyway."
Carl walked to the tool rack and pulled out a piece of recycled plastic sheet. "Display racks can be made from this. It's lightweight, easy to disassemble, and you won't feel bad if it breaks."
“Engrave the title too.” Chen Hao took the board and pulled a small knife from his pocket. “Just write ‘Project Starmark.’ It sounds like a sci-fi title, but it’s nothing. It’s just the marks left by a bunch of people who were busy doing nothing.”
He spoke as he carved, the tip of the knife making a hissing sound as it cut through the plastic. A few minutes later, four characters appeared roughly on the board.
Nana walked over and scanned the structure's stability. "I recommend adding two more support points to upgrade the wind resistance level to level four."
"It doesn't need to be that sturdy." Chen Hao stood the board upright on the ground. "It's okay if the wind blows it over; we can just pick it up and put it back in place. The important thing is to get it standing up first."
Susan looked at the slightly crooked sign. "What if no one responds?"
“Then let’s wait,” Chen Hao said. “Let’s wait for the next person who wants to speak to appear. We’re not selling anything, so we’re not worried about unsold goods. Culture is something that’s slow to heat up. Just because no one came yesterday doesn’t mean they won’t come tomorrow.”
Carl tightened the last bracket. "I can mention it during shift change. I'll ask if anyone's willing to donate some old tools as exhibits."
“Yes.” Chen Hao nodded. “Everyone has some junk treasures. A radio casing, a broken antenna, a worn-out protective boot—they can all tell a story. As long as someone remembers how they got them.”
Nana's optical module flashed again. "Basic participation rules have been uploaded to the public screen: Joining is voluntary, and you can leave at any time. All submissions are anonymous by default, but you can choose your own way of signing."
“That’s good.” Chen Hao smiled. “The lower the threshold, the better. We’re not building a museum, we’re just creating a place to talk.”
Susan crouched down and pushed the wooden crate forward half a step. "Let's leave it here for the first time. We'll decide where to go next after someone submits a story."
“No rush,” Chen Hao said. “Let it be empty for now. Sometimes, an empty box makes you want to fill it with something more than a full one.”
After checking the wheelbarrow, Carl said, "I've drawn a rough map of the exhibition route. We can cover two areas within three days. The signal is unstable in the third area, so we'll have to send someone with physical materials there."
“I’ll go,” Susan said. “I’ll see if there are any suitable places for sketching along the way.”
“Okay.” Chen Hao nodded. “Take some photos and record some audio. They don’t need to be beautiful, just authentic.”
Nana pulled up the schedule. "I suggest focusing on two pilot projects in the first week: the trial operation of the handicraft workshop and the deployment of the drifting boxes. Concentrating resources will make adjustments easier."
"Listen to her." Chen Hao moved the carved sign to the wall, tied it with a rope, and hung it on the newly added bulletin board. "Let's do the small things first, and talk about the rest later."
Susan looked at the swaying sign. "Are we really going to call it 'Project Starscar'?"
"Otherwise what?" Chen Hao chuckled. "Call it 'Great Cultural Construction Project'? Sounds like we're going to have to work overtime."
Her lips twitched, and she couldn't help but smile.
Carl closed the toolbox. "I'll go back and get a few spare circuit boards; we can use them as materials in the workshop."
"Don't take the really good ones," Chen Hao cautioned. "Take the scrapped ones. We need the traces, not the performance."
Nana stood in front of the information screen, swiping her finger across the interface. "The first communication has been sent to the B District Living Group's public terminal. Awaiting feedback."
Chen Hao took one last look around the exhibition area. The travel guidebook lay quietly in the wooden box, the words on the notice board were not yet dry, and the cart wheels were covered with a little mud.
He patted the podium.
"here we go."
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