Chen Hao opened his eyes. The sunlight was already streaming into the dining room, casting a slanted glow on the table. He sat up straight, his coat still draped over his shoulder, the pen in his notebook held firmly in place.
He reached up and touched his forehead; it wasn't hot anymore.
"Awake?" Nana stood next to the projection screen, her optical glasses flashing slightly.
"Hmm," he responded, his throat a little dry. "How long did I sleep?"
"Three hours and forty-seven minutes."
“Not too much, not too little.” He grinned. “Just enough to have a dream—a dream where I’ve installed all the lights, and when I open the door, the whole base is as bright as day, and you’re standing at the door saying ‘Excessive Energy Consumption Warning.’”
Nana didn't laugh, but there was a slight pause in her voice: "Your dream's logic chain is complete."
"Of course." He stood up, his legs still a little weak, and steadied himself on the table corner. "But dreams aside, we really have to get started. We can't just keep staring at this one lamp."
He walked to the projection wall, swiped his finger in the air a few times, and brought up the base plan.
“The corridors, storage rooms, and rest areas are all pitch black at night, and anyone who gets up at night is bound to slip and fall,” he said. “We need to make sure there is light in every corner.”
Nana nodded and then pulled up another image: a thermal simulation diagram, a mix of red, yellow, blue, and green.
“Prolonged exposure to strong light can affect the body’s circadian rhythm,” she said. “Especially at night, high light levels can suppress melatonin secretion, leading to a decline in sleep quality.”
"What do you mean?"
"It means that if you want to keep your eyes open all day long, you can turn it on to the highest brightness."
Chen Hao paused for two seconds, then laughed. "You mean I can't make the rest area look like an exam room, where the lights are so bright they keep people awake?"
"The data supports this conclusion."
"Alright." He scratched his head. "Then you come up with a plan, specifying where the lights are and where the lights are, just so I don't accidentally step on the toolbox while walking around."
Nana begins labeling.
"The illuminance in the dining area and work areas needs to be at least 200 lux," she said, circling points on the diagram as she spoke, "for delicate operations and reading."
“I understand.” Chen Hao looked at the little fox lamp he had made earlier. “It can’t be too dark when eating or reading.”
“Keep the corridors at 100 to 150 lux,” she continued. “Ensure safe walking, but avoid excessive lighting.”
"Medium brightness, understood."
"The rest area should be kept between 50 and 80 square meters." After she finished speaking, she brought up a simulation: the lights gradually dimmed at night, and the room was bathed in a soft, yellowish glow.
Chen Hao glanced at it for two seconds and frowned: "So low? I can hardly read a book with that."
“It is not recommended to read continuously at night,” she said. “And suddenly turning on a bright light can easily cause a startle response.”
She then released a simulation: a person had just fallen asleep when all the overhead lights suddenly turned on, causing the person to jump up and wave their hands wildly.
Chen Hao burst out laughing. "Isn't this just like when I fell asleep during the last exam and the teacher woke me up by slamming the desk?"
The analogy holds true.
"Okay." He waved his hand. "I understand that the light shouldn't be too bright when I sleep. But there should be a transition, right? Like, if I get up in the middle of the night, the light should be turned on a little bit first, and then gradually turned up?"
"A slow start mode can be set." Nana brought up the parameter interface, "Starting from 10% brightness, it will gradually increase to the desired level within three minutes."
"Smart." He gave a thumbs up. "This way it's neither scary nor does it make you see the road clearly."
The two continued pushing downwards.
Nana pointed out three locations where standard light fixtures could not be installed: the corner of the tool room was too narrow, there was not enough space under the stairs, and there were pipes and wires next to the ventilation ducts, so there was nowhere to fix them.
“These are blind spots,” she said.
Chen Hao circled the projected image and suddenly said, "Can we not make it hanging, but embedded?"
"explain."
“Cut the ore into small pieces, stuff them into the cracks in the wall, and cover them with a layer of translucent resin sheet.” He gestured with his hand, “like hiding LED strips in the cracks of floor tiles.”
Nana scanned the wall structure data and responded a few seconds later: "The wall material allows for grooving, but a support frame needs to be added to prevent it from cracking."
“Then add it,” he said. “Anyway, we have scraps and we can use scrap metal.”
“Feasible.” She changed the three points to “embedded custom version” and marked them with a red asterisk.
Next, the corridor lights were installed.
Chen Hao advocated installing one every two meters for "insurance".
Nana objected: "High density will cause light pollution and double the energy consumption."
"Then what do you suggest we do?"
“Use a spaced arrangement.” She adjusted the plan, “Place a low-brightness ground light every three meters, and activate the ceiling wall lights every five points.”
"A floor lamp plus a ceiling light?" he pondered. "To illuminate the feet from below, and the top to cover the head, leaving the middle neither dark nor bright?"
"Exactly."
“It sounds like a symphony,” he said, “with high and low notes in harmony.”
“The analogy is inappropriate,” she said, “but the logic of collaboration is consistent.”
He chuckled but didn't refute.
The next issue is maintaining a consistent style.
Nana pulled up all the existing lamp models and overlaid them on the 3D model. As soon as the image appeared, Chen Hao realized something was wrong.
Some of the lamps are round little foxes, some are square geometric blocks, and a few are crooked abstract shapes, like flattened soda cans.
“Chaos,” he said.
“The visual system is fragmented,” Nana added, “affecting overall perceptual coordination.”
“Then we need to categorize them.” Chen Hao thought for a moment. “We can use animal designs for the living area, which looks more comfortable; and we can use straight lines for the work area, which looks neat and tidy.”
“The design language of the zones,” she noted. “The living area has soft curves, while the work area has sharp angles.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “It’s like wearing clothes. You sleep in pajamas and go to work in uniform. You can’t do it the other way around.”
She redistributed the lights by area and set all lights in the same area to be dimmed synchronously to create a unified atmosphere.
“The control system has been optimized,” she said. “The brightness mode of each area can be adjusted with a single button on the central panel.”
"For example, home mode, work mode, and sleep mode?"
"Can be named".
“Then add it,” he said with a smile. “I want a ‘I don’t want to get out of bed but I have to work’ mode.”
"Parameters for this scene are not yet included."
"I'll teach you later."
The plan is basically finalized.
Nana generated the final drawings, naming them "Base Lighting Zoning Implementation Guidelines V1.0". On the screen, the seventeen lighting points are distributed reasonably, with six being specially customized, balancing functionality and aesthetics.
Chen Hao sat at the main table, a printed copy of the drawings spread out in front of him, a pen in his hand, ready to make final notes.
He looked down for a moment, then suddenly looked up and said, "Wait."
"What's wrong?"
"Aren't the ground lights in the maintenance passageway too far to the side?"
"A distance of 30 centimeters from the wall is within the safe walking distance range."
“But what if someone walks close to the wall?” he said. “Especially when they’re carrying something, their feet could easily brush against it.”
Nana recalculated the route and brought up the human body model to simulate the walking trajectory.
A few seconds later, she nodded: "There is a risk of collision. I recommend moving it outward by 15 centimeters."
“Yes.” He took a pen and changed the position on the map. “It’s better to map an extra piece of land than to let someone trip over it.”
She updates the data in real time.
"And another thing," he said, pointing to a wall lamp in the rest area, "isn't this angle a bit too close to the head of the bed? If I'm lying down reading, won't the light shine directly into my eyes?"
"At a current tilt angle of 35 degrees, glare may indeed occur."
“Turn it down,” he said. “Let it reflect the book, not the face.”
She adjusted the parameters to simulate the point where the light would fall.
"The new angle is 22 degrees, while maintaining the same coverage area on the desktop and avoiding the line of sight when lying down."
"Okay." He closed the pen cap with satisfaction. "That's about right."
Nana saved the final version of the plan in the project log and made three backups.
“All data is locked,” she said. “We can proceed with the installation phase at any time.”
Chen Hao leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh.
His body hadn't fully recovered; his shoulders felt heavy, and his head occasionally buzzed, but his eyes were clear, and his thoughts were still flowing.
“I used to think that installing lights was as simple as flipping a switch,” he said. “Now I realize that you also have to consider the timing, the location, where people are going, and whether their eyes can handle it.”
"Lighting is a systems engineering project."
"Hearing you say that, I'm even thinking of giving it a code name." He grinned. "Let's call it 'Project Brightness'."
“Name redundancy”.
Don't you think he's pretty handsome?
I don't think so.
He laughed out loud.
Just then, a message popped up in the lower right corner of the projection screen: Temperature control module pending inspection, estimated available time is seven hours and twenty-three minutes.
Chen Hao stared at the line of text for two seconds.
"Our lights rely on heat to emit light," he said. "If there's a power outage one day, the heating element won't work, and the lights will go out."
“Currently, we rely on external power,” Nana replied. “There is no energy storage device.”
“We have to figure something out.” He frowned. “We can’t just wait for the power to come back on in the dark.”
“We could study alternative heat sources,” she said. “For example, small combustion units or structures that conduct body heat.”
“Burning is too dangerous.” He shook his head. “Body heat… we could try that, for example, making it into a floor lamp, where the heat from people’s feet triggers the light when they walk over it.”
"The technology is feasible, but further testing is needed."
He picked up a pen and wrote a new entry on the blank space on the back of the drawing: "Emergency light emission - utilizing residual human body heat".
After finishing writing, he put down his pen and rubbed his temples.
"That's enough for today," he said. "The plan is finalized; the next step is to get started."
Nana turned off the projector, and the screen went dark.
The restaurant was left with only natural light and remained quiet for a few seconds.
Chen Hao was still sitting at the table, his hand resting on the edge of the drawing, his fingertips tapping lightly twice.
“Tell me,” he suddenly said, “what will it be like when all the lights are installed and turned on for the first night?”
Nana looked at him, her optical glasses flashing slightly.
“Data cannot simulate subjective experience,” she said.
He smiled and didn't ask any more questions.
The wind rustled softly through the eaves outside the window.
He raised his hand and looked at the strip of cloth wrapped around his palm; the blood had stopped seeping out.
It can be demolished tomorrow.
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