Chen Hao stared at the tip of the wooden needle, which reflected a dazzling light in the sunlight. He squinted and gripped the needle tighter in his hand, as if afraid it would fly away.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s not count on each other.”
He bent down and picked up the piece of fur with the lines drawn on it from the stone. The outline drawn with charcoal powder was crooked and distorted, like a map that had been chewed by a dog. The wind wasn't strong last night, but it blew quite accurately, and several key lines had become blurred, especially the right shoulder area, where what should have been a rounded curve was now just a sharp angle.
"Do you think this thread is deliberately messing with me?" He looked up at Nana. "It was fine yesterday, and now it's broken?"
Nana didn't speak, but the camera flickered slightly, projecting a pale blue humanoid silhouette that floated steadily above the fur. Its lines were straight and its proportions were perfect. Compared to the graffiti on the ground, it looked like a top student standing next to a slacker, sneering.
"Okay, you win." Chen Hao lowered his head, pinched the edge of the stone slab, and slowly pushed it along the charcoal line.
The first cut went smoothly, the fur fibers were slowly sliced apart with a soft "sizzling" sound. He held his breath, his wrist trembling slightly, afraid that he would slip if he used too much force. But the more careful he was, the more trouble he caused. His elbow accidentally grazed a stone next to him, and the entire line instantly veered into a snake shape, leaving a slanted cut that shaved off a full two fingers' width of material.
"It's over." He squatted down, compared the projected outline with his fingers, and then compared it with the real thing. "The right shoulder is gone, but the left one is still there. Am I supposed to make an asymmetrical fashion piece?"
He threw the stone slab on the ground, looked up and panted: "This thing looks simple, how come it's harder than a math word problem? At least with word problems, if you get it wrong, you can guess an option."
Nana remained standing, the blue light steady, offering neither advice nor comment. She knew that speaking at this time was like pouring water into a fire—too much water would extinguish it; too little would only make it sizzle louder.
Chen Hao sat for a while, then suddenly picked up the stone slab again and started cutting another piece from a different angle. This time, he gently pressed the edge with his fingertips, inching forward little by little, his movements as slow as peeling a hard-boiled egg. But the fur itself was uneven in thickness; some parts were soft and collapsed at the slightest touch, while others were hard, making the stone slab slippery. Just as he reached the cuff, his hand sank, and the entire line broke off halfway, leaving an uneven gap.
"Ha." He chuckled dryly. "I thought it was a technical problem, but it turns out this fur itself doesn't even want to live as a piece of clothing."
He shook his aching wrist and turned to look at the plant fibers soaking in the ceramic bowl. The thin strips had been soaking overnight, their color had darkened, and they felt somewhat tough to the touch, but they frayed easily when pulled.
“Well, even the thread isn’t reliable.” He picked one up and held it up to the wooden needle. “The hole in your needle is narrower than my life plan.”
He tried to stuff the fiber in, poking it back and forth several times, but it either got stuck or came apart. Finally, he simply scraped the edge of the needle eye with his fingernail, barely widening the gap, then twisted the fiber into two strands and carefully threaded it in.
"It's done!" He held the needle and thread up to the light. "The first stitch of human civilization is about to fall!"
Before he could finish speaking, he tied a knot and was about to sew the first stitch when his hand trembled, the thread suddenly tightened, the knot came undone, and the fibers snapped back, grazing his eye. The pain made him close his eyes, lean back, and fall directly onto the rock.
"Ouch!" he exclaimed, covering his eyes. "Why does this line have a counterattack capability?"
Nana slightly rotated the lens, scanning the broken fiber end: "The knot is not strong enough, reinforcement is recommended."
"I know!" he rubbed his reddened eyes. "I know that! The problem is we don't have any glue, no clips, not even a straight stick to use as a ruler! I'm just using my imagination to keep things going!"
He lay there for two seconds, then got up again, twisted the line, and tied a knot, this time mimicking the tight knot technique used when tying traps, wrapping it three times before pulling it tight. Finally, the line was stable.
He held the wooden needle, aimed it at the edges of the two small sample pieces of fur, and began to sew stitch by stitch. The stitches were crooked and uneven, the spacing was inconsistent, some stitches were too deep, causing small bumps on the leather surface; others were too shallow, the thread barely penetrated. But he persisted and sewed five stitches until the entire section was joined.
"Look!" He held it up and shook it. "It's not broken! It may be ugly, but it's still connected!"
Just as he was about to feel smug, he raised his hand, and with a "ripping" sound, the entire seam was torn apart from the middle, and the two pieces of fur separated, like a pair of brothers who had quarreled.
"..."
He looked down at the half-broken thread in his hand, the other end hanging forlornly on the fur, swaying gently in the wind.
“It doesn’t want to cooperate with me,” he murmured. “It thinks I’m not good enough.”
He stuck the wooden needle into the ground, leaned back, and slumped onto the rock, his chest heaving and his eyes vacant.
Nana didn't move, but slowly adjusted the focus of the optical lens, projecting the image of the seams of the life pod clothing again, magnified it three times, and played it silently once, twice, and three times. In the image, every stitch was even and fine, the fabric fit naturally, and there was no unnecessary pulling.
Chen Hao stared at it for a long time without saying a word.
Then he sat up, pulled out the wooden needle, picked up a new piece of leather, and flattened it again.
This time, he didn't rush to start. Instead, he first used his fingers to press shallow marks along the outline of the projection onto the leather surface. The movement was extremely slow, as if he were touching a fragile piece of paper.
He tried threading the needle several times, failing twice before finally succeeding on the third try. When tying the knot, he deliberately wrapped it around several times, tightened it, and then bit it with his teeth.
The first stitch went astray.
He demolished it.
The second injection was still crooked.
Dismantle it again.
On the third attempt, he finally managed to get the needle in place, albeit with difficulty. He didn't dare continue, stopping there and staring at the tiny puncture site, his breathing becoming shallow.
"Let's do it again," he said softly. "It's not dark yet anyway."
The sun gradually set in the west, casting long shadows that fell on the back of his hands, which were covered in charcoal ash. His thumb had been cut by a stone shard, and the blood mixed with the black ash, turning into a dark red mud.
Nana's blue light shone on the unfinished fur, like a wound that had been slow to heal.
He raised his hand, preparing to insert the fourth needle.
The tip of the wooden needle hovered in the air, trembling slightly.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com