Nana withdrew her fingers from the rim of the soup bowl, the metal tips gleaming a faint grayish-blue under the light. She didn't speak, but the corner of her mouth twitched slightly, as if trying to understand some unfamiliar signal.
Chen Hao took the empty bowl back and casually placed it on the table with a soft thud. The others were still laughing, their laughter not yet completely dissipating, rippling outwards like waves on the water.
He cleared his throat. "Shouldn't we take some notes?"
Susan looked up. "Remember what?"
“Remember the things we’ve done,” Chen Hao said. “For example, this pot we’re using now, we couldn’t cook anything like this before. It wasn’t because the fire was too low, it was because the pot was no good. Now that it works, it means other things can work too.”
Carl, who was rubbing the inside of his lunchbox with his fingers, stopped when he heard this. "You mean... a meeting?"
"It's not really a meeting," Chen Hao waved his hand. "It's just sitting here and going over what we've done recently. Otherwise, no one will know how we survived."
Nana had already opened the terminal interface, and a holographic projection rose from the desktop, displaying a timeline and category tags: energy, communications, agriculture, and materials.
“I have compiled the basic data stream,” she said. “Progress nodes can be played by module.”
“That’s right.” Chen Hao leaned back in his chair, twirling the lunchbox in his hand. “Let’s talk about energy first. In the early days, the generator would break down every few days, and a single charge was only enough to keep the lights on for ten minutes. Then we replaced it with an energy storage array, and later we developed a voltage stabilization system. And now? The lights don’t flicker, the machines run non-stop, and we can even run three stoves in the kitchen at the same time.”
Susan chimed in, "The key is that once the adaptive adjustment is online, energy consumption fluctuations are automatically compensated, so it won't explode even if no one is watching it."
“Yes.” Chen Hao nodded. “Before, people served the equipment; now the equipment follows the people.”
Carl interjected, "I remember the first time I stayed up all night debugging a power management program, I was so tired that I bumped my head on the keyboard, and when I woke up I found that the system had fixed the problem itself."
“That’s because the AI learning model is working,” Nana said. “It’s based on a prediction mechanism built from more than 700 abnormal records.”
"Look," Chen Hao laughed, "the robot is more accurate than I am."
Susan pouted, "Just because it remembers a lot doesn't mean it understands fatigue."
“I don’t know what tiredness is,” Nana said calmly, “but I remember how often each of you yawns.”
Laughter erupted again inside the room.
After the laughter subsided, Chen Hao pointed to the communication module on the projector, "Let's talk about this again. When we first arrived, the channels were all over the place. If you shouted 'eat,' all three districts would think you were being called. The location was drifting, and the patrol team almost walked into the radiation zone."
"Later, we used repeater towers for networking," Susan said. "With the addition of terrain correction algorithms, the signal coverage became stable."
"More than that," Chen Hao added, "We can now remotely monitor the condition of farmland, with automatic alarms for temperature and humidity, so we don't even need anyone to check on the watering."
Carl stroked his chin. "Farming has become simpler than eating."
"The biggest progress has been in agriculture," Chen Hao continued. "In the past, turning the soil relied on shovels, and one person could only manage half an acre a day. Now, a mechanical plow can level ten acres in one go. Seeders have recognition functions, automatically replanting missing seedlings. Fertilizer ratios are also intelligently adjusted, doubling the yield."
Susan said in a low voice, "Last month's harvest was enough to support everyone's consumption for six months, and there was still a surplus to store as a reserve."
“This was unthinkable in the past.” Chen Hao looked at them. “Back then, we worried about food every day, and we ate in three shifts for each meal, afraid that it wouldn’t be enough. Now, we can not only eat our fill, but also choose our own food.”
"The key is that a closed-loop system has been established." Nana pulled up a flowchart, "Waste recycling, water purification, and nutrient solution regeneration are all linked and operated in a coordinated manner, increasing the resource utilization rate to 89%."
“It sounds cold and aloof,” Chen Hao grinned, “but that’s what gives us the confidence to survive.”
The room was quiet for a few seconds.
Karl suddenly asked, "What are you trying to prove by saying all this?"
"It proves that our efforts weren't in vain," Chen Hao said. "Every failure, every restart, wasn't a waste of time. We are truly moving forward."
Susan watched the images scrolling on the projector—broken pots, blackened stoves, burnt rice; and now, neatly arranged utensils, stably operating equipment, and lush green fields.
“Actually, I never realized it,” she said. “The changes are so big.”
"It's precisely because it's so big that we can't see clearly," Chen Hao said. "Every day we're so focused on solving the immediate problems that we forget to look back and see how far we've come."
Nana switched the video to a comparison of material applications. On the left side of the screen was an early, handcrafted, rough iron pot with a pitted surface and a loose handle; on the right side were modern composite board utensils with smooth lines and uniform color.
“The new material is not only durable,” she said, “but also replicable. Once the parameters are fixed, any workshop can produce the same standard product.”
“That’s the key point.” Chen Hao stood up and walked to the projector. “What we need to do is not only to make ourselves live well, but also to ensure that those who come after us don’t have to start from scratch. I was the one who broke the first pot, and I don’t want the second person to do the same.”
Susan said softly, "You want to leave behind a method?"
“It’s not something I wanted to do,” Chen Hao shook his head. “It was something we did together, and we need to let people know how we did it.”
Carl nodded slowly. "Like what you're saying now, if we record it, the newcomers can watch it when they come."
“I have archived them,” Nana said. “All technical documents, operation logs, and failure cases have been uploaded to the public database and marked with priority and risk warnings.”
“Okay.” Chen Hao slammed his hand on the table. “Then let’s add one more item—compile these results into an overview report, and title it… ‘How We Survived’.”
"That's too depressing," Susan laughed. "Let's change the name."
“Then let’s call it ‘Live Like a Personal Guide’,” Carl suggested.
“Sure,” Chen Hao said without objection. “As long as the content is solid, that’s fine.”
Nana has begun editing the new folder structure, with four main directories side by side: Energy Supply System, Information Transmission Network, Agricultural Production Process, and Daily Necessities Manufacturing.
"Should we add a user feedback module?" she asked.
“Of course,” Chen Hao said. “Your drinking of soup just now counts as data collection, so don’t try to hide.”
“The ingestion process has been completed,” Nana said. “Taste rating: mild, non-irritating, suitable for long-term use.”
“Listen,” Chen Hao turned to everyone, “the robot says this soup is good.”
Susan shook her head with a smile, "It doesn't understand what 'delicious' means at all."
“But it remembered,” Chen Hao said. “Remembering is also a beginning.”
The atmosphere in the room had changed. It was no longer simply relaxed and cheerful, but carried a heavy, somber weight.
Carl suddenly said, "If we keep doing this, will there be schools in the future that teach people these things?"
"Why not?" Chen Hao retorted. "Where there are people, there must be knowledge to pass on. What we are doing now is exactly what textbooks should be writing about."
"Then who will be the teacher?" Susan joked.
“You,” Chen Hao said, pointing at her, “you have the best memory and you love to meddle.”
“And what about Nana?” Carl asked. “She’s the repository of knowledge itself.”
Nana looked up and said, "I can generate teaching templates and provide real-time Q&A support."
"Perfect." Chen Hao clapped his hands. "When the base expands, the first lesson will be called 'How to prevent the rice cooker from exploding in the oven.'"
Laughter rang out again, but this time it was different. There was something certain in the laughter, like the ground beneath one's feet was firmly planted.
Chen Hao walked to the map on the wall and traced his finger over the undeveloped areas.
“We’ll build a new workshop here,” he said. “A training center will be set up over there. And a little further away, we’ll build an experimental farm specifically for testing new varieties and tools.”
Susan stood up and walked to his side. "If that were really the case, the next generation wouldn't know what hunger is when they're born."
"They'll never know what despair is," Chen Hao said in a low voice.
Karl stood up and stretched his ankles. "Then I need to quickly design a few more handy tools to leave for future generations."
"Don't just think about keeping him here." Chen Hao turned around. "You have to teach him yourself."
“Sure,” Carl grinned. “The first lesson will be about how to choose a shovel that won’t chip.”
Nana completed the file categorization simultaneously, and a notification popped up in the lower right corner of the screen: [Milestone Technology Summary - Saved to Shared Directory].
She closed the terminal and looked up at the three of them.
"This record has been encrypted and backed up three times, with physical storage locations in the main control room, underground warehouse and backup base station respectively."
"Well done." Chen Hao nodded.
"Just in case," she said.
“That’s right.” Chen Hao sat down again and picked up the scratched lunchbox. “Things can be repaired if they’re broken, but knowledge is gone forever once it’s lost.”
Susan said softly, "So what everyone at this table said today should also be taken into account."
“Of course,” Chen Hao laughed, “especially when Carl said he wanted a tombstone carved.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Carl said. “I’m going to carve it on the classroom wall—‘Pay attention in class, or you’ll have to wash pots for ten years.’”
Nana opened a new document and typed a line: "[Suggestion to add a customized teaching warning sign service]".
She looked up, about to say something.
Chen Hao suddenly handed over the lunchbox.
"Want another bite?" he said. "It's hot."
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