Chen Hao removed his fingers from the notebook cover, his fingertips tapping against the corner of the table, causing a slight pain, but he didn't pull them back. The light bulb was still on, its halo small, just enough to cover the half-sewn pile of leather in front of him. The finished coats in the corner were neatly folded, their stitches crooked and uneven, like some kind of primitive tribal script.
He stood up, brushed the lint off his pants, walked over, and picked up a shirt to try it on. The sleeves were too long, and the collar was torn, as if it had been gnawed on. He grinned, "It's ugly, but at least I can wear it."
Nana stood by the workbench, her arm raised, revealing a semi-transparent panel in her palm, displaying scrolling temperature curves and wind speed forecasts. "According to surface heat flow monitoring, the polar cold front will arrive at this latitude in seventy-two standard days," she said calmly. "At that time, the average temperature will drop by more than eighteen degrees Celsius."
"I just took the sleeping bag off, and now I have to put it back on?" Chen Hao threw his clothes aside and plopped back into his chair. "I haven't even gotten through summer yet."
“The existing clothing can maintain a comfortable feeling,” Nana continued, “but there is still a risk of hypothermia from working outdoors for extended periods. It is recommended to increase fuel reserves, reinforce the airtightness of residential areas, and set up emergency heating points.”
Chen Hao looked up at the old water seepage mark on the rock ceiling, now dry, leaving only a gray line. "What do we have of all this stuff now?"
Nana swiped her finger, and the projection on the wall switched to a resource list: timber inventory, fiber stock, pottery surplus, scrolling down line by line. Chen Hao leaned closer to look, his brows furrowing more and more deeply.
"The firewood is only enough to burn for twelve days?"
“Currently, the stock of dry timber is only 37 percent of the theoretical demand,” Nana added. “If we calculate based on eight hours of heating per day, the shortage will continue to widen.”
"What about that withered forest on the south slope? Surely we can cut down the dead trees?"
“The scan confirms that the moisture content of the trees in this area is less than 25 percent, making them suitable for short-term burning.” Nana paused, “but we need to consider the balance between transportation efficiency and manpower consumption.”
“I can’t move the whole log by myself, and you can’t dismantle it and use it as firewood.” Chen Hao scratched his head. “How about… we make a sled? We can use the thick planks left over from repairing the shed to piece it together.”
“The structural feasibility has been verified.” Nana pulled up the design sketches. “The maximum load capacity is 120 kilograms, and the coefficient of friction is low, so it can be pushed on gravel roads.”
"Okay, after I finish sewing up all these scraps, I'll go to Qinglin tomorrow." Chen Hao stretched, his bones cracking. "Anyway, I don't have anything else to do. I can't just practice my facial expressions in front of the wall."
He had barely finished speaking when a soft thud came from outside, as if something had been blown over by the wind. The two of them turned their heads simultaneously.
The clothesline was taut, with a pole leaning against the wall; it must have slipped down earlier. The wind wasn't strong, but the coolness was already seeping in along the ground.
A glint of blue light flashed in Nana's eyes. "The outside temperature has dropped by 3.2 degrees in the past six hours," she said. "That's a precursor to a cold wave."
"So fast?" Chen Hao touched his neck. "I thought it would be warm for at least a month."
"The climate system does not accept leave requests."
"You're talking like a homeroom teacher." Chen Hao stood up, walked around the room, picked up the stone axe, weighed it in his hand, and then put it down. "The tools are all there, but I'm too lazy. Yesterday I was thinking that I could finally write a few more pages of 'The Way of Living on a Wild Star, Part One,' but when I opened it, it was all blank."
“You can record today’s decision-making process,” Nana suggested. “For example, the entry for ‘deciding to prioritize fuel replenishment’.”
“That’s too fake.” Chen Hao shook his head. “Who would write ‘Today I’ve decided to live first before dreaming’? How embarrassing.”
"A true log needs no embellishment."
“But I don’t want to write it as a will.” He walked to the door and reached out to pull the latch. A cold wind immediately rushed in, making him shiver, but he didn’t close the door.
The sky outside was a greyish-purple, the clouds hung low, and the distant mountain ridges were indistinct. He looked at it for a long time, then suddenly said, "Tell me, if the escape pod hadn't broken down, wouldn't we have gone back long ago?"
Nana paused for two seconds. "Hypothetical questions are not within the scope of this task."
"I was just asking casually." Chen Hao shrank his neck but still didn't close the door. "Sometimes I feel like all the trouble we've gone through here, repairing houses, sewing clothes, taking notes... it's like we're just trying to prove that we haven't lived in vain."
“Your behavioral data shows a 19 percent increase in your sense of purpose,” Nana said. “Your self-efficacy perception has improved significantly.”
"Translate it?"
"You're starting to believe you can get things done."
Chen Hao paused for a moment, then turned to look at the pile of tools in the corner. The stone axe's blade had been ground into a curve, the cracks in the pottery jar had been patched up, and even the table that had been pieced together finally had four legs of equal height.
“I used to complain three times even if a takeout order was late,” he said in a low voice. “Now I can actually say to a pile of rotten wood, ‘Let’s get through this together.’”
Nana didn't reply, but the panel in her palm quietly switched, changing from a supplies list to a timeline. The starting point was the day the life pod crashed, and the ending point was today.
A red line runs throughout, marking every major decision: the first ignition, the first sampling, the first tent erection, the first sewing...
Chen Hao caught a glimpse of it, walked over, and pointed to the latest post: "Is this 'preparing for the cold wave' included as well?"
“Archived.” Nana nodded. “Tagged as ‘Proactive defensive decision-making’.”
"That sounds impressive." He smiled. "Actually, I just don't want to be so cold that I have to get up in the middle of the night to tap dance anymore."
“Failure to regulate body temperature can lead to metabolic disorders,” Nana said seriously. “In severe cases, it can cause confusion, slow movement, and even organ failure.”
"Stop, stop!" Chen Hao waved his hand. "You can eat whatever you want, but you can't say whatever you want. I haven't had dinner yet!"
Nana retracted the panel, her eyes flashing a faint blue light as she entered a low-power state.
Chen Hao put the newly made leather jacket back on, pulled up the collar; it let in a draft, but at least it would keep out the wind for a while. He went outside and stepped on the ground. The soil was a bit hard, not as soft as it had been a few days ago.
"It seems the land is starting to prepare for winter," he said.
"Soil moisture has dropped by fourteen percent," Nana's voice came from inside the house. "The risk of freezing has increased."
“Then let it freeze.” Chen Hao looked up at the sky. “Let’s fill the house with firewood first, then seal the door gaps tightly. You’re in charge of the math, and I’ll be in charge of moving the bricks—even though I’m slow, at least I won’t break myself in two.”
He turned and walked into the house, closing the door behind him.
The lamp was still on, illuminating the notebook spread out on the table. He picked up his pen and wrote three words on a new page: "Winter Preparations Notes".
Then, after a pause, he added, "First thing: Don't let Nana become an electric blanket."
Nana stood in the control area, the blue light swaying gently, as if she were smiling.
Chen Hao pulled out an old blueprint, laid it on the table, and weighed down the four corners with stones. It was their earliest base layout drawing, with messy lines, distorted proportions, and even the location of the water source was marked wrong twice.
He circled the open space on the south side with a pen. "We can build a firewood shed here," he said. "It doesn't need to be too big, just enough to keep out the rain."
“I suggest using a sloping roof structure,” Nana appeared behind him. “The sloping angle is thirty-five degrees, which is beneficial for drainage.”
How do you know everything?
"The knowledge base includes a basic architecture module."
"Then why didn't you tell me how to sew clothes sooner? I had to get eight stitches."
"Sewing skills were not included in the initial task priority."
"So I was a guinea pig?" Chen Hao's eyes widened. "Did you secretly keep track of how many drops of blood I lost?"
"The amount of blood loss is below the safe threshold and does not pose a health threat."
"You actually remembered that!" He grabbed the eraser and threw it at her. Nana gently dodged to the side, and the eraser hit the wall and bounced down.
He didn't bother picking it up and continued drawing, head down. His pen paused, then he suddenly looked up: "Can we... really make it through this winter?"
Nana didn't answer immediately. She pulled up a holographic image: the trajectory from the fall of the escape pod to the initial formation of the base was clearly visible.
“You once wrote: ‘Don’t be afraid of making mistakes, be afraid of not learning from them.’” she said. “Now, we are turning our mistakes into preparations.”
Chen Hao was stunned, then grinned: "You really kept all the things I wrote?"
He stood up, put on his leather jacket, walked to the door, and unlatched it. A cold wind rushed in, but he stood there without moving.
The distant mountain shadows were heavy, and the wind whistled softly.
He gazed at the grayish-purple sky and said softly, "Come on."
The door closed.
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