Nana's finger landed on the Enter key, the cursor on the screen jumped, and the search box began scrolling through data. She typed in the three words "festival," "low-resource," and "small community" side by side, filtering out projects that required large equipment or complex processes. The database quickly displayed dozens of cases, mostly restorative ceremonies held by agricultural societies after famines, and a few simplified celebrations held by space colonies during periods of energy shortage.
She read through the entries one by one, her fingers lightly tapping on the keyboard, jotting down useful information into a new document. The first entry was "Memory Gallery," showcasing the reconstruction process through old photos and artifacts; the second was "Handmade Market," where participants exchanged small items made from scraps; and the third was "Story Night," where everyone shared a personal experience without scoring or judging.
Nana stopped what she was doing and pulled up the recording of the previous meeting. Chen Hao said, "It makes people feel that life is meaningful." She listened to it three times and noticed that his breathing deepened twice before and after the sentence, and there was a pause in the middle that lasted 0.7 seconds longer than normal. This showed that he wasn't just saying it casually, but genuinely cared about it.
She created a new subdirectory named "Moments of Light." The rules were simple: everyone wrote down a small thing they had done, put it in a wooden box, and it would be randomly read out on the last day of the holiday. No signatures were required, and there was no judging. She remembered that Carl had fixed the water pump that had lost power three times, Susan had secretly given the wounded an extra half portion of rations, and Chen Hao had insisted on debugging the signal tower even when he had a fever. These things weren't officially recorded, but they were worth mentioning.
The document structure gradually became clear. Three main sections: The Path of Witnessing, The Corner of Creation, and The Night of Sound. Each section was further divided into specific activities. She began calculating the practicalities—the solar-powered battery could support five hours of lighting, the old loudspeakers in the repair shop could be converted into a sound system, and the remaining ribbons and metal sheets from the workshop were enough for decoration. All materials were marked "recyclable."
She pulled out a paper notebook and drew a timeline in blue pen. The first day's activities included setting up the exhibition in the morning and opening it to the public in the afternoon; the second day was free for all to explore, with a few small game areas set up; the third evening was dedicated to a "Night of Sounds." Tea and rest periods were interspersed throughout to prevent anyone from getting tired.
Halfway through writing, the processor temperature rose, and the system popped up a prompt: "Please pause the operation for fifteen minutes." She turned off the environmental simulation function in the visual feedback, keeping only the text interface. The cooling fan spun a little slower, but she didn't stop working.
A question suddenly occurred to me: Will the interactive session become just a formality? Some people might be unwilling to participate, while others might be afraid of saying something inappropriate. She played back Susan's tone in the recording, "Your copywriting is terrible," and when she said this, her lips were slightly upturned, suggesting she was joking. But what if someone actually wrote something but is too afraid to read it aloud?
She added a note under "Night of Voices": "Reading service provided." Those who don't want to speak can submit their content to volunteers who will read it aloud. This ensures that at least every voice is heard.
Next, they worked on the exhibition section. Susan was in charge of organizing the pictures and descriptions, but there wasn't any concrete content yet. Nana tentatively suggested several exhibition area titles: "The Pot of the Past," "The Pot of Today," "From Burnt Rice to Hot Soup," and "The Journey of a Piece of Ore." The accompanying text should be simple and direct, such as "It didn't explode because we didn't give up," without using fancy sentences.
She recalled how Chen Hao ate, always finishing his soup with the last bite and meticulously scraping every grain of rice. Perhaps a small sign at the entrance could read, "Welcome to enjoy a meal that won't burn."
The design of the craft area was even more challenging. It couldn't be too difficult, otherwise no one would participate; nor could it be too simple, or it would seem perfunctory. Inspired by a post-disaster community from Earth's past, she designed a "puzzle wall"—using discarded circuit boards cut into pieces, each person taking a piece to color, and finally piecing them together to form a large image. The finished image was the outline of the base, with the words "We survived here" written in the center.
During the game segment, Carl mentioned the need for group divisions, and she set up three events: a tool assembly competition, a vegetable sorting competition, and a signal reception challenge. The prizes were still towels and socks, but now with a points system. The top ten scorers would receive priority access to public facilities, such as earlier showers and priority in choosing their beds.
The honorary title was set as "Base Star," which, while sounding a bit like a child exchanging stickers for rewards, shows that this type of naming helps with a sense of group identity. She didn't change it.
As dawn approached, she exported the entire plan into two versions. One was a PDF file with illustrations, suitable for projection; the other was a plain text outline, only eight pages long when printed. She checked the energy consumption model to confirm that all electricity consumption was within the backup line range and would not affect the main grid operation.
As she closed her laptop, she heard some commotion outside. One by one, the lights in the living area came on, people began washing up, and the taps were running. She stood up, tucked the folder under her arm, and walked towards the communal meeting room.
She encountered an early-rising worker on the street and nodded in greeting. The man glanced at the folder in her hand and asked, "Staying up all night again?"
"It's not like I stayed up all night," she said. "I just finished what I was supposed to do."
The meeting room door was open, and the tables and chairs were neatly arranged. She went in, placed the paper copy in the center, and simultaneously uploaded the electronic version to the shared directory. The terminal showed that the team wouldn't gather for another twelve minutes. She sat near the door and opened the document for a final review.
I suddenly realized I missed a detail: should there be music for the opening ceremony?
She did some research and found that early humans often used drums or bells to begin events, symbolizing a restart. The base didn't have a drum, but there was a discarded metal plate that produced a sound that traveled quite far when struck.
She wrote it down and added it to the preparation checklist for "Night of Sound".
Just as I was about to close the page, Chen Hao pushed the door open and came in. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were a little puffy. His first words were, "You didn't sleep all night?"
“It’s finished,” she said. “The draft plan.”
He walked over and sat down, reaching for the paper version, but she gently pushed him away.
“Wait,” she said. “The others haven’t arrived yet.”
He withdrew his hand and scratched his face. "I dreamt that our festival was a disaster. Everyone was standing still, and I was the only one on stage giving speeches."
“No,” she said. “I have ruled out the possibility of one person taking the lead.”
"That's good." He breathed a sigh of relief. "I was worried you'd make me talk."
“The speaking format has been adjusted,” she said. “Each person will say one sentence, and the whole speech will be delivered as a group.”
He chuckled. "You actually listened to me."
“I said I would assist with the planning,” she said. “And this model has a higher success rate.”
Susan and Carl entered one after the other and found seats. Susan glanced at the folder on the table and asked, "Is this the draft you were talking about?"
“Yes.” Nana nodded. “It includes three modules: exhibition, interaction, and expression, with a total of nine activities. The execution period is three days, and resource consumption is controllable.”
Carl turned to the first page, pointed to one of the items, and asked, "Who's going to finish this 'puzzle wall'?"
"Volunteers take turns," she said. "The assembly is done together before the end of each day."
"What if no one is willing to participate?"
“Participation is entirely voluntary,” she said, “but we will have guidance mechanisms in place.”
"for example?"
"For example, a group visit can be arranged on the first afternoon, led and explained by the initiator. With more people, there will naturally be some bandwagon behavior."
"You even included following the trend?"
“This is a common social phenomenon,” she said. “It would be inauthentic not to include it.”
Susan turned to the supplies list page. "Are these ribbons enough?"
“The current stock can cover the main areas,” she said. “If expansion is needed, old fabrics can be dyed as a substitute.”
“What about food?” Carl asked. “We can’t let everyone go on an empty stomach for the holiday.”
“We will maintain our daily food supply,” she said, “without adding any extra burden. But I would suggest that the kitchen prepare a special dish, such as a ‘mixed porridge’ made by cooking different ingredients together, to symbolize fusion.”
"It sounds like a hodgepodge of leftovers."
“The essence is the same,” she said, “but the naming affects acceptance.”
Chen Hao stared at the timeline for a long time, then suddenly looked up and asked, "You scheduled the opening ceremony for the evening?"
"yes."
Why not in the morning?
“The lighting effects are better,” she said. “Turning on the string lights after sunset creates a stronger visual impact. Humans are sensitive to changes in light and it easily creates a sense of ritual.”
He nodded. "That makes sense."
Then he asked, "Who made the box for that 'moment of glimmer'?"
“I can get started tonight,” she said. “Just use recycled wood and apply a coat of moisture-proof varnish.”
"Where is the place to write notes?"
"It's located at the exit of the exhibition area," she said. "People can drop it off as they pass by, without interrupting their visit."
The room was quiet for a moment. All four of them stared at the document, and no one spoke.
Nana waited a few seconds, then asked, "Is there any other question?"
No one answered.
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