Chen Hao put down the saw; sawdust stuck to his cuffs, but he didn't brush it off. The rough shape of the neck was already formed, with burrs still on the edges, but the general shape was emerging. He reached out and touched the newly assembled soundbox; the four crooked pieces were glued together with resin, looking like a hastily built doghouse.
"It's almost full," he said.
Nana stood to the side, the optical lens flashing slightly. She didn't speak, but reached into the tool rack and took out a set of small metal pieces—tuning knobs left over from when she made the circuit earlier, slightly oxidized but still turning.
Chen Hao took the knobs and screwed them one by one into the holes drilled in the headstock. The last hole was a little off-center, so he pressed down hard, and with a click, the threads locked in place. He grinned and said, "As long as it's sturdy."
The strings had been trimmed, and the outer layers of the six black-insulated wires had been stripped, revealing the thin copper wires twisted together inside. They were shiny and looked quite sharp. He threaded one end through the knob hole, tied a tight knot, and let the other end hang down, resting on the bottom of the instrument.
“There needs to be a support point,” he said.
“A lower string bolster needs to be installed,” Nana said. “Otherwise, the string will be pressed against the panel and won’t vibrate.”
“Then let’s make a pad.” He pulled out a small piece of wood, sanded it a few times with sandpaper, and stuffed it under the strings. After all six strings were hung up, they drooped loosely, like six old towels hanging on a clothesline.
"Should we tighten the controls now?" he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
He picked up the wrench and began to turn the first knob. The copper wire slowly taut, making a slight creaking sound. When he turned it three times, the sound suddenly changed, as if the wire had been stretched to its limit. He stopped and plucked the string.
"Thump—"
The sound was muffled and short, like hitting a rusty pot.
He frowned and continued adjusting the second one. This one was even stiffer, difficult to twist, and his fingers turned red. Once it was taut, he gave it another pull—
"squeak!"
It was so sharp it startled him.
"This isn't right." He shook his aching fingers.
Nana raised her hand, and a waveform appeared in her palm. Six lines jumped side by side, rising and falling erratically, none of them smooth.
“Audio analysis complete,” she said. “The first string’s frequency deviates from the standard E note by 18 percent, the second string is overtuned by 22 percent, and the remaining strings have uneven tension and disordered resonance patterns.”
Speak like a human.
“They’re not in the same tune,” she said. “To be precise, each one is singing its own song.”
Chen Hao scoffed, "I never expected it to play 'Moonlight Sonata,' as long as it makes a sound, that's fine, right?"
“Continued use of the current configuration may lead to auditory fatigue,” she said. “According to test data, listening continuously for more than three minutes can cause a 40% decrease in alpha wave activity in the brain.”
"You think it sounds bad?"
“State the objective results.”
He snorted and reached out to pluck the thickest string. This time he used more force.
"Boom!"
With a sharp crack, the sixth string snapped, the broken end striking my face with a burning pain.
"Ouch!" He covered his face. "This thing is trying to murder its owner?"
“The tension exceeds the material’s limits,” she said. “Copper wire is not ductile enough to withstand continuous stretching.”
Chen Hao threw the broken string on the ground and stared at the crooked guitar for a long time. His initial smugness deflated like a punctured balloon.
"So...this thing can't be used?"
“The structure is feasible,” she said. “The problem lies in the string material itself. Existing conductors have high density and low elasticity, making it impossible to generate a stable fundamental frequency.”
"What should we do then? Change to a different cable?"
“I suggest replacing it with a high-toughness, low-density fiber material.” She brought up the projector, and the screen listed the names of three plants. “According to the database, Wind Whispering Vine, Rock-bonded Grass, and Hollow Reed have physical properties similar to harp strings.”
Chen Hao felt a headache just hearing the name. "Where are we going to find these things?"
“Vegetation scans around the base show that there is a suspected 'wind whispering vine' community on the rock wall in the eastern area,” she said. “It is characterized by its silvery-white thin stems, three to five millimeters in diameter, which can produce self-excited vibrations when the wind blows.”
He paused for a moment, "Wait...you mean that kind of grass that grows in the cracks of rocks and buzzes when the wind blows?"
"yes."
“I’ve seen it!” He stood up abruptly, almost hitting the light bulb on his head. “Last time I went there to collect stones, the wind was strong, and the whole cliff was humming a song. I thought there was something wrong with my ears!”
"The molecules in this plant fiber are oriented in a specific direction," she said, "making it suitable for transmitting high-frequency vibrations."
Chen Hao paced back and forth a couple of times, then suddenly laughed, “So that means nature has already prepared the strings for us, just waiting for us to cut a section?”
"The logic holds true."
"Fine!" He slammed his hand on the table. "I'll go mow the lawn tomorrow!"
After he finished speaking, he turned around, picked up the guitar from the table, and leaned it against the corner of the wall. The case wobbled slightly, then stood firm against the wall, with five of the six strings remaining, hanging down at different lengths.
"Let's take a break," he said. "This thing is pretty much useless today."
Nana didn't move. "Should we disassemble some components to prevent them from warping due to moisture?"
“No need.” He waved his hand. “Let it stay here. Tomorrow I’m going to bring back a real singing grass and replace it with this one right now. Let’s see if it dares to shut up again.”
He walked to the table, poured himself a glass of water, and drank it all in one gulp. The room fell silent, with only the faint sound of wind coming from the vents.
After a few seconds, he suddenly looked up and said, "You know... if that grass really works, could we make a duet? You play one note, I play one note, and together we'll have a tune?"
“If the frequencies match, harmony can be formed,” she said. “But given your current rhythm error rate, the success rate is less than 30 percent.”
"Here we go again." He glared at him. "Didn't I tell you not to use data to pressure people?"
"I'm just offering this as a reference."
"Refer to what?" he muttered, but couldn't help laughing. "Anyway, it's better than it is now. This broken violin can't even produce a single note; it's just a noise-generating machine."
He sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and lightly touched the resonating box with his toes. The wooden box shook and made a dull "thud," as if in response.
Nana looked down at her hands. "For tomorrow's gathering mission, I suggest bringing scissors, a storage bag, and non-slip gloves. The ground in the eastern area is full of gravel, which can easily cause foot injuries."
“I know,” he said. “You really do pay attention to every little detail.”
"It's my duty."
He took another sip of water and gazed out the window. The sky was beginning to darken, and the distant mountain silhouettes blurred into a hazy expanse. Staring at that fading outline, he suddenly said:
"I'll leave early tomorrow."
"The optimal sampling time is expected to be between 9:00 and 11:00 a.m.," she said. "During this period, the plant cells have moderate water content and the fiber strength is at its highest."
"Okay." He nodded. "I'll have a good meal and then I'll leave."
He stood up and carefully gathered the tools scattered on the table into the drawer one by one. The saw, the charcoal pencil, the jigs—all were put away. Finally, he picked up the unused roll of wire, glanced at it, and stuffed it into the waste bin.
“There’s no use keeping this thing,” he said. “Let’s just save it as scrap.”
Nana watched him finish doing all this, and the optical mirror flickered almost imperceptibly.
"The environmental monitoring system indicates that there will be light fog tomorrow morning," she said. "Visibility may drop to less than 15 meters."
"Then bring a flashlight," he said. "We know the way anyway."
He turned off the desk light, plunging the room into darkness. Only the small nightlight in the corner remained lit, illuminating the guitar against the wall, like guarding a dream yet to awaken.
He stood at the doorway and glanced back.
"You mean that grass...can really make a beautiful sound?"
Nana replied, "According to the acoustic model, its natural vibration frequency is close to C major."
A slow smile spread across his face.
"Tomorrow, let's find that singing blade of grass first."
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