Chen Hao opened the box, inside were the spaceship parts that had fallen apart yesterday. He picked up a broken piece of fiberboard, gently snapped it, and the break was clean.
“It’s still brittle,” he said. “But the problem isn’t that it’s too rotten, it’s that we didn’t use the right method.”
Susan glanced up at the new blueprints on the table; the corners of the paper were crumpled and fuzzy. She didn't speak, but simply placed the pen next to the wire. That wire was thinned by Carl last night; it was a size thinner than before, bent into a small triangle, and could fit into the seam.
Nana stood in front of the information screen. The optical module flashed, and a simple structural diagram was projected onto the desktop. Three crossbeams intersected, and the nodes were marked with red dots.
“This is the most basic stability model in the database,” she said. “It’s suitable for low-strength material combinations.”
"It sounds like elementary school kids building blocks." Chen Hao chuckled. "Perfect, we never really planned to build a space shuttle."
Carl unscrewed the small can of resin liquid; the smell was a bit pungent. He wrinkled his nose. "The repair team asked me what I was going to do with this. I said I was doing crafts. He stared at me for five seconds and then said, 'Have you been sleeping poorly lately?'"
“Their judgment was correct.” Chen Hao took the jar and poured a little onto the test strip. “Anyway, we don’t make a living from this profession.”
He dipped his finger in the liquid and applied it to the edge of the fiberboard. This time, he didn't just smear it randomly; instead, he ran it along the grain, spreading it evenly like he was painting a wall.
"First stick, then clip, and finally wrap," he said. "Three steps, anyone can learn."
Susan picked up a newly cut piece of board and aligned it with the position on the drawing. She placed the bent wire triangle on it, secured it with clips, and then slowly pressed it down. The resin seeped into the gap, making a slight hissing sound.
"Don't rush to move," Nana reminded her. "It will take thirty minutes for it to fully cure."
“I know.” Susan released her grip. “I just wanted to see if I could keep things steady.”
They waited for ten minutes, then Chen Hao gently pushed a corner of the model. It wobbled but didn't fall apart.
"It's alive?" he said.
“It’s not dead yet.” Susan looked down to check the interface. “At least it’s not going to break at the slightest touch right now.”
Carl squatted on the ground, holding another small frame in his hand. He had already made three, each using a different wire arrangement. He placed the sturdiest one in the middle, saying, "This one is the least likely to bend, but it looks a bit ugly."
"It's not a beauty pageant." Chen Hao put that framework into the main structure. "As long as it can hold up, it's fine."
They started assembling the entire spaceship again. This time, no one was in a rush to finish; every step was taken at a slower pace. Susan was in charge of the node design, Carl adjusted the frame, Chen Hao handled the gluing, and Nana timed the process and recorded the time and reaction of each operation.
By the afternoon, the first complete model was finally standing on the table.
It wasn't pretty. There were glue residue on the surface, the edges were crooked, and the exposed wire looked like thorns. But it stood up.
Chen Hao lifted it up with both hands, raising it into the air, and then gently shook it twice.
No parts were lost.
He laughed and sat down on the ground. "Did it work?"
"At least he can pick it up now." Susan came over and looked at it. "We can try letting the child do it tomorrow."
“That is, someone has to come,” Carl said.
"If you don't want to come, that's fine." Chen Hao put the model back on the table. "But we have to stay."
Nana suddenly spoke up: "Message from Zone B has been read."
Everyone paused for a moment.
"When?" Chen Hao asked.
"Thirteen minutes ago. The dwell time was forty-seven seconds, the longest record in recent times."
“It’s almost ten times longer than the last official notification.” Carl stood up. “At least they read it.”
“Looking and returning are two different things,” Susan said.
“But this is just the beginning.” Chen Hao picked up a pen and wrote on a piece of scrap paper, “Do you think if I posted another one, with an even sillier tone, anyone would be tempted to chime in?”
"How do you want to write it?" Nana asked.
"I'd say, 'We've messed up another one here. This time we used glue and wire. It looks like a monster, but at least it didn't fall apart. Want to try it too?'"
“Let me add one more thing,” Susan said, taking the pen. “'Do you have anyone over there who has fixed things but never talks about it? We can write it down for them.'”
Carl nodded. "Just send it like that. Don't make it like a meeting, just treat it like a chat."
Nana edited the message, uploaded it to the public channel, and labeled it as "Non-urgent matter, you can reply at any time".
After doing all that, she returned to the table and looked at the crooked spaceship.
"This is the first piece that can be taken away," she said.
“Maybe this will be the last one.” Chen Hao lay back in his chair, his legs propped up on the edge of the table. “But it doesn’t matter, we didn’t expect to succeed on the first try anyway.”
No one responded.
It was getting darker outside, and the air blowing in from the vents was getting cooler. The shadow of the model on the table was stretched long, lying diagonally across the "Star Mark Project" notice board on the wall.
The next morning, as soon as the workshop door opened, Chen Hao saw that there were some extra things on the table.
It's not a message board, nor is it a new tool.
It was a short, blackened copper tube placed in the center, with a piece of paper underneath.
The note read: "The water pipe that Old Li replaced. He said he used it for eight years and didn't want to talk about it."
Chen Hao picked up the copper pipe; it was heavy and had scratches on its surface, as if it had been rubbed against something many times.
He placed it at the very front of the display shelf, next to the spaceship he had made the day before.
"We have the first exhibit," he said.
Susan walked in, glanced at the pipe, and smiled. "Looks like some people are starting to believe it."
“It’s not that we trust you,” Chen Hao said, “it’s that we believe this matter will work.”
Carl inspected the cart, made sure the wheels were fine, and then stuffed a few rolls of wire and two cans of resin into the box.
"Are classes still in session today?" he asked.
“Of course.” Chen Hao sat back down at the table. “The materials, tools, and people are all here.”
Nana updated her task list for the day, setting "structural stability testing" as a priority. She stood in front of the information screen, which showed that area B had still not responded to any new messages.
However, the reading status changed to "read twice".
Two children arrived at noon.
They stood at the door for a long time, and one of them pointed to the spaceship on the table and asked, "Did you make this?"
"Yeah." Chen Hao nodded. "It broke down three times yesterday, and it only stabilized today."
Can I try?
"Of course. But we have to do it step by step, first we need to learn how to build the scaffold."
The child sat down, and Susan handed him a simplified diagram. It showed only four steps, drawn in large characters.
Carl taught him how to bend the wire, moving very slowly, and if he didn't get it right the first time, he would try again.
Nana documented the entire process, marking the steps where children were most prone to making mistakes.
When the resin was applied, the child's hand trembled, and a little too much came out.
"It's okay," Chen Hao said. "It's usable even if it's ugly."
Two hours later, an even smaller spaceship was completed. It stood tilted on the table, one side higher than the other, like a drunkard.
But it did not dissipate.
The child picked it up, held it up to his eyes, looked at it, and then laughed.
"May I take it with me?"
“Of course,” Chen Hao said, “but it’s best not to fall.”
The child carried the spaceship away, almost bumping into the door frame as he went out.
The room fell silent.
Chen Hao leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and asked, "Would you say we won today?"
“One time doesn’t count.” Susan lowered her head to revise the drawings. “It only counts if someone comes next.”
At 3 PM, the information screen flashed.
Section B has responded.
He only asked one question: "Could someone from your craft class come and take a look next week?"
The text was followed by a parenthesis: "Bring some scrap metal over."
After reading it, Chen Hao didn't say anything and directly forwarded the message to the big screen.
The four of them watched for a while.
"Are they coming?" Carl asked.
"It seems so." Chen Hao laughed. "It seems that the more genuinely melancholic you are, the more people are willing to believe it."
Nana began preparing the reception plan, pulling up the venue capacity and material consumption estimates.
Susan drew a new teaching template on paper, this time adding color to differentiate it.
Carl checked every screw on the cart to make sure it wouldn't fall apart on the road.
Chen Hao picked up the blackened copper pipe, wiped its surface, and then placed it in the center of the display stand.
He had just put his hand down when he heard footsteps outside the door.
More than one person.
The door was pushed open, and three people dressed in repair uniforms walked in, carrying bags in their hands.
The middle-aged man leading the group looked at the spaceship on the table, then at the notice board on the wall.
He placed the bag he was carrying on the table and opened it.
Inside was a pile of old parts: broken gears, rusty bolts, and a flattened section of ventilation pipe.
"I heard you collect these?" he said. "We swept them out from under our warehouse; nobody wanted them anymore."
Chen Hao stood up. "Stop. Stop very much."
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