The night breeze was still blowing, rustling the vanilla leaves. Chen Hao stood by the observation deck, his hands in his pockets; the paper was still there, he hadn't lost it.
He stared at the restaurant window in the distance for a while, then suddenly said, "The table is always wobbly, and the chairs creak as soon as you sit down. Eating here feels like being a thief, as if I'm afraid they'll collapse."
Nana didn't reply, but simply turned to look at him.
"We can't keep making do like this forever." He rubbed his face. "I've figured out how to live, but I'm living too carelessly."
He turned and walked into the base, his steps slow but steady.
"The next goal has been set—to replace the tables and chairs."
---
The carpentry workshop was located on the east side of the residential area, and no one had been inside for a long time. Dried clods of mud were stuck in the crack of the door, and when it was pushed, it made a "crunch" sound, like a rusty throat being torn open.
The room was dark, with dust floating in the air. Sunlight slanted in from a small window high up, and you could see tiny wood chips floating in the beams of light.
"Turn on the light," Chen Hao said, leaning against the door frame to catch his breath.
The lights came on. A few overhead lights flickered twice before settling, illuminating the piles of logs scattered on the ground. Some were sawn from trees that had fallen after the last rainstorm, others were old beams salvaged from abandoned buildings. In the corner lay a pile of tools—planes, chisels, saws—all covered in dust.
“This place is even lazier than me,” Chen Hao kicked a piece of broken wood at his feet. “It’s been lying here for half a year and it still doesn’t know what it should be doing.”
Nana walked to the control panel and swiped her finger across it. The projector lit up, and several table and chair design drawings floated in the air.
One is a square table with four legs and clean lines; another is a folding chair with wheels; and the third is a long, carved bench that looks like it would be difficult to work with.
“All of these can be done,” she said.
"It looks like something for an exhibition." Chen Hao scratched his head. "What we need is something that we can sit on, eat in, and that won't fall apart."
“We also have the basic model.” She switched the screen to show a simple dining table model with four straight legs and a flat tabletop. “It can support 300 kilograms, has a stable structure, and is suitable for beginners.”
"A beginner?" He chuckled. "I'm not even a 'learner,' I'd say I've 'tried it out and then given up.'"
He bent down, picked up a handsaw, and examined it closely, turning it over and over in his hands. "How do you hold this thing?"
"Grip the handle with your right hand, support the board with your left, and push forward at a steady speed," Nana said.
"Easy for you to say." He walked up to a log, squatted down, put the saw on it, and as soon as he applied force, the saw teeth got stuck.
"The wood's reaction force was too great, and you lost your balance," Nana said.
“I know I didn’t stand properly.” He released the saw, stood up, and patted his knees. “This piece of wood is fatter than me.”
He readjusted his posture, planted one foot firmly forward, pressed down on the wood with the other hand, and started sawing again. This time it moved, but after only a few pulls, his arm began to shake.
"I'm exhausted." He threw down the saw and plopped down on the ground. "This is only the first shot. The rest will probably kill me."
“We can use a robotic arm to assist with the cutting,” Nana said.
“No,” he shook his head. “I want to do it myself. Otherwise, when I sit at this table to eat in the future, I’ll keep wondering—did I really make this? Or did a robot do it for me?”
"Then you need to adjust your rhythm."
“I’m already adjusting,” he said, panting. “For example, right now, I’m using the action of ‘sitting down to catch my breath’ to adjust the intensity of my work.”
Nana didn't speak, and the optical glasses flickered slightly.
“Let’s try again.” He pushed himself up from the ground, replaced the piece of wood with a thinner one, and set it up again.
This time he slowed down considerably, pulling inch by inch. Sawdust began to fall, landing on his shoes. On the third pull, the saw slipped, grazing the back of his hand and leaving a red mark.
"Ouch!" He pulled his hand back. "This blockhead is quite vengeful."
"Wearing gloves is recommended."
"You don't feel anything once you wear it." He shook his hand. "You only realize you're working when it hurts."
Finally, the wood broke. The two pieces lay on the ground, the cuts crooked and twisted, as if a dog had gnawed on them.
"Did it work?" he asked.
“The physical connection has been severed,” Nana said, “but the angle of the cut is off by twelve degrees, making it unsuitable for direct assembly.”
“It’s alright.” He picked up a piece and gestured, “As long as it works. Perfection is for gods, we mortals just need something that can still move.”
He moved the wood to the workbench and took out a measuring tape to measure it. After measuring, he found it was three centimeters too short, so he drew a line on it with a pen, preparing to make another cut.
"What are you planning to do?" Nana asked.
“Table legs,” he said. “Four legs, it doesn’t matter if three are crooked, as long as one isn’t missing.”
He picked up a chisel and hammer and began to trim the end. The first blow went astray, hitting the table and making the whole table bounce.
"Be gentle," he said to himself.
The second blow was more accurate, but the force was too great, and the wood cracked slightly.
"It's over, it's ruined."
“It can be fixed,” Nana said, pointing to the crack. “We can add a metal plate to fix it horizontally, or make it into a short support.”
“Then let’s use it as the short one.” He simply put the piece of wood aside. “Anyway, I didn’t expect to produce a champion on the first one.”
He picked another, straighter one and started again. This time, he first sanded the edges, then carefully chiseled the tenon. His movements were clumsy, but he gradually found his rhythm.
Sweat streamed down his forehead and dripped onto the wood. He wiped it away and continued hammering.
Half an hour later, the first complete table leg stood up. The three legs were of equal length, one was slightly shorter, and the whole table was tilted to the right at a 15-degree angle. It wobbled when placed on the ground, but it was indeed standing upright.
“Look.” He held it up, a smile spreading across his face. “Our first piece.”
“The structure is unstable.” Nana scanned it. “I suggest adding a base counterweight or adjusting the length.”
"Suggestion received." He nodded. "I'll improve next time."
He placed the table leg on the ground and walked around it halfway, as if admiring a sculpture.
"Do you think...it looks like me?" he suddenly asked.
“The differences in appearance are quite significant,” Nana said.
“I didn’t mean it looks like it,” he laughed. “I meant it’s a bit crooked and not very sturdy; it might fall over in a strong wind. But it stood up and didn’t fall down.”
He reached out and touched the top of the table leg, where it was roughened, but the shape was still visible.
“I used to think that living was just about not dying,” he said. “Now I think that living also means doing something. Even if what I do is crooked and messy, at least I did it with my own hands.”
Nana stood to the side, saying nothing. Her recording system was simultaneously updating construction data and marking the peak values of the human fatigue curve.
“Next batch of timber,” she said. “I recommend prioritizing the load-bearing structures.”
"Okay." He flexed his wrists. "But we need to rest for a while. My arm feels like it's carrying ten pounds of cured meat when I lift it up."
He sat down against the wall, panting, but his eyes remained fixed on the table leg.
Sunlight streamed in through the high window, falling on the pile of sawdust, and dust motes danced in the light. The shadow of the table legs was cast obliquely on the floor, crooked, but clear.
He reached out and grabbed a handful of sawdust, held it in his hand, and then let it fall away.
"You mean this piece of wood used to be a tree, right?"
"yes."
"After being battered by wind and rain for decades, it was finally sawed down, cut into strips, and became part of the table."
"Life form transformation".
"Sounds pretty mystical." He smiled. "It's really just about changing your way of life."
He stood up, brushed the dust off his pants, and walked to another log.
“Come on,” he said. “Try not to make the second leg any more crooked than the first one.”
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