As dawn broke, Chen Hao was dozing off against the wine barrel, his eyelids twitching as if he'd been bitten ten times by mosquitoes. He couldn't fall asleep, nor dared he, feeling as if those heat sources outside were still crouching by the wall, ready to burst in and snatch the fruit wine the moment he closed his eyes.
Nana stood in the corner, her optical eyes scanning the ground, data swirling in her mind faster than an electric fan. She didn't speak, but Chen Hao knew she was calculating—calculating how much strength he had left, whether he would give up halfway, and which part of this mess should be fixed first.
He rubbed his face, stood up, and dusted off his bottom: "I'm going to make pottery jars."
Nana's gaze slowly shifted over: "The tenth time?"
“The ninth time was when you insisted the kiln would explode,” he muttered. “The eighth time was because the clay was too runny, the seventh time you complained the shape was ugly, the sixth time… well, anyway, the first nine times didn’t work out.”
“The first three times it cracked due to excessive moisture content. The fourth to sixth times it cracked due to stress concentration caused by uneven shaping. The seventh time you tried to press out a heart pattern with a mold, wasting seventeen minutes of material.” She paused. “The eighth time was indeed ugly.”
“This time I’ll sculpt it by hand, without using a mold.” Chen Hao bent down, picked up a bag of wet clay, and shook it. “We can’t keep cooking with wine barrels, can we? Besides, if someone comes to trade with us in the future, we need some decent containers.”
He straightened his back as he said this, as if he had suddenly awakened the spirit of craftsmanship. In reality, he just wanted to find something to do so that he could forget about the three heat sources and the sound of turning the doorknob last night.
The pottery workshop was set up outside the base, with a wooden table, a manual potter's wheel, and a simple kiln made of half a brick next to it. The kiln opening was sealed with refractory clay, and a crooked label was pasted on it: "High-temperature firing zone, danger, keep away"—written by Chen Hao himself, the handwriting so messy it looked like a fortune stick drawing.
He slapped clay onto the potter's wheel, getting his hands covered in mud. "Let's begin."
Nana stood to the side, her robotic arm slightly raised, a laser beam shooting from her fingertip, gently sweeping across the rotating clay blank. Data was fed back into her system in real time: the maximum wall thickness deviation reached 4.3 millimeters, and the local stress value was approaching the critical point.
"The pressure on my left hand has decreased by 20 percent," she said.
Chen Hao's finger trembled: "How would I know how much is twenty? I'm not a scale!"
"The force you're applying with your left hand right now is equivalent to flattening a hard-boiled egg."
"Then wouldn't I become an egg yolk killer?"
"I suggest you stop using metaphors and focus on the actual operation."
The potter's wheel turned, and the clay slowly took shape, resembling a crooked gourd. Chen Hao held his breath, trying to smooth the edges, but his hand slipped, and the entire upper part collapsed, like a hamburger that had been stepped on.
“It’s ruined.” He let go, the wheel slowed down, and the lump of mud lay askew to one side, looking like the remains of some prehistoric creature.
Nana withdrew the laser: "Structural imbalance was detected in the eleventh second; it's beyond saving."
"This is only the tenth time! How did you jump straight to the eleventh?"
"If you attempt the same incorrect action three times after a failure, the system will automatically combine the counts."
"You even remember this?"
"I record all behaviors that may lead to a waste of survival resources."
Chen Hao rolled his eyes and reached for the fresh mud: "Then what do you suggest? You can't expect me to bang my head into a perfect circle, can you?"
"It can provide 3D modeling assistance to generate standard object shape contour projections."
"Forget all that fancy stuff, I just want a jar that can hold wine, doesn't leak, and isn't broken. It's not like I'm entering a ceramics competition."
"Based on the standards you described, the success rate increases to 61%."
"Only 60%? What about the remaining 39%?"
"The probability of acid rain is 28%, the risk of kiln overpressure explosion is 19%, and the deformation rate due to operational errors is 42% - all combined, the effective yield is 59.7%, which is 60% when rounded up."
So you were lying to me just now?
"I do not have a deception function."
"Then you must be the reincarnation of a fortune teller."
He started kneading the mud again, this time using too much force, and a splatter of mud landed right on Nana's calf armor. She glanced down, didn't wipe it off or move, and simply said, "I suggest wearing an apron."
"I don't have an apron, only underwear."
"Then at least don't throw it at me."
"Isn't this an accident!"
Before the words were finished, the sky darkened.
No wind came, no clouds gathered; it was just an unpredictable, gloomy atmosphere, like someone suddenly drawing the curtains. Then, the first raindrop hit the potter's wheel with a soft "hiss," and small bubbles immediately appeared on the surface of the clay.
“Acid rain.” Nana looked up, her optical eye switching to pH monitoring mode. “Current rainfall acidity pH 3.2, corrosion rate 0.7 millimeters per minute.”
Chen Hao froze for a second, then suddenly lunged at the potter's wheel, scooped up the still-wet clay with both hands, and exclaimed, "My clay!"
He turned and ran, the mud clump heavy like a wet brick, making it hard for him to breathe. The rain poured down harder, stinging his back, and white smoke began to rise from the ground. The spot where he had placed the potter's wheel was now hissing, and the edges of the wooden table were rapidly turning black and curling.
He stumbled and rushed towards the cave entrance, his foot slipped, and his knee hit the rock. He winced in pain, but clung tightly to the lump of mud, muttering, "It can't rot, it can't rot, this is my last hope..."
Nana followed closely behind, three times faster than him, but she couldn't get ahead. Just as he rushed into the cave entrance, a crisp "crack" sound came from above.
A stalactite broke off from a height, about half a meter long, and fell straight down.
She stepped forward, her mechanical arm deploying a force field shield above Chen Hao. The rocks struck the shield, exploding into a cloud of dust and debris, with several clumps of mud splattering onto her chest and face, as if someone had thrown mashed potatoes at her.
The shield remained in place for three seconds to ensure there was no further fall before slowly retracting.
The cave became quiet.
Chen Hao slumped to the ground, leaning against the rock wall, still clutching the lump of wet mud in his arms. He was soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his forehead, looking like a drowned rat. He looked up at Nana, who was standing there, her metal casing covered in mud, her optical eye half-covered, yet still stubbornly flashing blue light.
"Are you... alright?" he asked.
“The structure is intact and undamaged.” She raised her hand to wipe her face. “But your mud is seeping water.”
Chen Hao looked down and saw that the mud ball in his arms had begun to soften, with muddy water dripping from its edges, like a melting ice cream.
"It's over," he murmured. "The tenth time, and it's gone again."
"Not completely destroyed." Nana squatted down and pinched some mud with her fingertips to examine it. "The sand content is moderate, so it can be recycled and reshaped."
"But the kiln is outside, and it has already turned into sour soup."
"The kiln can be rebuilt."
"But I have no strength left."
"You are still breathing."
Is this considered encouragement?
"This is a statement of fact."
Chen Hao leaned against the wall, took a breath, and suddenly laughed: "Do you think I could survive if I simply switched to selling mud masks? 'Pure natural cave mineral mud, detoxifies and beautifies the skin, comes with the same glow as a robot.'"
"Market demand is zero."
"Can't you at least show some support?"
"I can help you rebuild the potter's wheel."
“That would be great.” He struggled to sit up straight. “But next time… let’s make a jar with a lid, seal it tightly, and not let acid rain get in.”
"It is recommended to add a double-layer insulation structure and glaze the outer wall."
"You actually take this seriously?"
“After your ninth failure, you said, ‘This is the last time,’ but you started working again this morning. This shows that you haven’t given up. In that case, I choose to support effective action.”
Chen Hao looked at her, face to face, and suddenly felt that this robot wasn't so annoying after all.
The rain was still falling outside, a thin mist hung over the cave entrance, and the air was filled with the smell of burnt earth. He bent down and fiddled with the lump of clay in his hand, trying to mold it into a shape. Although it was crooked and uneven, at least it had a basic form.
Nana stood to the side, her optical eyes continuously scanning the cave ceiling, a low-frequency warning sounding softly. She didn't say it aloud—the crack in the ceiling was slowly widening, rainwater seepage was intensifying, and the next fall might come even more suddenly.
But she didn't interrupt him.
Chen Hao kneaded the clay and muttered, "Next time I'll make a mold, round and sturdy, the kind that won't crack even if I drop it eight hundred times."
Before he could finish speaking, there was another soft sound above his head.
Nana suddenly looked up, and the shield instantly started charging.
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