From July when they learned about entering the finals, to November when the winners were announced, and until today when the prize money was finally in hand, Jing Qichi’s emotions had traced a complete parabola. Now that the final exams were over, his mood had officially dropped below zero.

Qiu Yang knew what he was thinking, but could only offer comfort, “Be content. We got the certificate and trophy, plus some money. That’s what we wanted, right?”

“You’re content?” Jing Qichi questioned.

“I…” Qiu Yang faltered, silently shaking his head.

How could they be content? The code was written line by line, the model was verified again and again, and the data was obtained only after countless visits to teachers, the dean, and the university hospital. They’d pulled countless all-nighters, eaten every flavor of cup noodles on the market, nearly come to blows when the team disagreed, lost, and then regained their business school teammate who was responsible for the business plan. Qiu Yang couldn’t speak for others, but he and Jing Qichi wanted far more than just the few thousand yuan prize money they’d received.

They wanted to launch the project and turn it into a real product with a substance that could be put to use.

Even though Qiu Yang knew perfectly well and was willing to admit that what they’d produced so far wasn’t even a drop in the bucket of what was needed.

But they’d thrown themselves into it because they believed the entrepreneurship competition was an opportunity—a chance for their project to be seen and their idea to enter more people’s fields of vision. The truth proved that old saying right—whoever takes it seriously loses.

They waited and waited but no follow-up came. It was just a competition, everything settled into dust once it ended.

Jing Qichi asked then, “Why did you want to do it?”

Qiu Yang was silent for a moment. “You know what I regret most? In high school, during the computer programming competition, I was coding and solving problems like crazy every day. I couldn’t handle the pressure and quit. I regret it. Just thinking about it makes me regret it. If I had just persevered then… at least I wouldn’t be sharing a dorm room with you now.”

“Indeed,” Jing Qichi gave a small laugh.

“But regret is useless, completely useless,” Qiu Yang continued. “So I want to accomplish something, see something through completely from start to finish. Even though we share bunk beds, I’m not afraid of you laughing at me. I always felt I could succeed, just like when you first proposed applying artificial intelligence to medical imaging—as soon as I heard it, I knew this idea had potential and I could do it. I was certain.”

Jing Qichi remained silently lost in thought.

“Qichi, I’m serious,” Qiu Yang patted his shoulder. “Maybe the environment isn’t right now, but in ten years—no, maybe just three to five years—this thing will shine. AI can’t replace humans but it can help them. Your approach aligns with the cutting-edge trends.”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Jing Qichi pressed his lips together. “I just wanted to do something for the people around me, make things a bit easier for them within my capabilities.”

“Different paths to the same destination,” Qiu Yang sighed.

Their purposes might differ, but their desire to accomplish this thing was undoubtedly the same.

After they’d both been quiet for a while, Qiu Yang spoke again, “I feel empty inside now.”

“Yeah.” Jing Qichi nodded, then suddenly smiled. “See you at spring recruitment?”

Because of the project, they’d perfectly missed the autumn recruitment that had just passed—Qiu Yang had mass-applied and received several offers, but neither the companies nor positions were what he’d hoped for; Jing Qichi had done even worse, not attending a single interview.

They say there’s no gain without loss, but these two troubled brothers had truly come up empty-handed.

“What a shame.” Qiu Yang stroked the thick stack of bound project plans before opening a drawer and stuffing them inside.

The graduation bugle had already sounded, and the future they’d once imagined was within reach, but reality left no room for anyone to act rashly.

Since Huan Er had already started helping in her advisor’s lab, the two of them would return home a week later this winter break.

With high-speed rail tickets sold out and recent flights frequently canceled due to unusual rain and snow, delaying further would mean getting caught in the Spring Festival travel rush. So Huan Er took it upon herself to buy two soft sleeper train tickets.

She no longer consulted with Jing Qichi about small matters like this—firstly because she knew too well what he considered important versus trivial, and secondly, because she’d already heard about the aftermath of the entrepreneurship competition. Though Jing Qichi hadn’t outwardly shown his dejection, he must have been frustrated inside.

The train compartment had four bunks. When they entered, a middle-aged man was already occupying the lower bunk, appearing to be in his thirties, wearing a black wool sweater with a white collar showing, gray slacks, and black leather shoes. A laptop sat on the small table, playing sound through its speakers—he seemed to be in a video meeting. Seeing them, he nodded, then said, “Sorry, I forgot my earphones. I’ll be done soon.”

“No problem,” Huan Er waved it off, then placed her bag on the other lower bunk, using her eyes to signal Jing Qichi to take the bunk above hers.

Jing Qichi nodded, first stuffing their suitcases under the beds, then tossing his backpack onto the second level before sitting down next to Huan Er to show her a message on his phone—Jing’s mom was asking what time they’d arrive.

Huan Er took his phone and replied directly, “6 AM tomorrow. We’ll take a taxi home, no need to pick us up.” After sending the message, she handed the phone back to him.

Neither had spoken throughout this exchange. The only sound in the compartment came from the laptop: “So that’s the current status of lab preparations. Headquarters has confirmed we’ll be officially established next year. Social, gaming, content, platform—each of your team leaders takes one area. Based on your existing teams and personnel, provide a detailed execution plan for your respective sections.”

“Alright,” the man opposite said to his computer. “I’ll disconnect now, signal’s poor on the train. Let’s discuss details when we meet tomorrow.”

Closing the screen, he apologized again, “Sorry about that.”

From the meeting content to his behavior and manner, both Huan Er and Jing Qichi could tell this guy was a business elite.

“It’s fine,” Huan Er smiled, then asked, “Where are you headed?”

“Oh, Beijing. How about you two?”

“Tianhe.”

“Heading home for winter break?” the man chatted with them. “Which school do you attend?”

Huan Er named their university, and the man smiled in appreciation. “Top students, eh?”

The man went on to talk about his experience visiting their school several years ago—the old campus gate, Guang Ba Road, the legend of the celestial fox on the mountain. The conversation flowed easily and pleasantly.

Occasionally, Huan Er could notice her changes—for instance, where she used to be shy and awkward with strangers, now she could chat comfortably with fellow travelers she’d just met on the train. Time was always mysterious like that, continuously giving people retrospective surprises and insights.

The man’s phone rang. He checked the screen and stood up. “It’s my son. Would you mind keeping an eye on my things?”

Huan Er agreed.

After he’d left and closed the door, she nudged Jing Qichi. “This guy’s proper.”

Jing Qichi was lazily leaning against the compartment wall looking at job advertisements. Without looking up, he said, “Maybe he just doesn’t want to reveal private information.”

That made sense. Huan Er had already noticed the travel bag on his bed bore the same logo as rich kid Qiu Li’s shoulder bag.

Jing Qichi sat up straight. “Hungry? Want me to buy some food?”

Huan Er checked the time and stood up. “I’ll go. I want to buy some snacks too.”

“Alright then.” Jing Qichi tilted his head to lie down on her bunk. “Don’t buy cold stuff, you’ll get stomach pains again.”

Shortly after Huan Er left, the compartment door opened again, but this time an unfamiliar face entered.

Jing Qichi thought it was the passenger for the upper bunk opposite, and nodded without giving it much thought.

But he quickly sensed something was wrong. The person entered without a word and left silently, then came back a second time, furtively glancing behind him before reaching for the laptop with one hand while grabbing the travel bag from the opposite bunk with the other.

Jing Qichi’s heart began racing. With his back to the person, he dialed Huan Er’s number while sitting up. “Brother, Brother Li said to wait for him, he’ll be right back.”

Maybe his voice shook, maybe it didn’t—Jing Qichi wasn’t sure.

The person stopped what he was doing and turned to stare at him intently.

It was a young man, apparently around his age.

“You’re Brother Li’s colleague, right?” Jing Qichi tried to stay calm as Huan Er’s “Hello?” came through the phone.

He held the phone to his ear, only watching the compartment’s situation from the corner of his eye. “Oh, bring me a one-on-one.”

The man hadn’t left—perhaps observing, considering his next move.

Jing Qichi moved the phone away. “Brother Li said someone’s coming, wait a bit. He wants to discuss the lab proposal with you.”

There was no fucking Brother Li.

He just wanted to stall the person, hoping Huan Er would understand that code phrase.

Time seemed to freeze.

“Yes, thank you,” the man said, his first words since entering.

No accent could be detected, and no emotion either.

Jing Qichi watched him pack the laptop into the carrying case.

He couldn’t speak anymore—his heart was in his throat, one more word would give him away.

What to do?

Acting faster than thought, Jing Qichi beat him to the door, locking it shut.

The previous pretense had failed; he knew he’d been exposed.

The man looked at him, his eyes turning vicious. “Move.”

Almost simultaneously, Huan Er’s voice came from outside: “Got it, one-on-one.”

Something flashed before his eyes as Jing Qichi unlocked the door and fell heavily to one side. Two railway police rushed in to subdue the criminal. A switchblade lay on the floor, its point having been aimed at him.

Hah, it was over.

Huan Er, pale-faced, pulled him up from the floor, alternately rubbing his face and pulling his arms. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Jing Qichi was still in shock, watching as the man was escorted out by the police before finally taking a deep breath.

The businessman from their compartment hurried back, seeing the situation with surprise. “What happened?”

“And you are?” asked one of the remaining police officers.

“These are my things.” The man patted his pocket and took out his ticket. “Lower bunk.”

The officer checked the ticket and returned it to him, then pointed to Huan Er. “We met this young lady during our patrol, she said something must be wrong in your compartment. Now it seems…” the officer glanced at the travel bag still lying on the floor, “your belongings were being stolen, and these two students acted bravely to stop it.”

The corridor was full of onlooking passengers. The officer called out loudly, “Everyone please return to your seats, and make sure to keep an eye on your belongings.” Then he patted Jing Qichi’s shoulder. “Well done, young man. Brave and clever. Take a rest first, our colleagues will come by later to take your statement. These thieves get desperate around New Year’s.”

Once the compartment was quiet again, Huan Er anxiously looked the victim up and down, suddenly crying out “Oh no!”

Jing Qichi jumped at the sound, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re injured!”

“Huh?” He felt no pain, checked his knees, torso, and both arms and finally touched his face. “Where?”

Huan Er poked his forehead. “There’s a bump here.”

Yes, when he fell, his head seemed to have hit the bunk ladder.

“Already a few screws loose,” Huan Er shook her head dejectedly, “and now this…”

The businessman from the opposite bunk returned from seeing the police off and immediately thanked them upon entering. “I’m so grateful to you both today. Losing some money would be one thing, but that laptop had too many important files—the consequences would have been unthinkable if it was stolen.”

Jing Qichi smiled. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I’m Jiang Sen.” The man extended his hand.

He grasped it firmly. “Jing Qichi.”

“Who would have thought something like this would happen,” Jiang Sen sat down opposite and asked, “You’re not hurt?”

Huan Er grinned while ruffling Jing Qichi’s hair. “Our handsome boy’s face is a bit bruised.”

“Even with bruises, still a fine young man. You two…” Jiang Sen smiled and gestured, “How did you know?”

“We have a code word.” Huan Er and Jing Qichi exchanged glances.

A code phrase never discussed, some kind of tacit understanding formed in high school—one-on-one.

As soon as Huan Er heard it, she’d started running back, without hesitation or careful deliberation. It was more like an instinct—if he used those three words out of nowhere, Jing Qichi must be in trouble.

She had indeed been lucky, meeting the railway police on the way, and they’d followed her without question, using their valuable experience to signal at the closed door—stay calm, don’t startle the snake in the grass.

If any link in the chain had gone wrong, the outcome wouldn’t have been what it is now.

Jiang Sen watched them and sighed appreciatively, “That’s wonderful.”

With the dining car closed, the three of them spread their prepared “provisions” on the small table, chatting back and forth as they began this ordinary yet extraordinary dinner. Huan Er, scrolling through her social media feed, asked Jing Qichi, “What does this mean?”

Qiu Yang had posted a status half an hour ago: Ctrl+Y.

Jing Qichi, mouth full, replied, “Python shortcut, deletes the selected line.”

Jiang Sen looked up at this. “You know Python?”

“Yeah,” Jing Qichi answered casually, “I study computer science.”

Huan Er liked Qiu Yang’s post and put away her phone. “So our skincare enthusiast means he’s forgetting about the entrepreneurship competition project and starting fresh?”

“Got hurt pretty badly.” Jing Qichi gave a small laugh.

The speaker may not have meant anything by it, but the listener took note. Jiang Sen rubbed his hands together. “Could you tell me more about the project you worked on?”