What does it usually feel like to get an opportunity? Plum blossoms derive their fragrance from bitter cold, lofty ambitions that will have their day, and dedication never betray those who persevere.
But for Jing Qichi, it came down to one word—fast.
Too fast, so fast there was no time to react, faster than the speed of light.
After all, this opportunity hadn’t come through “usual” means.
Meeting a businessman on the train, helping him out unexpectedly with a small favor, happening to mention the project he couldn’t let go of, and then being asked—want to come to take a look at our place?
Only after leaving that bright, clean building standing in the CBD did Jing Qichi belatedly realize he’d just completed an interview.
He hadn’t prepared anything, wearing jeans and canvas shoes, with only his phone and about a hundred yuan in change in his pocket. Even his train ticket to Beijing had been bought that morning.
When Jiang Sen said “Take a look,” he’d automatically assumed it meant maybe there was some temporary work he could do during the break to earn pocket money. Even downstairs, he’d still been dense enough to comment—must be expensive to rent a place here?
A place? Hah, they owned half the building.
Jiang Sen didn’t say anything, just led him around—first to the exhibition hall, then to the office area. Every desk had at least two screens, one vertical and one horizontal. Some people wore suits while others had cotton vests over t-shirts. Looking around, there were more machines than people—though robots counted as machines too.
At the end of the corridor was a break area where sat a middle-aged man who looked somewhat older than Jiang Sen, with coffee in front of him. Seeing them approach, he put down his phone. “Little Jing, right? We’ve all heard about your brave fight with the bandit.”
A bandit… who tried to steal a laptop on a train with a switchblade?
“Just teasing you.” Jiang Sen laughed beside him, then asked, “What would you like to drink?”
“Water is fine.” At the time, Jing Qichi thought he was just there to pick up some work, and better not let them spend money on him.
They began chatting with him—how old he was, where he was from, how he’d gotten there—like a lucky audience member who’d won the grand prize being interviewed by the host, serious but with a touch of playfulness. Then the topic turned to his school, major, the research and projects he’d done, naturally focusing on the intelligent targeting project he’d poured his heart and soul into for nearly half a year. They asked, “What were your criteria for selecting data images, how did you handle differences in manual annotations?” “Have you done any anti-spam algorithm research on text data?” “What considerations went into your current model and what are the experimental results?” “Where do you think the system construction could be improved?”—all their questions, one after another, hit right at the core issues.
Even with an advisor, even after digesting countless foreign papers, even with guidance from senior students in both their department and the medical school and even the telecommunications school, even spending every day in the computer room and lab without eating, drinking, or sleeping—this still wasn’t something he, or their team, could accomplish.
Jing Qichi knew this better than anyone.
“I…” he shook his head, “I can’t answer your questions.”
Knowledge, intelligence, ability—even added together, his upper limit wasn’t enough to answer any single question they’d casually thrown out.
An enormous and constantly expanding sense of loss welled up inside him.
“Qichi,” Jiang Sen patted his shoulder, “this is normal. Because what you want to do, or have started to approach—you might not realize yet—this is a technology, a new industry, an unknown field that humanity needs to conquer.”
“And,” the other man added, “we’re working on it too, though our progress is certainly much faster.”
Jing Qichi frowned as he sized them up.
“Not bad, right?” Jiang Sen raised his eyebrows at his colleague. “Picked him up along the way.”
“Pretty good, just needs some seasoning in terms of education.” The man smiled. “If he’s joining your team, you handle it with HR yourself.”
Having his education level looked down on—that was a first in his life.
Oh no, except for Song Cong, if he even counted as a person.
Jiang Sen patted his knee and stood up. “Let me formally introduce you—my boss, Dr. Gong Nailiang.” Seeing Jing Qichi’s confused look, he pressed down on the back of his head. “Call him Dr. Gong.”
“Dr… Dr. Gong.” The rookie parroted foolishly.
Gong Nailiang picked up his phone. “You two handle the rest, then hurry over for the meeting.”
“Well,” Jiang Sen scratched his head, “we’ve said everything that needs saying. Send me your resume later, I’ll need to discuss your situation with HR.”
Jing Qichi suddenly came to his senses. “This place… what is it?”
“Didn’t you see the logo at the entrance?” Jiang Sen pursed his lips. “Huandao AI Lab.”
Huandao Technology, the company with the longest queues during campus recruitment, is a thriving tech giant with excellent salary and reputation.
Jing Qichi had another question. “What’s wrong with my situation?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Jiang Sen waved his hand. “I’m thinking of having you join my medical AI team, but for this team, formal employees all need to be masters or PhDs, and you…”
They were right—dropped into this place, his education did need some seasoning.
Seeing the other about to leave, Jing Qichi hurriedly asked one last question. “I have a classmate, my bunkmate…”
Jiang Sen didn’t extend another green light, saying in his own words “rules can only be broken once, any more becomes a bad habit.” But he was indeed an efficient person—Qiu Yang sent his resume to HR the next day, took the train from his northeastern hometown with his mother for an interview on the third day, mother and son toured the Forbidden City, Temple of Heaven, and Great Wall, Qiu Yang’s mom left on her own, and Qiu Yang joined another backend development team under Jiang Sen as an intern.
By this time, Jing Qichi had already started job training. Jiang Sen, or rather this unexpectedly obtained job opportunity, hadn’t left him any time to catch his breath. The lab had no “fortune” characters, no lanterns to be seen, not a hint of New Year’s atmosphere—just screens, keyboards, data, and calculations. This place was like an isolated island, cut off from the world, where the people huddled together with only their ideals flashing light, one pulse at a time.
Those were glorious and passionate ideals.
With no time to find housing, he’d been staying at a budget hotel next to the company these past few days. Qiu Yang wasn’t supposed to start until after the New Year, but after discussing it, they figured they’d better get their living situation sorted out before the holiday, so he stayed too to handle the apartment hunting. What should have been the most leisurely time at the end of the year found them both busy as tops, coming and going early and late. During this time, Jing’s mom, Huan Er, and Song Cong had all called, but he couldn’t talk for more than a few sentences before hanging up—he still hadn’t fully studied the training materials, and hadn’t completed the tasks assigned by his colleagues. Jing Qichi was driven by both pressure and motivation; he knew his loved ones would surely understand.
On the twenty-ninth day of the lunar year, Qiu Yang signed the rental contract and had an 8 PM train back home. With programs still running on the computer, Jing Qichi could only see him off downstairs at the hotel. While waiting for the car, he asked Qiu Yang, “I signed you up as an intern, are you okay with that?”
After three and a half years as bunkmates, eating, playing, and even taking almost all the same electives together, he’d always been straightforward with Qiu Yang.
The truth was, that Qiu Yang had better grades and was known in the department as a tech expert—logically speaking, their positions should have been reversed.
“Of course I’m not okay, the salary difference is huge.” Qiu Yang said, then laughed. “How about you pay more of the rent?”
“Get out of here.”
“Seriously though, I am okay with it.” Qiu Yang gazed at the traffic flowing before them, then looked up to survey this vast, magnificent city. “Luck is a mysterious thing. I’m pretty lucky—even though I missed campus recruitment, I still got an interview opportunity through your introduction. As for you…” he stroked his chin as he sized him up, “apart from pie falling from the sky, I really can’t think of anything else.”
Jing Qichi snorted, “Come on, I’m not that bad.”
“You’re not bad, but not good enough for them to break the rules to hire you.” Qiu Yang clicked his tongue twice. “Search your conscience—isn’t this like your ancestors’ graves giving off green smoke?”
The car arrived, and Qiu Yang said “See you after the New Year” as he stepped in. Jing Qichi waved at the departing vehicle.
Yes, it was like being randomly matched into a side quest where the game glitched, the boss fell asleep, and he’d cleared it without even making a move.
How did it happen?
On the way back to his room from downstairs, Jing Qichi kept pondering this question, thinking back from today to that day returning home for winter break, and as he opened his door, he suddenly had some insight.
Huan Er.
If she hadn’t stayed a week later if she hadn’t bought tickets for that train car if she hadn’t chatted so openly with others, they would never have met or known Jiang Sen. And if she hadn’t suddenly asked about Qiu Yang’s social media post, Jiang Sen would never have known about his major and the medical project he couldn’t stop thinking about.
All the coincidences seemed more like Huan Er unconsciously sharing some of her luck with him, making him a beneficiary of her good fortune.
And this luck, Jing Qichi thought, might truly have been bought with Huan Er’s life.
She had only encountered that one bout of misfortune at birth, coming fierce and violent, where one small mishap would have meant Chen Huan Er would never have existed in this world. Because she survived, everything after that was smooth sailing on level ground, and Huan Er became someone everyone saw as constantly blessed.
But except for herself, no one knew how she had used such tenacity and resilience, such persistent vitality to fight against that cruel and senseless beginning. She had never stopped fighting.
There were still many things to do, but at this moment, Jing Qichi desperately wanted to hear her voice.
Even just one sentence would be enough.
He dialed the phone, and she quickly answered, “Are you coming back or not?”
Skipping all unnecessary greetings, her tone even slightly impatient.
But Jing Qichi—he knew he was smiling from the bottom of his heart.
How could he not be happy? Chen Huan Er was waiting for him to come home.
“Tomorrow.” Jing Qichi was trying hard to suppress his joy. “In the evening.”
“New Year’s Eve evening?” Huan Er muttered, “What kind of terrible company is that?”
She continued, “We’re going back to Sishui tomorrow afternoon, my mom comes back from her shift on the fourth. So I guess we’ll have to meet after the New Year.”
Four days total, at most.
If there had been any hesitation before taking the job, it was that he and Huan Er would be separated by distance for a long time—he hadn’t deliberately thought about it, the notion had just naturally landed in his mind. The reason for making the decision was also extremely simple—it was a good position, a rare opportunity, and only by becoming independent first, could he give her a better future.
Jing Qichi thought about the future, a very, very distant future.
Standing at the crossroads of the future, he had to choose which path to take.
“After New Year’s…”
“Qichi, I need to take Du Man’s call. Let’s talk when we meet.” Huan Er hung up hurriedly.
He wanted to ask if she’d like to come to Beijing after the New Year, whether for sightseeing or just to play around, because four days was too short.
Putting down his phone, Jing Qichi sat back down at his computer.
On this night before the New Year, with families reuniting everywhere, he suddenly felt a strong sense of separation.