Chapter 2: Dead Loop (2)

2 - Dead Loop (2)

Two hundred thousand and thirty million—the gap between them was more than a hundredfold.

Lin Xun suddenly felt as if he had plummeted from ten thousand meters in the air, his mind blank and momentarily stunned.

In his daze, he heard the voice of his idol speak again: "What do you think, Mr. Lin?"

Lin Xun replied, "May I ask... why did you do this?"

"Why did you purchase the equity of 'Goddess of the Luo River'?"

Faced with this immense disparity, Lin Xun had no choice but to snap back to reality: "How did you find out about us?"

They were just a three-person company on the brink of bankruptcy, unable to afford an accountant, with business plans written by Jia Gou. The "Goddess of the Luo River" algorithm had been pitched to many companies, all of which had rejected it without exception. Of course, it had also been submitted to Galaxy a year ago, only to vanish without a trace.

His idol interlaced his fingers and rested them on the table, saying, "If I had to say, I saw some of your code on GitHub."

Then, looking into Lin Xun’s eyes, he added, "Personally, I’m very interested. I wonder if you could explain the core algorithm to me in detail."

Lin Xun’s heart thumped heavily in his chest: "Yes, I can."

He had tried explaining the algorithm to many people before, but they all thought it was meaningless and unnecessary. Even Wang Anquan and Zhao Jiagou hadn’t truly grasped the mathematics behind it.

This was the first time someone had actively wanted to hear about his algorithm.

And it was Dong Jun, his idol for many years.

Facing his idol, he couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous: "There are quite a few formulas. I might need a whiteboard."

"Alright." Dong Jun didn’t seem displeased by his request. "The discussion area is next door. Let’s use paper for now."

As he spoke, he retrieved paper and a pen from a drawer and pulled out a chair beside him.

Lin Xun pondered his idol’s meaning—he was being invited to sit beside him.

Overwhelmed by a sense of being honored, Lin Xun sat down next to Dong Jun and picked up the carbon pen.

Up close, he caught a faint, cool scent from Dong Jun, like icy spring water deep within a snow-capped mountain.

The desk was spacious. He picked up the pen, placed the paper between himself and Dong Jun, and wrote a formula on it, saying, "Most mainstream simulation intelligence systems are based on neural networks, or deep learning. But my algorithm... primarily relies on Chaos Mathematics."

He paused briefly, and sure enough, he heard Dong Jun ask, "You don’t like neural networks?"

Neural networks were the mainstream of current artificial intelligence technology. For a time, they were rebranded as "deep learning," but they gradually returned to their essence. They abstract the structure of the human brain’s neural network into a mathematical model and simulate it on computers, allowing for a high degree of replication of the human brain’s information processing. With the enhanced computational power of machines, they became even more formidable. Lions, which had received thirty million from his idol, had gained favor precisely because of their achievements in this field.

It was good, but—

Lin Xun pursed his lips and said, "I think it lacks freedom."

Dong Jun: "Hmm?"

Lin Xun drew a square on the paper and explained, "First, there's its black-box nature—many aspects of neural networks cannot be explained. For example, in image recognition, Google's algorithm once misidentified Black people as chimpanzees, but we don't know why it made such an error because it's difficult to interpret the entire decision-making process."

"Many studies are trying to solve this problem," Dong Jun said.

"Actually, that's not the main reason either," Lin Xun replied.

He saw his idol raise an eyebrow slightly.

"Based on big data, using a method that simulates biological neural networks to produce results... its source of thought, process, and outcomes all originate from the original data stream." Lin Xun gave an example: "For instance, in a society that discriminates against women, the data generated by that society will also lean in that direction. The decisions made by an artificial intelligence based on such data will also be discriminatory against women."

After saying this, seeing the attentive look in Dong Jun's eyes, he relaxed a little. "The essence of artificial intelligence is not intelligence but statistics. The decisions made by neural networks cannot break free from the original database... so it is not free. The black-box problem can be solved, but this issue cannot."

Dong Jun said, "But it already meets societal needs."

"Yes, but..." Lin Xun looked directly into Dong Jun's eyes and said earnestly, "I can do better."

Based on past experience, by this point, the person across from him would shake their head and smile without speaking, thinking he was a bragging fool. After all, people in this era adore the omnipotent neural network as if it were an unquestionable truth.

But unexpectedly, Dong Jun did not react that way.

He said, "Explain your approach."

"Thank you," Lin Xun replied, lowering his gaze slightly as he wrote a string of words on the white paper. "First, assume that individuals are driven by self-interest and avoiding harm, then we can preliminarily establish a model."

His algorithm wasn't easy to explain, and it didn't sound much different from the function of neural networks.

The real world is nonlinear. Fuzzy mathematics can evaluate the irregular information of the real world, while fractals and chaos can further handle more complex problems.

At the very least, he believed that, to some extent, "Goddess of the Luo River" was clear, independent, and free.

He didn't know how long he had been speaking, but Lin Xun finally managed to explain the core algorithm, feeling completely drained.

As if perfectly timed, his idol pushed a glass of ice water toward him.

When had his idol gone to pour the water? Or had Assistant Ruan come by?

Lin Xun realized he might have been too engrossed in his explanation earlier, noticing nothing around him.

He took a sip from the glass. The water carried a sharp chill, reminiscent of Dong Jun's aura.

Dong Jun was flipping through the seven pages of scribbled draft paper from the beginning.

Lin Xun felt a bit apologetic. "Sorry, it's a bit messy."

Moreover, he had used a lot of advanced mathematics, which had stumped both Wang Anquan and Zhao Jiagou.

The afternoon sunlight was not harsh, gently filling the room and casting a golden glow on Dong Jun's eyelashes. His gaze was fixed on the papers, clearly reading with great focus.

For the past three years, Lin Xun felt that Goddess of the Luo River had hope for the first time.

At the very least, there was someone who could understand it, and that person was giving it serious attention.

—And that person was his idol.

Watching his idol turn another page, his heartbeat quickened slightly, like gradually intensifying drumbeats.

To calm himself down, he averted his gaze.

And the moment he looked away, something caught his attention.

On the wall opposite the floor-to-ceiling window was a transparent cabinet. In one of its compartments lay an all-silver keyboard, its design undeniably sleek and elegant, but its significance was even greater.

This was a legendary keyboard—he never thought he’d see it with his own eyes today.

It was called Apollo, named after the sun god in ancient Greek mythology. There was only one like it in the world. From its switches to its keys, it was custom-made for Dong Jun alone by a renowned German keyboard manufacturer as a gift for his twenty-sixth birthday.

But in the second year after Dong Jun received this keyboard—

Lin Xun was lost in thought when he suddenly heard Dong Jun ask, “Do you like it?”

—His actions had been too obvious; he’d been caught.

“Not exactly,” Lin Xun carefully chose his words. “May I ask… why did you stop writing code?”

In August of the second year after Dong Jun received this keyboard, one day, he stopped writing any programs. His GitHub stopped updating, he no longer participated in any research and development work, and naturally, no new code flowed from him.

When a writer stops writing, it’s called “putting down the pen.” In Dong Jun’s case, it should be called “sealing the keyboard.”

Opinions varied online. Many expressed regret, while others believed he had completely turned into a profit-driven businessman.

Dong Jun answered him.

His voice was low, and because they were close, it seemed to ring right in Lin Xun’s ears: “For personal reasons. Perhaps one day in the future, I’ll start writing again.”

Lin Xun breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good…”

For devoted fans, their idol no longer writing code was nothing short of a heavy blow. If he might start again in the future—that would be wonderful.

Dong Jun’s tone was casual, as if making small talk: “In the past two years, no algorithms have appeared that I particularly liked.”

Without thinking, Lin Xun blurted out, “Our team is short on programmers.”

Only after the words left his mouth did he realize how foolish he sounded.

It was true that the Goddess of the Luo River team lacked programmers—their code was pieced together bit by bit by the three of them, far from elegant and quite verbose. But who was Dong Jun? This was an insult to his idol!

He quickly shut his mouth to hide his embarrassment.

But Dong Jun chuckled softly.

He had been expressionless before, aloof and distant. When he smiled, it was like snow melting on a mountain—strikingly beautiful.

He said, “I could consider it.”

Lin Xun laughed. “I’m afraid we couldn’t afford your salary.”

“Your code is indeed not easy to write,” Dong Jun seemed to be pondering something.

Lin Xun thought that Dong Jun had recognized the value of his algorithm and was now likely trying to raise the price—perhaps from two hundred thousand to thirty million.

Then he heard Dong Jun say, “Based on your algorithm, it seems my decision to purchase it was correct.”

—Alright, still two hundred thousand.

Dong Jun: “You seem a bit disappointed.”

“No, you’ve solved our urgent problem,” Lin Xun hastily denied.

Dong Jun smiled. “If you decide to accept, you can contact me anytime.”

Lin Xun: “I need to inform my teammates.”

Dong Jun: “Mm.”

After that, their conversation drifted into pleasantries, superficially discussing a few currently popular technologies. Just as the meeting was about to end, Dong Jun said something.

“Yesterday, I acquired Lions Studio for thirty million.”

Lin Xun looked at Dong Jun, feeling like a lemon.

“Because it’s only worth thirty million,” the male god said, looking into his eyes. “The reason I attempted to purchase equity in Goddess of the Luo River is because I believe it can yield unpredictable returns.”

His tone was as calm and composed as his expression, making it both unquestionable and credible.

When Lin Xun grasped the meaning behind these words, his heart skipped a beat, and he was overwhelmed with joy—what could be more gratifying than receiving the male god’s approval?

At that moment, even the two hundred thousand—one hundred and fiftieth of thirty million—seemed to become clear, bright, and radiant.

—Though deep down, he felt the male god was just humoring him.

When it was time to leave the office, Dong Jun walked him to the door and opened it. “It was a pleasure talking with you, Mr. Lin.”

Lin Xun: “Likewise.”

Stepping outside, he saw Ruan Zhi standing in the hallway.

—With that eerie, unreal blue square hovering above her head.

Lin Xun: “...”

Dong Jun had been completely normal throughout, with no such blue thing above his head. Lin Xun had thought his hallucinations had subsided.

He glanced back at Dong Jun.

There was nothing above Dong Jun’s head. In fact, noticing Lin Xun’s glance, he offered a faint smile.

Dong Jun was a beauty—the cold, aloof kind. With a hint of a smile in his eyes, he looked even more striking.

But good looks couldn’t stop Lin Xun from feeling a chill run down his spine. He stared uneasily at the blue square above Ruan Zhi’s head, then bid farewell to Dong Jun and was led into the elevator to go downstairs.

When the elevator doors opened, his eyes widened in shock.

Everyone in the bustling lobby on the first floor had that translucent blue thing floating above their heads. For a moment, he felt as if he had entered another dimension.

With that ghostly square hovering above her head, Ruan Zhi escorted him outside the Galaxy Building.

The area was bustling, with a constant stream of pedestrians on the streets. Yet, every single person had a blue object eerily floating above their head, almost converging into a flowing blue river.

A car approached—the only fixed asset of Goddess of the Luo River Company: a second-hand Jetta.

Getting into the car, Lin Xun saw that Wang Anquan also had one of those things floating above his head.

Wang Anquan shook his shoulders. “Bro? How did it go?”

...Lin Xun: “I met Dong Jun.”

“Aha!” Zhao Jiagou cheered from the passenger seat. “Thirty million!”

Then he added, “Let’s go home! We’re celebrating!”

The Automated Driving System activated automatically, and the second-hand Jetta turned around to head back.

“No, not thirty million,” Lin Xun said. “He plans to buy five percent of our equity for two hundred thousand.”

After a moment, Wang Anquan counted on his fingers, dumbfounded. “One, two, three, four, five… missing a zero?”

He slapped Lin Xun’s shoulder hard. “That doesn’t add up!”

Lin Xun: “It’s a bit off. Right now, I’m really jealous of Lions.”

“Suppose—just suppose—you were Dong Jun, the boss of Galaxy. You’re incredibly wealthy, ranking in the top three on every list, and you have countless investments across every industry. Wouldn’t your time be extremely valuable?” Wang Anquan asked.

Lin Xun: “Extremely valuable.”

"Then, you spent a precious afternoon discussing a two hundred thousand yuan deal with a nameless, faceless programmer, and in the end, you didn't even close it, telling him to think it over?" Wang Anquan stared at him. "Just two hundred thousand! To Dong Jun, is that even money? Even thirty million wouldn't count as money to him."

"First of all, I'm not a nameless, faceless programmer—my skills are not low," Lin Xun said expressionlessly. "Secondly, you're completely viewing Dong Jun as a businessman, but in fact, he isn't. Like us, he writes code and understands mathematics. He simply saw some interesting code and wanted to discuss the algorithm with me."

"No, you've been bewitched by him. All you brain-dead fans are like this—"

Lin Xun ignored him. "Stop talking."

He leaned over Wang Anquan's shoulder, peering closely at the blue thing in the cramped space.

At first, it was blurry, but as he stared, it gradually became much clearer. Semi-transparent, blue, his fingers could pass right through it—like a two-dimensional projection. The interface felt vaguely familiar.

Wait, it wasn't entirely blue. There was a gray menu bar at the top with words written on it.

File, Edit... Debug.

Lin Xun froze.

"I..." He nearly blurted out an expletive.

Good heavens, this was a program compilation interface!

For C language! And the most basic Turbo C at that!

What kind of surreal scene was this?

Why did everyone have a C language input interface floating above their heads?

For a moment, Lin Xun felt utterly disoriented.

Wang Anquan was also disoriented. "So you're planning to agree to two hundred thousand? Just two hundred?"

He lunged forward, looking ready to interrogate Lin Xun.

"Stop messing around," Lin Xun said, feeling completely off. "Change the route."

The Automated Driving Program beeped and slowly came to a stop.

Wang Anquan: "Where to?"

Lin Xun: "The nearest hospital."

Wang Anquan: "...Huh?"

The second-hand Jetta turned in the opposite direction from the original route. At the same time, Lin Xun called out the name of his personal AI assistant: "Lo, connect to the hospital system."

Wang Anquan immediately grew tense. "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell? Is it serious?"

Lin Xun pressed his fingers hard against his temples, muttering to himself, "Should I make an appointment for ophthalmology or psychiatry?"