The fragile, professional peace held for a week. The project repository bloomed with commits that were no longer acts of self-erasure, but of cautious collaboration. Chen Yuexi's UI text regained some of its personality, albeit with a newfound restraint. Tang Youyou's color palette was back, now officially dubbed "Hypothesis A" and slated for A/B testing against Su Yuning's proposed "Optimal Contrast" scheme. It was progress, meticulously logged and version-controlled.
Lin Xiaoyang found the energy expenditure of this new "listening" protocol was still immense, but it was no longer a catastrophic drain. It was more like running a demanding but useful application—it consumed resources, but the output justified the cost. He was learning to compile empathy, one awkward conversation at a time.
It was during one of these focused coding sessions in the library that a new, unmodeled variable entered the equation.
Xiaoyang was debugging a stubborn issue with the user matching algorithm when a shadow fell over his keyboard. He looked up, expecting to see Su Yuning with a new data set or Chen Yuexi with a UI query.
Instead, he found himself looking at a tall, impeccably dressed young man with a smile that seemed calculated to a precise degree of friendliness. It was Liu Yang, the president of the Entrepreneurial Society and someone who existed in a social stratosphere far above Xiaoyang's own.
"Lin Xiaoyang, right?" Liu Yang's voice was smooth, confident. "I've been hearing some interesting whispers about your little project. 'EfficientHeart,' is it?"
Xiaoyang's internal alarms blared. This was an unscheduled system call from a high-privilege process. "Uh. Yes. It's just a graduation project."
"Modesty. A good trait," Liu Yang said, his smile not wavering. He pulled up a chair without being invited. "But let's not pretend. I've seen the commit activity, heard about your… unique development team. A coder, a logician, an artist, and a mystic? It's a fascinating fusion. There's a market for that kind of 'human touch' in tech these days."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "I think you have something special here. Raw, but special. What you need is a business perspective. A guiding hand to shape it into something viable."
Before Xiaoyang could formulate a response—a process that felt like compiling a complex program from scratch—Liu Yang's attention was caught by a figure approaching their table.
"Speak of the devil," Liu Yang said, his smile widening as Su Yuning arrived, a stack of printouts in her arms. "Su Yuning. Your reputation precedes you. The 'Ice Queen of Code.' I've read your paper on optimized search algorithms. Impressive work."
Su Yuning stopped, her gaze flickering from Liu Yang to Xiaoyang. "Liu Yang. Your GPA is 3.8, you have founded two failed startup ventures, and your current 'Entrepreneurial Society' has a project success rate of 22.3%. Your data does not suggest a 'guiding hand' with a high probability of success."
Liu Yang's smile tightened at the edges, but he didn't falter. "Data is historical. Vision is future-oriented. My previous ventures taught me invaluable lessons. For instance, I learned that even the most brilliant code needs a compelling story." He gestured around the library. "You're buried in here. I can get you in front of investors. Give you a platform."
Xiaoyang felt a familiar urge to retreat, to let this high-energy social process time out. But the memory of Professor Zhao's voice echoed in his mind. Maximize meaningfulness. He couldn't let this stranger hijack their project.
"Thank you for your interest," Xiaoyang said, forcing his voice to remain level. "But we're still in early development. We're not looking for a platform yet."
"Nonsense!" Liu Yang chuckled, a sound that felt as authentic as a stock photo. "It's never too early to build hype. In fact, I'd like to offer my services as an… unofficial beta tester. A business-focused one. Let me poke around, give you some feedback from a marketability standpoint."
He reached for Xiaoyang's laptop, where the development build of "EfficientHeart" was running.
It was a boundary violation. A forced system access. Xiaoyang's hand twitched, but he was frozen by a lifetime of conflict avoidance.
Su Yuning was faster.
Her stack of printouts came down on the table between Liu Yang's hand and the laptop with a sharp thwack. The sound was so abrupt it made several nearby students jump.
"Access denied," she stated, her voice colder than a null pointer exception. "This is a closed development environment. Your credentials are insufficient."
Liu Yang blinked, withdrawing his hand as if burned. "I was just trying to help."
"Your proposed 'help' is an unquantified variable with a high potential for introducing instability," Yuning replied, her gaze unwavering. "Your request has been logged and rejected. The decision is final."
The silence that followed was absolute. Liu Yang stared at her, his polished composure finally cracking to reveal a flicker of stunned irritation. He was a man used to his charm and status granting him access, and he had just been firewalled by pure, unadulterated logic.
He recovered quickly, smoothing his expression. "A closed system stagnates. But fine. I can see you're… protective of your work." He stood up, his smile now a thin, tight line. "The offer stands. When you realize you need more than just lines of code, you know where to find me."
He gave a curt nod and walked away, his retreat as smooth as his approach, but lacking its earlier confidence.
Xiaoyang let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His heart was pounding. "He was going to just… touch my laptop."
"An illogical and presumptuous action," Su Yuning agreed, rearranging her printouts. "His intrusion introduced a 400% spike in your stress-related biometrics, based on observable pupillary dilation and respiratory rate."
"You… you stopped him," Xiaoyang said, the realization dawning.
"It was the optimal course of action," she said, not looking at him. "His integration at this stage would have corrupted the dataset with irrelevant business jargon and distorted our development priorities. My analysis of his past ventures indicates a pattern of prioritizing 'marketability' over 'functional integrity,' leading to system collapse."
She had protected the project. She had protected his space. Not out of emotion, but out of a shared commitment to the integrity of their work. It was, in its own way, a form of loyalty far more reliable than any grand, theatrical promise.
"Thank you," Xiaoyang said, the words heartfelt.
"Acknowledged," she replied. Then, after a pause, she added, "The system stability of our team has improved by 68.4% since the implementation of the 'Listening' protocol. Introducing an unstable external variable like Liu Yang would be… inefficient."
It was the closest she would ever come to saying "we're in this together."
As they resumed their work, Xiaoyang found his focus sharper. The encounter with Liu Yang, instead of draining him, had somehow solidified his resolve. This project, with all its chaotic, illogical, and beautiful variables, was theirs. It was worth defending. It was worth the energy.
He opened the code for the matching algorithm again. The bug that had seemed insurmountable before now felt like a solvable puzzle. He had a team, however fractured. He had a purpose, however messy.
The uninvited beta tester had been rejected. The system, for all its flaws, had held. And in that victory, however small, Lin Xiaoyang found a new, unfamiliar, and highly efficient source of energy: the desire to protect what he and his unlikely crew were building.