The world beyond university was a different operating system altogether. The structured routines of semesters and deadlines were replaced by the open-ended, often ambiguous, processes of adult life. For Lin Xiaoyang, his new job as a junior developer at a mid-sized tech firm was a lesson in managing legacy code and office politics—two things his "Energy-Saving Principle" was hilariously ill-equipped to handle.
His small apartment felt both too quiet and too loud. The silence was no longer the peaceful buffer he'd craved in his student days; it was the silence of a disconnected network. The ambient noise of the city outside was a constant, low-level reminder of the chaotic, high-energy life he'd left behind.
The most stable process in this new environment was his connection with Shen Qinghe. True to their protocol, they maintained their scheduled data transfers. Every Sunday at 9:00 PM, his laptop screen would light up with her face, her background a meticulously organized dorm room hundreds of kilometers away.
Their calls were… efficient.
"Status update," she would begin, her voice clear through the headphones. "My analysis of post-structuralist semiotics in mid-century poetry is proceeding at 87% of projected efficiency. I have encountered a logical inconsistency in the assigned reading, which I have documented in a 1,500-word appendix."
"Fascinating," Xiaoyang would reply, meaning it. "This week, I refactored a payment processing module that was so poorly documented, it might as well have been written in hieroglyphics. I increased its efficiency by 200%."
"A significant improvement. Your caffeine intake, however, appears to have increased by 22% based on the empty cup count visible on your desk. This is suboptimal for long-term system health."
"It's the price of dealing with legacy systems," he'd sigh.
They were two engineers comparing notes on their respective projects, their lives. It was comfortable. It was familiar. It was, in its own way, deeply romantic. They were building a shared context, a new, distributed database of their separate lives.
But it wasn't the same. He missed the noise. The unpredictable, high-bandwidth chaos of his old life. He found himself scrolling through the old "EfficientHeart" team chat, which had fallen silent months ago. He looked at photos of the Innovation Fair, the late nights in the lab, the absurd bubble tea summit.
Six months into this new reality, a notification broke the monotony. It wasn't from Qinghe. It was from Chen Yuexi, in the old group chat.
Dramaturge Queen (Yuexi): [14:23] CITIZENS OF THE FORMER ALLIANCE! Your presence is required! A new quest has appeared, and the party must reassemble!
A link followed. It was for a local indie game developer's conference.
Dramaturge Queen (Yuexi): My new indie studio is showcasing our first game there! It's a narrative-driven RPG about a sentient AI falling in love with a medieval scribe! I NEED my old beta-testers! The ones who understand the delicate balance of logic and heart! YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMONED!
Xiaoyang's heart did a strange, hopeful little jump. A quest. A reassembly.
A minute later, another message, from Su Yuning.
Ning.Y: The conference presents a valuable opportunity to observe emerging trends in affective computing and interactive storytelling. My current project at Synapse Systems involves emotion-sensing AI. My attendance has a 91% probability of yielding useful data. I will be there.
Then, from Tang Youyou.
Stargazer Youyou: The celestial bodies are aligning for a powerful reunion! The conference center's energy grid is situated on a potent ley line intersection! I will be there to ensure the vibes are optimal for Yuexi's debut!
It was happening. The background processes were restarting.
That Sunday, during his call with Qinghe, he mentioned it.
"Chen Yuexi has organized a team reunion at a game conference next month," he said, trying to sound casual. "It seems… logistically feasible for me to attend."
Qinghe, on the screen, was silent for a moment, processing. He could almost hear the whirring of her mental processors. "A reunion of the primary social variables from your university system. The energy expenditure for travel and social interaction will be high."
"It will."
"The potential emotional and professional ROI is also significant. Chen Yuexi's success is a data point of interest. Observing the evolved dynamics of the group would update my models."
"It would."
She nodded, a quick, precise motion. "Then it is an efficient course of action. You should go."
"Will you…?" he started to ask, but stopped. Her program was demanding. A cross-country trip for a social event was the definition of inefficiency.
"I will await your post-mission debrief," she said, a faint smile touching her lips. "The dataset will be incomplete, but my remote sensors will have to suffice."
The day of the conference, Xiaoyang felt a nervous energy he hadn't experienced in months. He spotted them from across the convention hall, and it was like a piece of his core code, long dormant, suddenly recompiled and began running again.
There was Chen Yuexi, standing proudly in front of a beautifully illustrated banner for her game, "The Scribe and the Synapse." She was wearing a headset and talking a mile a minute to a crowd of interested attendees, her dramatic flair perfectly channeled into passionate advocacy for her creation.
Standing stoically to the side, analyzing the crowd flow and engagement metrics, was Su Yuning. She looked sharper, more corporate, but her gaze was the same—a laser of pure analysis.
And there was Tang Youyou, not in a booth, but moving through the crowd like a gentle breeze, occasionally stopping to place a small crystal on a table or whisper an encouraging word to a stressed-looking developer. She was the event's unofficial, ethereal QA tester.
Yuexi saw him first. Her presentation momentarily forgotten, she let out a shriek that cut through the din of the hall, barreled through the crowd, and enveloped him in a hug that threatened his ribcage.
"You came! The hero returns to the party!" she cried, her voice thick with emotion. "You have to see the game! The dialogue trees! The emotional logic is so complex, I had to build a whole new narrative engine!"
Su Yuning approached at a more sedate pace. "Lin Xiaoyang. Your arrival increases the collective IQ of this venue by a statistically significant margin." It was her version of "I missed you."
Tang Youyou simply appeared at his elbow, beaming. "The energy here was good before, but now it's perfectly balanced. You've completed the circuit, Xiaoyang Gege."
For the next few hours, he was home. He played Yuexi's game, offering feedback that made her eyes light up. He discussed the implications of emotion-sensing AI with Yuning, their old rhythm returning instantly. He accepted a "focus crystal" from Youyou before a particularly dense programming talk.
It was the same, but different. They weren't students anymore. They were professionals, creators. The bonds hadn't broken; they had been upgraded to a new, more robust version.
That evening, as they sat in a noisy pub, debriefing like old times, Xiaoyang felt a profound sense of rightness. He took out his phone and sent a message to Qinghe.
Xiaoyang: Mission debrief: System reassembly successful. All variables have undergone significant upgrades. Collective processing power has increased. The core connection, however, remains stable and compatible. A highly efficient day.
Her reply came a few minutes later.
Qinghe: Acknowledged. The remote data stream was… satisfactory. I have updated my models accordingly. There is a 97% probability that Chen Yuexi is currently planning a sequel that involves all of us.
He looked across the table at Yuexi, who was indeed sketching on a napkin, a familiar manic gleam in her eye. He laughed.
Sitting there, surrounded by the beautiful, chaotic noise of his chosen family, Lin Xiaoyang understood. His life wasn't a single, efficient program. It was a distributed system. Some processes, like Qinghe, ran on a remote server, their connection a steady, reliable data stream. Others, like the three women laughing with him now, were local processes—noisy, demanding, and absolutely essential.
He didn't need to save energy anymore. He had learned to generate it. And this network, this beautifully inefficient, perfectly optimized human network, was his ultimate power source.