Chapter 74: The Daily Grind of Coding

After finishing his call with Deng Qiang, Lu Yu took a cigarette from the pack on the coffee table. Over the years, he couldn’t help but notice how the atmosphere online had deteriorated; it was all too easy to get swept along by the tides of public opinion. He’d witnessed countless instances of forced donations on the internet—not just once or twice. Any slight dissatisfaction could invite criticism, even abuse. Many netizens pushed for donations out of genuine goodwill, wanting to help those in need, and that was fair enough. Enterprises did have a social responsibility. Yet, donating was an act of kindness; not donating wasn’t inherently wrong. Still, there were always people online who would stir things up, as if not donating were a grave, unforgivable sin.

To Lu Yu, this was nothing but moral coercion: placing oneself on a moral pedestal and pointing fingers at others. Truly nauseating. The greatest social responsibility of a business was to provide jobs and pay taxes according to the law—that was its duty.

…

Lu Yu fetched his takeout and ate alone at the dining table, his mind wandering to Shi Zixuan and Qin Xiaomian. With both women gone, especially without Qin Xiaomian, the apartment felt a little empty. He didn’t dwell on it; after eating, he tidied up and returned to his study to code.

Cloud Han Technology’s programming had moved beyond the early, simple stages; the difficulty was rising, and some engineers were struggling to keep up. Often, after assigning tasks, Lu Yu would have to gather each team for separate meetings to explain things—almost like teaching a class. Otherwise, they simply couldn’t produce the code he needed.

Notably, Ge Yuncong attended every one of Lu Yu’s explanations. In his own words, there was so much to learn. Lu Yu’s programming concepts, approaches, and methods differed greatly from those Ge Yuncong was familiar with, and were clearly superior. Ge Yuncong had asked several times where Lu Yu had learned to code, and Lu Yu always replied he was self-taught. That was no lie; back in school, he had largely learned on his own. After acquiring scientific materials, he continued to self-study, using the basic tech documents as reference.

…

Lu Yu coded late into the night before finally falling asleep. The next morning, after washing up, he slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and took the subway to Cloud Han Technology. He checked the progress of the code, issued new tasks, assembled teams for meetings to explain the programming logic needed, and then returned to his office to write key code himself. The day passed in a blur—busy, yet fulfilling.

This rhythm lasted for days. There was no other way: if the software Cloud Han Technology was developing was a complex math problem, Lu Yu was the principal solver. The core logic and main structure were his responsibility; others filled in the branches, often needing his guidance.

…

At Pink White Ebony Company, Deng Qiang was busier than ever. Besides routine management of production and sales, he had to select sites for planting bases and processing centers, and negotiate with local authorities. After all, planting bases required vast tracts of land. The department for school support was also being formed. The company continued to purchase various raw materials, processing them preliminarily and stockpiling them. Otherwise, when new production lines expanded at year’s end or the company entered overseas markets, they might face shortages.

---

Nowadays, consumers had come to highly trust Pink White Ebony cosmetics. In just a few months, more than a handful felt they’d reached their peak. Improved skin meant increased attractiveness; with better looks came confidence, and with confidence, improved presence. If anyone tried to stop them from using Pink White Ebony products now, their lives would feel bleak—they’d surely lose their temper.

No need to mention the moisturizing and whitening products; the anti-wrinkle offerings had been out for over a month, and early users were already seeing good results. Following the company’s advice to eat foods rich in collagen, many felt noticeably younger. It wasn’t just surface tightening; wrinkles were fading from within.

Those unable to get their hands on Wuqiyi were consumed with envy—so sour, truly sour, like biting into a lemon. Their feelings for Pink White Ebony were a tangled mix of love and hate, like a passionate romance between good and evil. They loved the products deeply, but hated the limited supply just as fiercely.

…

One day, while Lu Yu was deep in his code, he received a call from Zhou Jing. She’d finished her survey of all the special effects companies and sent a detailed report to his inbox, waiting for him to make a decision. Lu Yu thanked her for her efforts, hung up, and checked the email.

After reviewing the report, he found four companies worth acquiring. They didn’t have much in fixed assets; their greatest value lay in their experienced and stable effects teams. Lu Yu considered acquiring them all, but thought better of it—both Pink White Ebony and Cloud Han Technology needed funds. Saving where possible was prudent, and special effects wasn’t his main business anyway; he had no plans to enter showbiz. He casually selected two companies, replied to Zhou Jing, and instructed her to initiate acquisition talks.

He called Liu Shichang, asking him to come upstairs. Within minutes, Liu arrived. Lu Yu briefed him and asked him to work with Zhou Jing to quickly finalize the acquisitions. As for whether to form a special effects department within Cloud Han Technology or establish a separate company, Lu Yu wasn’t sure and sought Liu’s opinion.

Liu pondered, then asked about Cloud Han Technology’s positioning and future plans. Lu Yu paused—he hadn’t really considered those. But one thing was certain: the team he was building now would become the core of a larger group, dedicated to developing artificial intelligence.

Artificial intelligence—Lu Yu dreamed of possessing it. With that in mind, things became clear: a company focused on the internet and high tech shouldn’t have a special effects department. It would be incongruous, out of place, like something odd in a crowd.

So he instructed Liu to complete the acquisitions and reorganize the teams into a new special effects company, fully owned by Extra-Galactic Nebula. The company name didn’t matter; Lu Yu told Liu to choose, or pick from one of the two acquired names. Liu, a little exasperated, pursed his lips and went off to handle the matter.

…

After Liu left, Lu Yu considered the development progress of the special effects software—it was still far from meeting real needs. With the acquisitions and restructuring still to come, there was no rush. Coding was already exhausting enough; for the sake of not going bald, he decided to take it easy.

He stayed in the office tapping away at the keyboard until long after working hours before finally heading home. On the way, he browsed the news on his phone, flipping through page after page—nothing but gossip and minor entertainment news. Any trivial act by a popular idol could generate endless hype.

---

Lu Yu didn’t believe Weibo hadn’t profited from it. Ah, truly, the world had suffered under Weibo for too long—just as it had suffered under Goose Factory.

But a tech news item caught his eye: Ali Group had launched a new generation of facial recognition systems, capable of instant identification with greatly improved accuracy. Globally, it was one-of-a-kind; Ali Group’s facial recognition technology now led the world.

It had been half a year since Ali bought Lu Yu’s original real-time feature recognition algorithm. He’d wondered why they hadn’t released an optimized facial recognition system sooner. Now, seeing the news, Lu Yu understood: after acquiring the algorithm, Ali had assembled a team to thoroughly study it, grasping its programming concepts. They then applied these ideas to optimize their entire facial recognition suite.

Tsk, now Baidu would have a hard time—while others could identify instantly, their own system was still spinning its wheels.

Lu Yu chuckled to himself as he read the story.

…

Outside his apartment, Lu Yu ate two bowls of Chongqing noodles and bought some snacks, munching as he walked home. Back at home, he realized he’d been so engrossed in coding lately that he hadn’t been running. He went upstairs to change into workout clothes.

He walked and jogged for half an hour, then wiped his sweat, drank water, and showered. Ah, the lonely ostrich, always running alone. Since Shi Zixuan and Qin Xiaomian started school, the house felt lacking. Though they returned on weekends, their schedules were packed and, lacking any foundation, they had to devote extra time to catch up.

Lu Yu himself was busy, and their interactions were far less frequent than before. Perhaps this was how life should be—each person with their own pursuits, space, and circles. Even couples madly in love can grow weary of being together every day. People are, after all, creatures prone to aesthetic fatigue. The secret to getting along lies in allowing a bit of personal space. Too much of anything is never good.

…

Soaking in the bathtub, Lu Yu let his thoughts wander, only coming downstairs wrapped in a bathrobe when the water cooled. In his study, he opened his laptop and resumed typing.

Particle effects, scene composition, rendering—none of these algorithms were simple. Even though Lu Yu only created the general framework, leaving the rest to the team, the workload was staggering.

If a single piece of special effects software was already so demanding, Lu Yu finally understood a question that had long puzzled him: why was it so hard to produce an excellent domestic operating system? It wasn’t just about vast amounts of code, but the overall architecture. Most importantly, it required a complete ecosystem. None of this was simple.

So many brilliant engineers—didn’t they want to build a superb domestic system? Surely most had dreamed of it. Yet, for countless reasons and obstacles, it always remained just a dream.

Such was the helplessness of reality. Ideals so often succumb to reality.

…