Chapter 81: Development in Progress
It is said that October is the golden season of autumn, but in Shu City, the feeling of autumn in October is hardly present.
The city’s geography determines its climate.
Winter is never too cold, and there is no heavy snow.
In autumn, the vegetation does not wither and yellow, and there are not many fallen leaves.
Most of the trees remain green all year round, so one barely experiences the desolate charm of autumn breezes and swirling yellow leaves.
After finishing a section of code, Lu Yu leaned back in his chair, massaging his brow to rest, and scrolled through the latest news on his phone.
After the National Day, when a young idol and another star announced their relationship, it caused Weibo’s servers to crash, and the fervor still hadn’t died down much.
Lu Yu glanced at the trending topics on Weibo, feeling rather speechless.
By contrast, the passing last month of Nan Rendong, the father of the Sky Eye, received little attention and remained unknown to most.
This scientist, who poured twenty-two years of his life into his work and persisted despite illness, led the design of the 500-meter Aperture Spherical Radio Telescope, which constantly receives electromagnetic signals from the depths of the universe and made China the nation on Blue Planet capable of seeing the farthest.
Yet he remained so obscure.
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Similarly, last month, Academician Yuan Longping announced two breakthroughs: the successful trial of seawater rice, and a major advance in cadmium-removal technology for rice breeding.
Such news also attracted scant attention; few people even understood its significance.
First, the success of seawater rice. There are roughly 1.5 billion mu of saline-alkali land in the country, which previously could not be cultivated.
Now, with the success of seawater rice, except for lands with extremely harsh natural conditions or severe pollution, most saline-alkali soils can be used to grow this rice.
It can be irrigated directly with water containing 0.6% salt, and yields have more than doubled the expected target of 300 kilograms per mu.
What does this mean?
Even conservatively, if each mu of saline-alkali land yields just 300 kilograms, this could mean an increase of around 50 billion kilograms of grain, enough to feed nearly 200 million more people.
Moreover, irrigation can use brackish water, conserving freshwater resources.
Given the harsh conditions of saline-alkali land, rice here rarely suffers from common pests or diseases, so pesticides are hardly needed.
This not only has a profound impact on national food security but could even shape the destiny of all humanity.
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As for the cadmium-removal technology for rice breeding, it is equally important.
Due to environmental pollution, cadmium contamination in rice has become severe.
Although cases of cadmium pollution are periodically reported across the country, they have not drawn sufficient public concern.
Rice absorbs cadmium far more readily than other grains like corn or soybeans.
These absorbed cadmium elements accumulate heavily in rice grains.
If such contaminated rice is consumed directly, or ingested indirectly through poultry that feed on it, cadmium enters the human body via the food chain, causing chronic poisoning.
Cadmium, as a heavy metal, is highly toxic and primarily accumulates in the lungs, liver, and kidneys.
It can lead to osteoporosis, bone deformation, high blood pressure, liver damage, pulmonary edema, anemia, and can harm the nervous system and brain.
As for the reality: the National Rice Quality Supervision and Testing Center under the Ministry of Agriculture once conducted random safety tests on rice from the domestic market.
They found a cadmium exceedance rate as high as 10.3%.
Detailed analysis showed that rice in the southern markets had more severe cadmium pollution than in the north; in some counties and cities of Jiangxi and Hunan provinces, the problem was especially acute.
So the breakthrough in cadmium-removal for rice breeding is tremendously significant for food security.
Yuan Longping, at an age when he should be enjoying his twilight years, still devoted himself to food security and rice improvement, watering the dream of a prosperous nation with a lifetime of sweat and wisdom.
Yet, even with these two new technologies announced, the attention they received was scant at best.
Their coverage was not even a fraction of that lavished upon two celebrities’ love affair.
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Lu Yu did not know how others felt; for himself, he could not help but feel a tinge of sadness.
An age of revelry, of entertainment to the point of numbness.
The best of times, yet also the worst.
Countless descendants of China dream of national rejuvenation, but the scientific foundation supporting this dream, and those who quietly dedicate themselves to it, rarely get noticed.
This is not to say that entertainment is wrong; once basic needs are met, the pursuit of spiritual enjoyment is perfectly reasonable.
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So it has always been, since ancient times.
But many people fail to grasp a simple logic.
Hollywood is strong because the technological might of the United States is strong.
It is not the other way around; the country is not strong because Hollywood is strong.
Looking back at modern history, great nations have always risen through scientific and technological progress and industrial advancement.
No country has ever flourished thanks to entertainment.
In the competition or even conflict between nations, can one hope to move an adversary with a film?
Can one send a popular idol to seduce citizens of the other country and make them “generate electricity for love”?
Certainly, cultural soft power is important, but it is always founded on hard power.
The Qing dynasty perished early on; the self-congratulatory “Celestial Empire Dream” should have been a wakeup call long ago.
It is the rise of science and technology that is the key to China’s resurgence.
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With a sigh in his heart, Lu Yu composed himself, set down his phone, and stopped thinking about such matters.
He was, after all, just an ordinary person; even if he were a scientific giant, he could hardly change society’s prevailing winds on his own.
Such things require gradual progress.
Nothing short of some major collective upheaval can change the majority’s cognition and beliefs.
Besides, this was not Lu Yu’s burden to bear.
He would simply stay true to himself, do his best, and try to exert a little positive influence on those around him.
To take on responsibility beyond one’s capacity is to harm oneself and others—a wise man would not do so.
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The employees transferred from the special effects companies had already been working at Yunhan Technology for several days.
Their work was simple: to communicate with a feature design group, providing detailed accounts of the issues they encountered in practice.
It was akin to conducting a user requirements survey for a mobile app, then designing software features and the entire UI accordingly.
The goal was to meet users’ actual needs and ensure comfort of use.
Wherever possible, features were to be streamlined.
Otherwise, if left solely to the programmers at Yunhan Technology to design UI and features, they might end up complicating simple things.
Lu Yu’s purpose in developing this software was to allow more people to participate in visual effects production.
The goal was to lower the threshold, not raise it.
These experienced, professional effects artists were precisely the reason for acquiring the two effects companies.
Bringing staff to Yunhan Technology was intended to assist the programmers in developing the optimal software.
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Lu Yu would sometimes engage these effects artists in detailed discussions, even reading through every suggestion and issue they raised.
This allowed him to reflect on whether his overall architecture was reasonable and to make timely adjustments.
If a particular feature request seemed useful, Lu Yu would convene the relevant group to adjust their tasks.
From its present state, the software being developed at Yunhan Technology was not only more advanced overall than anything on the market, but also superior in its finer details.
These finer points were the result of countless small algorithms, each building upon the other.
Take a simple example: for a video frame’s smoke effect, several algorithms must control the motion of different particles simultaneously.
If the algorithms were poor, the dynamic effect would appear stiff and unnatural.
Thus, to make the software more streamlined, intelligent, and advanced, each algorithm needed to be optimized and integrated into a coherent whole.
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Fortunately, after acquiring his scientific materials, Lu Yu first studied internet programming.
With deeper understanding gained through practice, he read even more books on programming.
Without this, he might not have been able to develop the software to its current level.
From the overall architecture down to every small algorithm, Lu Yu had taken part in each to some extent.
When the software was finished, Lu Yu was confident that, both in terms of visual effects and software design, it would surpass any current product on the market.
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Moreover, Lu Yu planned to make it open source, with reserved interfaces for other developers.
In time, more people would build applications and plugins atop this foundation, making effects ever more realistic and impressive.
He believed that, once people understood the software in detail, all the effects companies would “vote with their feet.”
Open source and free, with better results—any fool would know which to choose.
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If, even with this software, the standard of domestic effects did not rise, there could only be two reasons:
Either the practitioners genuinely lacked ability, or investors in film and television were simply unwilling to spend on effects.
Even if Lu Yu’s software was free, the hardware and manpower costs of making effects remained.
Impressive, realistic effects still required significant investment; costs might be lower, but would remain high.
With the typical habits of domestic investors, they would rather spend lavishly on young idols to attract fans than invest in effects.
Lu Yu did not expect his software to change everything overnight, but there would always be one or two investors willing to put money into post-production.
And that was a good start.
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The face of an industry, or even the shape of a society, is changed gradually, through a series of small events accumulating over time.
Sudden upheaval never lasts.
A glance at history shows that those who attempt drastic change only provoke universal anger and bring disaster upon themselves.
The most famous example is Shang Yang.
Lu Yu never believed himself to possess such courage or resolve; thus, he chose to guide quietly and seek gradual transformation.
This applied not only to the effects industry, but to others in the future.
As he learned more and deepened his understanding of technology, he would inevitably confront the realities of many industries.
If he were to suddenly present a slew of advanced technologies and overturn the status quo across multiple fields, he was certain that many people would never let him see the light of day.
This was reality.
Now, just by preparing to challenge the profits of some foreign cosmetics giants, Deng Qiang and Liu Shichang had already repeatedly and tactfully warned Lu Yu to pay attention to his security and avoid leaving the country.
If he disrupted more industries, he might not even find safety at home.
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When an industry is upended, the vested interests are not only foreigners.
As the saying goes, “To cut off a man’s source of income is like killing his parents.”
Such enmity is irreconcilable.
Lu Yu had no illusions of possessing some kind of mystical protection that would ward off all harm.
As the great founder once said, “Make as many friends as possible, and as few enemies as possible.”
Lu Yu resolved to heed this advice: when he developed new technologies in the future, he would license them out.
Like spring rain nourishing all things, he would quietly promote industry transformation.
He would not set up a host of companies himself, seize the market, and bask in public glory as if he were some prodigy.
He might be impressive, but it would be an act of utter foolishness.
Who but a fool would do such a thing?
That would be a “dumbing-down halo” of the highest order.
Lu Yu would prefer that no one paid attention to him, letting him work quietly in the shadows.
Monopolizing all the profits leads nowhere.
To do so ostentatiously is to court disaster.
Focusing on technology is enough; let others compete for the market and charge into battle.
He would rather stay behind, collecting patent fees with ease—wasn’t that far more satisfying?
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