The annual conference of Stringlight Research Institute has always been more than just an internal summary and outlook; it is a bellwether watched by the global technology community. This year's venue was exceptionally grand, with the main hall designed as a circular tiered auditorium, softly lit, and a massive holographic projection screen standing like a silent curtain awaiting the commencement of the narrative. The seats were filled to capacity, not only with all members of the institute and partners from industry, but also with numerous invited academic luminaries, government representatives, and media personnel. The air was thick with anticipation, as if one could hear the collective pulse of intellectual energy.
Mozi sat in a front-row seat to the left, dressed in a dark suit, posture steady, gazing calmly at the empty podium. Beside him was Yue'er, wearing an elegant academic gown, her eyes carrying a trace of a distant perspective that transcended specific formulas, as if still wandering in some mathematical universe, yet drawn by the words about to be spoken. They both knew that today's Xiuxiu would present not merely an annual report.
The lights dimmed, a spotlight shone on the stage entrance. Xiuxiu walked out. She was not wearing the usual lab coat or serious business suit, but chose a sharply tailored dark blue dress, dignified yet warm. Her steps were steady, her face bearing a composure and resolve tempered by time. She reached the center of the stage, the spotlight enveloping her, as if also enveloping a grand technological epic.
She did not speak immediately, her gaze slowly sweeping over the familiar and unfamiliar faces in the audience, seeing the fervent admiration in the eyes of young R&D personnel, the trust and expectation on the faces of partners, and also seeing Mozi and Yue'er seated in the front row—her fate-intertwined comrades, her soul-resonating confidants. She gave them a slight nod, then turned to the entire hall.
"Colleagues, friends," Xiuxiu's voice, transmitted through the microphone, filled the venue—clear and soft, with a narrative magic, "Today, standing here, I don't want to merely report how many technical milestones we've broken this year, how much output value growth we've achieved. Those numbers are important; they imprint our sweat. But today, I want to journey with everyone back to the source of a river, to gaze toward the far shore of an ocean. What I want to share is a journey about 'light'—its past, its present, and the future we are co-creating."
The holographic screen behind her lit up, displaying the speech title—"Light, Sleepless." No subtitle; these five words themselves contained endless hardship, persistence, and hope.
"Light, sleepless," Xiuxiu repeated, as if savoring the weight of the words, "It never stops, from ancient stardust, to candle flame, to electric light, to the extreme ultraviolet light we now wield—precisely sculpted for manufacturing chips. Every leap of human civilization has been intimately tied to our ability to harness light."
The holographic screen began to display old footage: the earliest photography from the nineteenth century, bulky cameras, long exposure times. "At first, we merely passively recorded light," Xiuxiu's voice served as narration, "Letting light pass through a pinhole, leaving an inverted image of the world in a camera obscura. Then, we were 'reading' the story written by light."
The scene shifted to early microscopes and telescopes. "Later, we learned to bend light with lenses, magnify it, making it reveal the wriggling of microorganisms and Saturn's rings. We began actively 'questioning' light, using it to explore unknown scales."
Then came old photos from the invention of the transistor, followed by magnified images of the first integrated circuit. "Until the mid-twentieth century, a groundbreaking idea emerged: Could we not just use light to see, to record, but to 'manufacture'? To carve microstructures that carry human intelligence? Lithography technology—this art of 'sculpting with light'—thus ascended the historical stage."
Xiuxiu's narration now entered its core. She reviewed the developmental history of lithography, not as a dry recitation of technical parameters, but as a humanistic epic.
"We started with contact lithography: the mask nearly touching the silicon wafer, like ancient stamping—simple, yet full of flaws, low resolution." The holographic screen showed images of early crude chips. "Then, we took a crucial step toward projection lithography. Letting light pass through the mask, through precise lens groups, like a painter through a viewfinder, projecting the pattern onto the silicon wafer. This step inaugurated the modern semiconductor industry."
She spoke of the wavelength race: from visible light's g-line, i-line, deeper into ultraviolet's KrF, ArF. "Each shortening of wavelength was an advance deeper into the microscopic world, a challenge to optical limits and material science. We were like forging an ever-finer scalpel, attempting to carve on an atomic-scale stage."
Her tone here grew deeper, carrying the gravity of reflecting on arduous years. "Then, we encountered that seemingly insurmountable wall—the 193nm wavelength limit. Traditional dry lithography seemed at an end. Then, the entire industry was permeated with pessimism that Moore's Law was about to end."
A close-up of a water droplet, crystalline and translucent, appeared on the holographic screen. "But human wisdom sometimes hides in unexpected corners," Xiuxiu's voice held a trace of barely perceptible pride, "Someone thought of water. Why not add a drop of high-refractive-index water between the lens and the silicon wafer? Let light 'swim' faster in water, effectively shortening the wavelength to 134nm. This seemingly simple idea—immersion lithography—required overcoming countless engineering nightmares: purity of water flow, elimination of bubbles, contamination of lenses... This was an engineering gamble, and also an emancipation of thought. It taught us that limits are meant to be redefined."
The venue fell into silence; everyone was captivated by this tension-filled narration. Mozi nodded slightly; he remembered the day-and-night efforts of Xiuxiu's team when conquering immersion technology. Yue'er's gaze softened further; she heard in it courage akin to her own mathematical explorations—courage to break paradigmatic constraints.
"When we thought immersion DUV had reached its zenith," Xiuxiu's voice pulled everyone toward an even more arduous expedition, "an even more distant goal appeared—extreme ultraviolet (EUV), 13.5nm wavelength. That is an entirely different world." The holographic screen displayed dynamic simulations: vacuum environment, laser striking tin droplets to generate plasma, and complex Bragg reflector assemblies.
"Light, here, becomes so 'delicate.' Air absorbs it; ordinary mirrors transmit it. We must pave a path for it in vacuum, using mirrors of dozens of alternating thin-film layers, stacked like mille-feuille, just to capture that faintly reflected starlight. Source power: from tens of watts, to one hundred watts, to breaking two hundred and fifty watts... Every watt of increase was backed by countless sleepless nights, by limit-pushing challenges across physics, materials, control, software—virtually every engineering discipline."
Her gaze seemed to traverse time and space, returning to those pressure-filled, hopeful days and nights. "Light, sleepless. And we, who chase light, dare we rest for a moment? We race with light, game with physical laws, compete with the world's most elite peers. This decade is a heroic epic composed of sweat, wisdom, and conviction."
Her tone here reached a climax, filled with the solemnity and pride of a mission accomplished. But then, her pitch slowly lowered, turning toward a deeper contemplation.
"Now, High NA EUV is no longer a blueprint; it is the brush we wield in our hands. Silicon-based chip manufacturing processes have been pushed by us to a precision unimaginable to predecessors." She paused, her gaze sweeping the hall once more, finally resting on the front, "But just as rivers eventually flow into the sea, the maturation of one technological path means we must seek new outlets. We see the constraints of silicon-based physical bottlenecks; we hear the call from an ancient yet brand-new element—carbon."
On the holographic screen, the elegant structure of carbon nanotubes appeared juxtaposed with silicon crystals. "Carbon-based chips—this may be the next station for continuing the flame of computational civilization. Higher speeds, lower power consumption—these are theoretical temptations. But we also deeply know: from material preparation, placement control, doping contacts to system integration, each mountain is steeper than those we've climbed before. The 'Genesis' project is yet another expedition we've actively chosen—an expedition from follower to definer."
Finally, her eyes looked toward an even more distant future, her voice carrying a poetic anticipation. "And beyond carbon-based, the very form of light itself may be reshaped." An enlarged image of metasurface nanostructures appeared on the screen, fantastical and intricate. "This thin plane can shape light fields at our will. It may overturn all our ingrained conceptions of optical systems, compressing complex lens assemblies into a square inch, even giving rise to completely new optoelectronic applications we cannot yet imagine. Light, in our hands, will exhibit unprecedented plasticity."
She fell silent again for a moment, letting the wings of imagination soar in everyone's hearts. Then she looked back at the audience, her gaze becoming utterly sincere and warm.
"Looking back on this journey of 'light'—from recording to questioning, from manufacturing to defining—I see not merely technological progression, but the unyielding exploration of human wisdom, the ceaseless creativity when facing limits. Our Stringlight Research Institute is fortunate to stand at the forefront of this great river. We are not merely users of technology; we are creators of technology, definers of the future."
Her voice finally coalesced into a resolute, hopeful force: "This road is destined to be long, fraught with thorns. But as long as the light within us—pursuing truth, creating value—remains sleepless, as long as we maintain this courage and wisdom to transcend disciplines and advance hand in hand, I believe we will ultimately harness light, traverse carbon, and reach that new shore belonging to human wisdom and civilization. Thank you all."
The speech ended. The venue fell into a moment of absolute silence, as if everyone was still immersed in that grand narrative of light. Then, thunderous applause erupted—sustained and fervent, filled with respect and emotion.
Mozi gazed at the radiant figure on stage; what he saw was not merely a top engineer and leader, but a poet using technology to compose an epic. He felt his chest filled with an ineffable emotion—pride, resonance, infinite certainty about the path they had walked together, and the path ahead.
Yue'er gently wiped the corner of her eye, where touched emotion rippled. From Xiuxiu's speech, she heard the same reverence and quest for the universe's underlying laws as in her own mathematical explorations. Only Xiuxiu used light and matter; she used symbols and logic. They were playing the same symphony of exploration in different dimensions.
Xiuxiu stood at the center of the applause, bowing slightly. She saw the light in Mozi and Yue'er's eyes—that was her greatest affirmation. The ode of technology was not merely a retrospective; it was a declaration. It proclaimed that their ship, driven jointly by capital, technology, and theory, had adjusted its sails and was setting forth firmly toward deeper, more distant unknown waters. Light, sleepless. Their exploration, likewise, shall have no end.