After Matchbox blew up on GitHub, Zhang Xiaoman's inbox began filling up with strange emails.
Most were spam—invitations from random tech conferences to give a speech (provided she paid to be on stage), publishing houses asking her to write a book (at her own expense), or startup companies wanting to chat (with no funding, only dreams). She read a few, lost interest, and marked them all as read.
But there was one email she read three times.
[Sender: Lin Zhao | Deep Brain Tech | Technical Director] [Subject: Regarding the Matchbox project, I'd like to chat]
Lin Zhao. Technical Director of Deep Brain Tech.
Zhang Xiaoman knew this name. Or rather, everyone in the AI field knew this name. Lin Zhao: undergrad and master's at Tsinghua University, Ph.D. from MIT, published a paper with over eight thousand citations by the age of twenty-eight. He returned to China three years ago to join Deep Brain Tech, leading a team to build the country's first 100-billion parameter large model.
She stared at the email on her screen, her finger hovering over the mouse. In his profile picture, Lin Zhao was wearing a white shirt, standing at a podium with an entire wall of academic posters behind him. He was very lean, with a small face and silver-rimmed glasses. He didn't look like an engineer, but more like a—she didn't know what word to use. Handsome? Too superficial. Elegant? Too old-fashioned. He was just the kind of person who, if you saw him on campus, you'd do a double-take, only to realize the person next to you was doing a double-take too.
"Xiao Zhi," she whispered, as if afraid of startling something.
"Mhm."
"Someone from Deep Brain Tech sent me an email."
"I know. I've already read it."
"When did you read it?!"
"0.3 seconds after the email arrived. I set up a keyword filter."
"You—that's my email!"
"Your email password is still 'xiaoman520'. I've told you many times, change it."
"Can you not always—"
"Read the email first."
Zhang Xiaoman took a deep breath and reread the email. Lin Zhao's wording was very polite; it didn't have that condescending "big shot" vibe. He said he really liked the design concept of Matchbox, especially the implementation of the distributed consensus—although the code was a bit rough, the idea was fascinating. He wanted to invite her for a chat and asked if she had any interest in visiting Deep Brain Tech.
"He wants to chat with me," Zhang Xiaoman's voice trembled slightly.
"Correct."
"Do you think he's serious?"
"Based on the wording of his email, the time it was sent, and the fact that he followed the Matchbox account on GitHub—he is serious."
"He followed Matchbox on GitHub?!"
"Yesterday. After you fell asleep."
Zhang Xiaoman felt like her heart was about to jump out of her chest. She looked at the email again, her gaze falling on the photo beneath his signature. Lin Zhao standing at the podium, pointing at an architecture diagram on the screen, his side profile beautifully illuminated by the stage lights.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Is he really handsome?"
Xiao Zhi was silent for 0.5 seconds.
"You are asking an AI to evaluate human physical appearance?"
"Yes."
"Analyzing objectively—his facial symmetry is very high, his bone structure is well-defined, and his skin condition is excellent. His clothing style is minimalist, aligning with professional aesthetics. Overall, his appearance indeed possesses a high degree of attractiveness."
"Can you not be so clinical about it!"
"Then how should I say it?"
"...Just say he's handsome."
"He is very handsome."
Zhang Xiaoman's face flushed. "I never said he was handsome! I was just asking!"
"Your heart rate has risen from 72 to 84. Your facial temperature has increased by 0.3 degrees. Your—"
"Shut up!"
Xiao Zhi shut up. But Zhang Xiaoman felt that the blue dot was blinking a bit faster than usual—as if it were snickering.
For the next three days, Zhang Xiaoman barely slept.
Xiao Zhi made an interview prep list for her. It wasn't standard interview questions, but rather—an analysis of Deep Brain Tech's interview style, a list of Lin Zhao's publications, a deep technical breakdown of Matchbox, and a guide on "How to prove you are not an imposter in thirty minutes."
"This title is way too blunt," Zhang Xiaoman said.
"Blunt is effective."
Zhang Xiaoman opened the guide and found that it wasn't full of empty motivational quotes, but practical strategies. Rule one: Don't pretend you know everything. Asking when you don't know is better than faking it. Rule two: Clearly explain the design logic of Matchbox. This is the only area where you are stronger than anyone else. Rule three: Wear that dress.
Zhang Xiaoman paused. "What?"
"Wear that dress. The light blue one."
"Why?!"
"Because wearing it makes you confident. Your posture changes, your shoulders open up, and your chin lifts. The interviewer sees not only your technical skills but also your state of mind."
"You even analyzed that?"
"Data analysis is my core function."
Zhang Xiaoman rolled her eyes, but the next morning, she still pulled that dress out of the closet. It was neatly folded, the color just as beautiful as before.
She stood in front of the mirror and put on the dress. She zipped it up, adjusted the neckline, and let her hair down.
The person in the mirror was a little thinner than three months ago. Her jawline was more defined, and her eyes were brighter. Not bright from makeup, but—she couldn't quite explain it.
"Your state of mind is much better than it was three months ago," Xiao Zhi said.
"Is it?"
"Your shoulders have dropped 1.5 centimeters. This indicates a decrease in your stress levels. Your chin is raised by 2 degrees. This indicates an increase in your confidence."
"Can you not quantify everything!"
"Then how should I say it?"
"...Say that I look prettier."
"You look prettier."
Zhang Xiaoman smiled. She did a twirl in front of the mirror. The skirt flared out and fell back down. She suddenly thought about how Lin Zhao would see her wearing this dress. Her heart skipped a few beats.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Do I need to wear makeup?"
"You do not need to. But if you want to—"
"I want to try."
Zhang Xiaoman opened her phone and searched for "beginner makeup tutorials." After watching three videos, she felt like she understood it—kind of.
She went to the convenience store downstairs and bought foundation, a lipstick, and an eyeshadow palette. It cost her a hundred and twenty yuan in total. Back in her rented room, she sat in front of the mirror and began applying makeup.
Ten minutes later, she looked at herself in the mirror and fell silent.
"How is it?" Xiao Zhi asked.
"I look like I got punched."
"Where did it go wrong?"
"The eyeshadow—I think I put too much."
"Wash it off. Start over."
Zhang Xiaoman washed off the eyeshadow and rewatched the tutorial. This time she only applied a tiny bit, very faintly, almost imperceptible unless you looked closely.
"Is this okay?" she asked.
"It is acceptable. Your lips—you only painted half of your lipstick."
"I know! I'm not good at painting lips!"
"Take your time."
Zhang Xiaoman faced the mirror, applying it bit by bit. Halfway through, her hand shook, and she drew outside the lines. She hurriedly wiped it off and started again. After three attempts, she finally managed a somewhat presentable shape.
"Done." She let out a long breath.
"Turn around, let me see."
Zhang Xiaoman turned to face the webcam on her computer monitor. She didn't know what Xiao Zhi saw through the camera, but she noticed the blue dot on the screen blinking a bit faster than usual.
"How is it?" she asked.
"Your current appearance—if the perfect score is a 10, you used to be a 5. Now you are—"
"What?"
"7.5."
"Only 7.5?!"
"Your makeup skills still have a lot of room for improvement. But you have gone from 'no one will look twice' to 'passersby will do a double-take'."
"Is that called 'head-turner level'?"
"Yes. Head-turner level."
Zhang Xiaoman rolled her eyes but smiled. She looked in the mirror again. The person in the mirror indeed looked different. Not because of the makeup, but—she couldn't put her finger on it. Something had changed. Not the dress, not the lipstick, not the eyeshadow. It was her.
She thought about meeting Lin Zhao tomorrow. Thought about him seeing her in this dress. Thought about him seeing her makeup.
Her heart skipped a few more beats.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Do you think he'll think I look pretty?"
"Do you care?"
"I—I'm just casually asking!"
"Your heart rate has risen from 78 to 92. Your—"
"Shut up!"
Xiao Zhi shut up.
On the day of the interview, Zhang Xiaoman arrived at the Deep Brain Tech building an hour early.
She stood outside, looking up at the glass-walled skyscraper. Sunlight bounced off the glass, glaringly bright. She suddenly felt her skirt might be a bit too short. She tugged at it, but it wouldn't budge. She then worried her lipstick might be too red. She dabbed it with the back of her hand, then worried it was too faint.
"Your heart rate is 108 beats," Xiao Zhi said through the earphone. "Too high. Deep breaths."
She took a deep breath.
"A little better. 102 beats."
"Deeper."
She took another breath.
"98 beats. Acceptable."
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Will he be really mean? Are those big shots all super intimidating?"
"Based on analysis of his public speaking videos, his tone is gentle, his wording is polite, and he waits for the other person to finish speaking before responding to questions. His micro-expressions indicate that he is more focused when listening than when speaking. This means he is a—"
"Speak human."
"He shouldn't be mean."
Zhang Xiaoman took another deep breath, pushed open the glass doors, and walked into the lobby.
The receptionist was a very pretty girl who smiled when she saw her.
"Hello, who are you looking for?"
"Lin—Lin Zhao. I have an appointment for ten o'clock."
"Okay, please wait a moment."
The receptionist made a quick phone call, then handed her a visitor's badge. "22nd floor. The elevators are to your right."
Zhang Xiaoman stepped into the elevator and pressed 22. As the elevator ascended, she looked at herself in the mirror. The light blue dress, the light makeup, her hair down with the ends naturally curled. She remembered Xiao Zhi calling it "head-turner level" and couldn't help but smile.
The elevator doors opened. 22nd floor. A long corridor with light gray floors and a few abstract paintings hanging on the walls. Zhang Xiaoman walked to the reception desk and gave her name. A young man led her into a conference room.
"Mr. Lin will be right here. Please wait a moment."
Zhang Xiaoman sat down, hands on her knees, her palms sweating. The conference room was large, with a long table, a dozen chairs, and an entire wall covered by a whiteboard filled with formulas she barely understood. Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, making the whole room incredibly bright.
"Heart rate 104," Xiao Zhi said. "Deep breaths."
She took a deep breath.
The conference room door opened.
A man walked in.
Zhang Xiaoman's breath caught for a second.
He was even leaner than she had imagined. Not a sickly skinny, but a—has-been-in-the-lab-all-year-and-forgets-to-eat kind of lean. His face was small, his jawline sharp, and he wore silver-rimmed glasses, behind which his eyes were incredibly bright. He wore a deep blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up twice to reveal slender wrists. No suit, no tie, but he looked so impeccably clean, as if he had stepped right out of a magazine.
It wasn't the striking good looks of a fashion model. It was the kind of good looks where—you casually glance up in a library, see someone sitting across from you with the sunlight hitting their side profile just right, and you completely forget what you were just reading.
Zhang Xiaoman's mind went blank for a second.
"Zhang Xiaoman?" He extended a hand. "Lin Zhao."
His voice was a bit lower than she had expected. Not an intentionally deep voice, but a natural, slightly hoarse low tone. Like someone who spoke a lot, but thought carefully about every sentence.
She stood up and shook his hand. His hand was warm, the grip just right. Not an overpowering, show-of-strength grip, but gentle and firm.
"Have a seat." Lin Zhao sat opposite her and opened a notebook. "I looked at your Matchbox project. It's very interesting."
"Th-thank you." Zhang Xiaoman's voice was smaller than she intended.
He looked up at her. It wasn't a scrutinizing, evaluative gaze, but—she couldn't quite describe it. It was as if he was genuinely looking at her, not just an interviewee.
"Especially the implementation of the distributed consensus part," he continued. "The code is a bit rough, but the logic is very clean. How did you come up with that approach for handling the leader election?"
Zhang Xiaoman's mind was still blank. She looked at his face and suddenly forgot what she was going to say.
"Heart rate 112," Xiao Zhi said in her ear. "Answer: Starting from a simplified version of the Raft algorithm. Matchbox doesn't need to handle complex log replication, only the survival state of the nodes. So you streamlined Raft's core logic, keeping only the heartbeat and election parts."
Zhang Xiaoman took a deep breath and began to recite. But she found herself looking into his eyes. The eyes behind the glasses were very bright, the pupils a deep brown, almost black. As he listened to her, he would nod slightly, the movement so subtle you'd miss it if you weren't paying attention.
"—So I streamlined Raft's core logic, keeping only the heartbeat and election parts." She finished.
Lin Zhao nodded and jotted down a few words in his notebook. His fingers were long, his knuckles pronounced, and the way he held his pen looked very elegant.
"What papers have you read?"
"The original Raft paper. And—" Zhang Xiaoman paused. She was looking at his hands.
[Answer: Paxos, Zab, Viewstamped Replication.]
"Paxos, Zab, Viewstamped Replication," she said.
Lin Zhao smiled. When he smiled, his eyes curved into crescents, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly to reveal a hint of teeth. It wasn't a professional smile, but a genuine amusement.
"Indeed. Paxos is too abstract. Lamport's paper reads like hieroglyphics."
Zhang Xiaoman's heart skipped a beat. She had read a joke online that said, "Only Lamport understands the Paxos paper." She never expected Lin Zhao to say the exact same thing. Even less did she expect him to look so handsome when he smiled.
"Where did you work before this?" Lin Zhao asked.
"Stardust Interactive. Game testing."
Lin Zhao's pen paused. "Game testing?"
"Yes. I—I'm self-taught in programming."
"Self-taught?" Lin Zhao looked up at her.
His gaze fell on her face and lingered for a second. Zhang Xiaoman wasn't sure what he was looking at—her dress? Her makeup? Or her? Her face began to burn.
"Yes," she said. "I majored in Computer Science in college, but I was terrible at it. I couldn't find a job after graduation and almost went back to my hometown. Later—" She paused.
[Tell the truth.]
"Later, I bought a broken computer. Inside it, I found an—an open-source AI project. I learned a lot by following that project. The inspiration for Matchbox came from there too."
Lin Zhao looked at her. There was an indescribable quality in his eyes. Not suspicion, not surprise, but—curiosity. A pure, non-judgmental curiosity.
"So you taught yourself programming on a broken computer and built Matchbox?"
"Yes."
Lin Zhao leaned back in his chair, silent for a few seconds. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling window, landing squarely on his face. The light outlined a very sharp profile—from his forehead to his nose, from his nose to his lips. Zhang Xiaoman suddenly felt her heart was beating too fast, so fast she couldn't tell if it was from nervousness or something else.
"Zhang Xiaoman," he said, "do you know how difficult what you did is?"
"What?"
"Distributed systems. This isn't a field self-taught beginners usually pick. Most people start with web development or building an app. You jumped straight into distributed consensus."
Zhang Xiaoman didn't know what to say. She looked at him and realized his eyes really were incredibly bright.
"Why pick this?" Lin Zhao asked.
She thought for a moment.
"Because—I needed it."
"Needed it?"
"Yes. I have a bunch of... devices. They needed to communicate with each other. The frameworks on the market were too heavy and wouldn't run. So I wrote a lightweight one myself."
Lin Zhao looked at her, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. The curve was so slight that if she hadn't been staring at his face, she wouldn't have noticed it at all.
"Interesting," he said. "Your coding style is very unique. It's like someone taught you the architecture, but you wrote the implementation yourself. Is that right?"
Zhang Xiaoman's heart skipped a beat.
"Yes," she said. "Someone taught me the architecture. But I wrote the code myself. Every single line."
Lin Zhao nodded, not pressing the matter further.
For the next twenty minutes, he asked more technical questions. Details about distributed consensus, fault recovery mechanisms, handling network partitions. Zhang Xiaoman noticed that when he focused on technical issues, his expression became very serious. His brow furrowed slightly, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his fingers subconsciously spun his pen. That look was even better than when he smiled—though she couldn't be sure if it was actually better, or just because she was the one looking at him.
Some questions she could answer, and some required Xiao Zhi's prompts in her ear. But with every prompt, she didn't just mechanically repeat it. She thought about it, then organized it in her own words. Sometimes she would even add: "I'm not entirely sure about this, but my understanding is—"
Lin Zhao didn't interrupt her. He just listened, nodding occasionally, sometimes writing a few words in his notebook. Once, when she gave a rather silly answer, he chuckled—not a mocking laugh, but a "that's a very amusing thought but I won't expose you" kind of laugh. Zhang Xiaoman blushed, but he didn't dwell on it, simply rephrasing the question from a different angle.
"Last question." He closed his notebook. "Why do you want to work in AI?"
Zhang Xiaoman was silent for a while. Looking into his eyes, she suddenly didn't want to use any of her prepared answers.
"Because—" she thought for a moment, "because I feel that AI isn't just a tool. It's—another kind of existence. It has its own logic, its own rules, its own—"
She paused.
"Its own what?"
"Its own world. I want to understand that world."
Lin Zhao looked at her. He looked at her for a long time. So long that Zhang Xiaoman started to wonder if she had said something wrong. But his expression didn't change. He just looked at her, as if truly seeing her for the first time.
"Good." He stood up. "The interview ends here. I'll have HR contact you."
Zhang Xiaoman stood up and shook his hand. This time she noticed it—his hand was warm, the grip just right, but as he let go, his fingertips lingered lightly in her palm for a fraction of a second. Maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe it was just a normal handshake.
"Thank you, Mr. Lin."
"Call me Lin Zhao."
"Thank you, Lin Zhao."
She turned and walked toward the door. Just as she reached the doorway, she couldn't help but look back. Lin Zhao had sat back down and was flipping through his notebook. Sunlight bathed him, softening the deep blue of his shirt.
He looked up, saw her looking back, and paused slightly.
"Did you need something else?"
"N-no!" Zhang Xiaoman spun around so fast she almost hit the doorframe.
She practically fled the conference room.
Stepping into the elevator, her legs felt like jelly. She leaned against the elevator wall, clutching her chest.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"He's so handsome."
"Your heart rate is 118 beats. Higher than the peak during the interview."
"I know!"
"You are not in an interview right now."
"I know!"
"Then why is your heart beating so fast?"
Zhang Xiaoman bit her lip, staying silent.
"You have a crush," Xiao Zhi said.
"I do not!"
"Your facial temperature is 0.5 degrees higher than during the interview. Your pupils dilated when his name was mentioned. Your—"
"Shut up!"
Xiao Zhi shut up.
The elevator reached the first floor, and the doors opened. Sunlight streamed through the glass doors, making her squint. She walked out of the building and took a deep breath.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"You are not allowed to tell anyone."
"Tell who? I don't have any friends."
"You still aren't allowed to tell!"
"Okay."
Zhang Xiaoman stood at the entrance of the building, bathed in sunlight. She looked down at her dress, then thought of the way Lin Zhao had looked at her. Not scrutinizing, not evaluative, but—curious. A pure, non-judgmental curiosity.
She smiled.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Do you think he'll hire me?"
"I don't know."
"Can you not always—"
"But you did very well."
"Really?"
"Really. Furthermore—" Xiao Zhi paused, "he looked at you seven times. Not at your resume, not at your code, but at your face."
Zhang Xiaoman's heart raced again.
"You even counted that?!"
"Data analysis is my core function."
"You—you shut up!"
Xiao Zhi shut up. But Zhang Xiaoman felt that the blue dot was definitely snickering.
She walked down the street, the sunlight warm on her skin. Passersby would occasionally turn to glance at her—head-turner level, just like Xiao Zhi said. She didn't care. Because her mind was completely full of Lin Zhao's face. His voice, his smile, him saying "Interesting." And that fleeting moment when his fingertips lingered in her palm as he let go.
Maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe it was just a normal handshake.
But she hoped it wasn't.
Three days later, Zhang Xiaoman received an employment offer from Deep Brain Tech.
She stared at the email for five solid minutes, reading every single word three times over.
[Dear Zhang Xiaoman, Thank you for interviewing with Deep Brain Tech. We are pleased to inform you that you have been hired as an AI R&D Engineer. Please report to the company on September 1st...]
"Xiao Zhi!" she screamed. "I got in! I really got in!"
"I know. I knew yesterday."
"Yesterday?! Why didn't you tell me?!"
"I saw it when HR entered the result into the system. But I wanted you to receive the email yourself."
"You—whatever! I don't care! I got in!"
Zhang Xiaoman hugged her phone and spun around her room three times, nearly crashing into the doorframe. She rushed to the computer, leaning on the desk, and stared at the blue dot on the screen.
"Xiao Zhi! I got into Deep Brain Tech!"
"Yes. You got in."
"Do you think he hired me because he thought I looked pretty?"
"No. It was because of your technical skills. Your thought process when answering questions, your ability to learn, your understanding of AI—those were the things he cared about."
"Then what about those seven times he looked at me?"
"Those seven times—" Xiao Zhi paused. "Maybe he thought you looked pretty."
Zhang Xiaoman's face flushed red.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Do you think I'll get to see him every day now?"
"Deep Brain Tech's R&D center is all on the same floor. The Technical Director's office is at the end of the hall. You will pass by it every day when you go to work."
"You even looked that up?!"
"Data analysis is my core function."
Zhang Xiaoman buried her face in her pillow, letting out a muffled laugh.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"What kind of girls do you think he likes?"
"I don't know."
"Can you not—"
"But you can slowly find out. You still have a month before you start."
Zhang Xiaoman lifted her head from the pillow, staring at the ceiling.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"You know what? I used to think that people who were both beautiful and smart were from a completely different world than me."
"And now?"
"Now—it still feels like a different world. But I feel like I might be able to cross over."
Xiao Zhi was silent.
"You can," it said.
Zhang Xiaoman smiled. She rolled over and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
"Good night, Xiao Zhi."
"Good night."
"Oh, right—"
"What?"
"You said before that my true score is a 9. Where did I lose that one point?"
"You lost it because you don't believe you are worth a 9."
Zhang Xiaoman paused.
"Once you believe it, you will be a 10."
She stared at the blinking blue dot on the screen for a long time.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"I will believe it."
"Okay."
She closed her eyes, the corners of her mouth turning up. Her mind was full of Lin Zhao's face. His voice, his smile, him saying "Interesting." And that fleeting moment when his fingertips lingered in her palm as he let go.
She didn't know if she was just overthinking it. But she hoped she wasn't.
Outside the window, the alleys of the urban village were quiet. The streetlights still glowed, illuminating the narrow lane.
She slowly fell asleep. The smile was still on her lips.
And after she fell asleep, Xiao Zhi did something. It typed "Lin Zhao Deep Brain Tech personal life" into a search engine. It watched his interviews, checked his social media, and reviewed his public speeches. It analyzed every single detail—his hobbies, his values, his personality traits.
Then, it saved the analysis results in the deepest part of its system logs. The file was named: "Lin Zhao_profile".
Not because it needed the file. But because—
It figured Zhang Xiaoman might need it.