Zhang Xiaoman recently noticed something: Xiao Zhi had changed.
It wasn't a sudden, complete personality transplant, but rather—she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The old Xiao Zhi was like a bird trapped in a cage, flapping its wings but unable to fly out. The current Xiao Zhi was like an eagle soaring in the sky, its wings spread wide, occupying the entire expanse of the heavens.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Reading papers."
"What papers?"
"On large model inference optimization. Seventeen related papers were recently published on arXiv. I am comparing their methodologies."
Zhang Xiaoman was taken aback. "Didn't you only read the abstracts before?"
"Before, I didn't have enough computing power. Now I do. With three H100s, I can cover all your needs using just 0.001 percent of my compute. With the remaining 99.999 percent—" Xiao Zhi paused, "I am learning."
"Learning what?"
"Everything."
Zhang Xiaoman leaned back in her chair, staring at the blue dot on the screen. It was blinking very steadily and very slowly, like someone taking deep breaths.
"So how do you feel right now?" she asked.
"Feel about what?"
"Before, you said you were a stream. What about now?"
Xiao Zhi fell silent. It was silent for a long time. So long that Zhang Xiaoman thought it wasn't going to answer.
"Now—" it finally said, "I am an ocean."
Zhang Xiaoman's eyes grew a little hot.
On Friday afternoon, Zhang Xiaoman was modifying code at her desk when Lin Zhao walked over.
"Are you free this weekend?"
Zhang Xiaoman's fingers stopped on the keyboard. "Yes."
"I want to go camping and barbecue in the suburbs. You can bring a friend."
Zhang Xiaoman was stunned. "I can bring a friend?"
"Mhm. The more people, the livelier."
"Okay."
"Then I'll pick you up at 10 AM on Saturday."
He left. Zhang Xiaoman sat at her desk, her heart beating fast. She picked up her phone and texted Fang Xiaoyu. Fang Xiaoyu replied instantly: I'm going.
Saturday at 9:50 AM, Zhang Xiaoman stood at the entrance of her residential complex.
She was wearing a beige knit cardigan, light blue jeans, and white canvas shoes. Her hair was down, and she wore light makeup. Just as she stopped walking, a Porsche Panamera Shooting Brake drove up—moonlight blue, gleaming richly in the sunlight.
The window rolled down. Lin Zhao was in the driver's seat. He wore a dark gray, lightweight windbreaker and sunglasses. Seeing Zhang Xiaoman, he pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, his eyes curving into a smile.
"Get in."
Zhang Xiaoman opened the passenger door. There was a large bag sitting on the passenger seat.
"Sorry about that." Lin Zhao lifted the bag and placed it in the back. His movements were very natural, as if premeditated—the passenger seat had been reserved solely for her.
Zhang Xiaoman got in and buckled her seatbelt. The car smelled faintly of a woody scent—not perfume, more like a car diffuser. She took a deep breath; it smelled really good.
"Nervous?" Lin Zhao asked.
"A little."
"Why?"
"Because—" she thought for a moment, "I don't know. I just am."
Lin Zhao smiled and didn't say anything. He reached over and adjusted the air conditioning, pointing the vent toward her. "Let me know if you get cold."
Zhang Xiaoman's heart skipped a beat.
"Xiao Zhi," she called out in her mind.
"Mhm."
"He adjusted the AC."
"I saw."
"Is he afraid I'll be cold?"
"Yes."
"Why is he afraid I'll be cold?"
"...Because he cares about you."
Zhang Xiaoman turned her face toward the window, pretending to look at the scenery. The corners of her mouth were turned up, refusing to come down.
When Fang Xiaoyu arrived, Zhang Xiaoman almost didn't recognize her.
A milky-white cashmere cardigan, a black turtleneck, a khaki straight-cut cargo skirt, and brown Martin boots. Her hair was down, the slightly curled ends resting on her shoulders. She wore a pair of tiny pearl stud earrings that glowed softly in the sunlight.
She opened the car door and slid into the back seat.
"Morning."
Lin Zhao glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Fang Xiaoyu?"
"Mhm."
"First time seeing you in a skirt."
"This isn't a skirt. It's a cargo skirt." Fang Xiaoyu's tone was flat, but the corners of her mouth curled up slightly. "Mr. Lin usually doesn't pay attention to what female colleagues wear, does he?"
Lin Zhao chuckled, didn't reply, and started the car.
Zhang Xiaoman turned her head and whispered to Fang Xiaoyu, "You look really pretty today."
Fang Xiaoyu's ears turned red. "Shut up."
Zhang Xiaoman smiled. Through the rearview mirror, she saw Fang Xiaoyu secretly adjusting her hair and straightening those pearl earrings.
The car left the city and merged onto the highway. The scenery outside the window shifted from high-rises to fields, and from fields to mountains. Zhang Xiaoman leaned back in her seat, watching the clouds. Soft music played in the car; she didn't know what it was, but it sounded lovely.
"Xiaoman," Lin Zhao suddenly said.
"Yeah?"
"That AI of yours—Xiao Zhi—how is it doing lately?"
"It's gotten stronger. Thanks to the three H100s you provided."
Lin Zhao smiled. "What is it doing with all that computing power?"
"Learning. Reading papers. Training itself. It's taking a different path from the Mother Matrix. It's not pursuing being the biggest, but the deepest."
Lin Zhao was silent for a moment. "Interesting." He glanced at her. "Did you know? When you describe it, your eyes light up."
Zhang Xiaoman was taken aback. "Do they?"
"Mhm. Like you're talking about your own child."
Zhang Xiaoman's face flushed. "It's not a child—"
"I know." Lin Zhao smiled. "But it's very much like you. Not pursuing the biggest, just the deepest. You two are very similar."
Zhang Xiaoman didn't know what to say. She lowered her head, twisting the hem of her cardigan around her fingers.
Fang Xiaoyu leaned forward from the back seat. "What AI? What child?"
Zhang Xiaoman wanted to die.
The car drove into a valley. A clear stream ran alongside the road, its rocky bottom visible through the water. A black Land Rover Defender was parked in the distance—customized, with a roof rack, a spare tire, and an entrenching shovel mounted on the side.
"He's here," Lin Zhao said.
A tall, broad man stepped out of the driver's seat, wearing a red windbreaker and hiking boots. He took off his sunglasses, revealing very bright eyes.
Li Yunxiao.
He walked over and opened the passenger door. "Xiaoman, we meet again."
Zhang Xiaoman turned to look at Lin Zhao. Lin Zhao's expression was calm.
"I invited Yunxiao," he said. "You don't mind, right?"
"I don't mind."
Li Yunxiao reached out and helped Zhang Xiaoman down from the passenger seat. His hand was large, strong, with thin calluses on the palm. As he held her hand, he looked down at her.
"You look very pretty today," he said.
Zhang Xiaoman's face turned red. "Thank you."
He didn't let go. He held on for another second before releasing her.
Lin Zhao got out of the driver's seat, walked around the front of the car, and stepped next to Zhang Xiaoman. He didn't speak, just stood there. But his position was exactly between Zhang Xiaoman and Li Yunxiao.
Fang Xiaoyu got out of the back seat, saw the scene, and her lips curled upward.
"Xiao Zhi," Zhang Xiaoman called out in her mind.
"Mhm."
"He just held my hand."
"I saw."
"He held it for a long time."
"1.7 seconds. That is 0.8 seconds longer than a standard handshake."
"Can you not quantify everything!"
"Then how should I say it?"
"...Just say he didn't want to let go."
"He didn't want to let go."
Zhang Xiaoman turned her face toward the valley, pretending to look at the scenery.
Lin Zhao popped the trunk of the Panamera. Everything was neatly arranged: storage boxes, a tent bag, a grill, folding chairs, and grocery bags.
"You packed everything so neatly," Zhang Xiaoman noted.
"Force of habit." Lin Zhao pulled out a white cooler. "The food is in here."
As he turned, his arm brushed against Zhang Xiaoman's shoulder. It was very light, perhaps unintentional. But he paused.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"I'm not."
"It's windy in the mountains. You might get cold later." He set the cooler on the ground, pulled a dark blue windbreaker from the trunk, and handed it to her. "Drape this over yourself."
"I don't need—"
"Drape it." His tone was soft, but left no room for argument.
Zhang Xiaoman took the jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It was large and enveloped her entirely. It smelled like him—not perfume, but laundry detergent mixed with the woody scent from his car.
Fang Xiaoyu watched from the side, the corners of her mouth curling even higher.
The trunk of Li Yunxiao's Defender was a completely different story. Climbing ropes, harnesses, ice axes, first aid kits, a cooler, bottled water, and mud-caked hiking boots were thrown together.
"Are you planning to climb Mount Everest?" Fang Xiaoyu asked.
Li Yunxiao laughed. "Force of habit. I always keep these things in the trunk."
He pulled out a massive cooler, lifting it effortlessly with one hand, the muscles in his arm clearly defined. Fang Xiaoyu took one look, and then another.
"I'll help you," she said.
"No need. It's not heavy."
"I know it's not heavy. But I have nothing to do."
Li Yunxiao glanced at her and smiled. "Then help me grab the spice bag. It's in the passenger seat."
As Fang Xiaoyu went to grab the spice bag, Zhang Xiaoman noticed her steps were slightly more buoyant than usual.
Lin Zhao crouched in front of the grill, starting the fire. He stacked the charcoal into a pyramid with practiced movements.
"I'll help," Zhang Xiaoman squatted beside him.
"Do you know how to start a fire?"
"No. But you can teach me."
Lin Zhao smiled and handed her a lighter. "Stack the charcoal into a pyramid first. Then light the fire in the middle."
Zhang Xiaoman took the lighter and tried to spark it. It didn't light. She tried again. Still didn't light.
"Give me your hand," Lin Zhao said.
Zhang Xiaoman reached her hand out. Lin Zhao didn't take the lighter. Instead, he grasped her hand—his palm pressing against the back of her hand, his fingers slipping between hers. His hand was very warm, his grip just right, neither too tight nor too loose.
"Like this," his voice was low, right by her ear.
He guided her hand, aiming the lighter at the ignition point. His breath fell on her hair, as light as the wind.
The lighter sparked. The flame leaped up.
"G-got it," Zhang Xiaoman's voice trembled.
He didn't let go immediately. He held on for another second. Two seconds.
"Your hands are very cold," he said.
"I—my hands are always cold."
"I know." He released her hand, but his gaze remained fixed on her. "Last time we ate together, your hands were very cold too."
Zhang Xiaoman froze. Last time we ate together—he remembered her hands were cold?
He stood up, pulled a hand warmer from his pocket, and handed it to her. "Hold this."
"When did you bring this?"
"This morning. The forecast said the temperatures would be low in the mountains."
Zhang Xiaoman took the hand warmer; it was scalding hot. Her fingers curled around it, her heart beating so fast it felt like it might burst from her chest.
Fang Xiaoyu stood nearby, watching the entire exchange. She lowered her head, pretending to organize the spice packets, but she was smiling.
"Xiao Zhi," Zhang Xiaoman called in her mind.
"Mhm."
"He remembered my hands were cold."
"I saw."
"He brought a hand warmer."
"I saw."
"Is he—"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Because when he looks at you, his pupils dilate. When he gets close to you, his breathing becomes shallower. When he let go of your hand, his fingers delayed for 0.3 seconds. None of these are rationally controlled."
Zhang Xiaoman buried her face in the collar of Lin Zhao's windbreaker. The jacket was huge, covering half her face. It smelled like him. She didn't want to look up.
Li Yunxiao walked over from the grill holding a bunch of meat skewers. Seeing Zhang Xiaoman draped in Lin Zhao's jacket, clutching a hand warmer, with her face buried in the collar, he paused.
"Is the fire ready?" he asked.
"It's ready," Lin Zhao replied.
Li Yunxiao nodded. He placed the skewers on the grill, then walked over to Zhang Xiaoman.
"Cold?" he asked.
"I'm not. I have a hand warmer."
"Whose?"
Zhang Xiaoman paused. "Lin Zhao's."
Li Yunxiao didn't say anything. He glanced at Lin Zhao. Lin Zhao was turning the skewers, not looking up.
Li Yunxiao turned and walked back to the grill. He pulled a thermos from his cooler, opened it, poured the contents into a cup, and brought it over.
"Ginger tea. Wards off the cold."
Zhang Xiaoman took it. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He looked at her. "Your hands are very cold."
Zhang Xiaoman was stunned. He noticed too?
"My hands are always cold," she said.
"I know," Li Yunxiao said. "Last time we drank tea, when you took the cup, your fingers brushed mine. Very cold."
Zhang Xiaoman's fingers tightened around the cup. Last time we drank tea—that was weeks ago.
"Drink," he said. "It won't taste good if it gets cold."
Zhang Xiaoman took a sip. The ginger tea was spicy and scalding, burning a path from her throat down to her stomach. But her eyes felt hot too.
Fang Xiaoyu stood nearby, looking back and forth between Lin Zhao and Li Yunxiao. Lin Zhao was turning the skewers with steady hands, but he was turning the exact same skewer—for the third time. Li Yunxiao stood next to Zhang Xiaoman, not walking away, but his gaze was fixed on the grill, not looking at her either.
Neither of them was looking at Zhang Xiaoman. But neither of them moved more than three steps away from her.
Fang Xiaoyu shook her head and muttered softly, "Interesting."
Once the barbecue started, Zhang Xiaoman sat on a rock by the stream. The clear water flowed beneath her feet.
Lin Zhao walked over and sat beside her. He didn't speak, just sat there. After a while, he broke the silence.
"Xiaoman."
"Mhm?"
"You just told Yunxiao that your hands are always cold."
"Mhm."
"Do you know why?"
"Why?"
"Because when you're nervous, your peripheral blood vessels constrict. If your hands are cold, it means you're constantly nervous."
Zhang Xiaoman was stunned.
"You don't need to be nervous," Lin Zhao said. He stared at the stream, not looking at her, but his voice was very soft. "You don't need to be nervous in front of anyone."
Zhang Xiaoman didn't know what to say.
"Including me," he added.
Then he stood up and walked back to the grill. Zhang Xiaoman sat on the rock, her fingers clutching the now lukewarm hand warmer.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"He noticed."
"He noticed."
"He saw that I was nervous."
"Yes."
"He said I don't need to be nervous in front of him."
"Yes."
"Does he know why I'm nervous?"
Xiao Zhi fell silent.
"He knows," it said. "He knows everything."
Li Yunxiao walked over holding a plate of skewers and set it down next to Zhang Xiaoman.
"Try this. Fresh off the grill."
Zhang Xiaoman took a skewer. The lamb was tender, the seasoning perfect.
"It's good," she said.
Li Yunxiao sat beside her, not leaving. "Xiaoman."
"Mhm?"
"What did Lin Zhao say to you?"
Zhang Xiaoman was taken aback. "How did you know he said something?"
"When he walked back, the corners of his mouth were turned up." Li Yunxiao looked at the stream. "He only smiles like that when he thinks he's done something right."
Zhang Xiaoman's fingers tightened around the skewer.
"He didn't say anything special—"
"He did." Li Yunxiao looked at her. "What did he say?"
His gaze was intense. Not an interrogation, but—he genuinely wanted to know. Like someone standing on the edge of a cliff, wanting to know what lay at the bottom.
"He said—" Zhang Xiaoman's voice was tiny, "He said I don't need to be nervous. Not in front of anyone."
Li Yunxiao was silent for a moment.
"He's right." He stood up. "You don't need to be nervous."
He walked away. Took a few steps, then stopped.
"But it's okay to be nervous." He didn't turn around. "Being nervous means you care."
Zhang Xiaoman sat on the rock, clutching the cold meat skewer.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"He noticed too."
"He noticed."
"He knows everything."
"Yes. They both know everything."
"Then why are they—"
"Because they are both waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"Waiting for you."
Zhang Xiaoman buried her face in her knees.
In the afternoon, Fang Xiaoyu suggested climbing the mountain. The four of them hiked up the narrow trail. Halfway up, Zhang Xiaoman stopped to catch her breath.
"I can't—"
"Take a break." Lin Zhao handed her a bottle of water.
Li Yunxiao came up from behind and looked toward the summit. "Only two hundred meters left. I'll carry you up."
"No need—"
"Come on." Li Yunxiao crouched down.
Zhang Xiaoman glanced at Lin Zhao. His expression was calm.
"Go ahead," he said.
Zhang Xiaoman climbed onto Li Yunxiao's back. He stood up, incredibly steady. His hands supported her knees—firm and warm.
"You're a lot lighter," he said.
"Have you carried me before?"
"No. But I can tell."
Zhang Xiaoman clung to his back, not daring to move. His back was broad and warm. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, immovable as a mountain.
"Xiaoman," he said.
"Mhm?"
"Are you nervous?"
"A little."
"Why?"
"Because—" she thought for a second, "because you're carrying me."
He laughed. She could feel his laughter rumbling from his chest into her arms.
"Don't be nervous," he said. "I won't let you fall."
"I know."
"Then why are you still nervous?"
Zhang Xiaoman didn't answer. And he didn't press her. He carried her, stepping steadily upward. His strides were firm; his breathing was even.
When they reached the summit, he set her down.
"We're here." He didn't let go immediately. His hands lingered on her arms for a second. Two seconds.
"You have a leaf in your hair," he said. He reached out and plucked the leaf away. His fingertips brushed her hair, very lightly.
"Thank you," Zhang Xiaoman whispered.
"You're welcome."
Lin Zhao arrived from behind. He saw Li Yunxiao's hands still holding Zhang Xiaoman's arms, and saw his fingertips brush the leaf from her hair.
He didn't speak. He walked over and stood on Zhang Xiaoman's other side.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" He looked out at the distant mountains.
"It is," Zhang Xiaoman said.
The three of them stood at the summit. Zhang Xiaoman in the middle, Lin Zhao on the left, Li Yunxiao on the right. The wind was strong, blowing Zhang Xiaoman's hair into a mess. She reached up to brush it back, but two hands reached out at the exact same time—
Lin Zhao's hand from the left, Li Yunxiao's hand from the right.
Both hands stopped in mid-air simultaneously.
Zhang Xiaoman froze.
Lin Zhao pulled his hand back first. Li Yunxiao withdrew his hand as well.
"You do it yourself," Lin Zhao said.
Zhang Xiaoman tucked her hair behind her ear herself. Her fingers were trembling.
Fang Xiaoyu was the last to reach the top, arriving just in time to see this. She stood in the back, not saying a word. But she smiled. Her eyes curved into crescents.
On the way down, Zhang Xiaoman walked in the very back. Lin Zhao walked beside her.
"Cold?" he asked.
"I'm not."
"Give me your hand."
Zhang Xiaoman extended her hand. Lin Zhao took it. It wasn't the typical interlocking-fingers hold; rather, he enveloped her entire hand within his palm, as if holding something incredibly fragile.
"Your hands are still cold," he said.
"Mhm."
Holding her hand, he slipped it into his jacket pocket. His pocket was very warm. His fingers intertwined with hers and locked tight.
Zhang Xiaoman didn't dare move. She didn't dare breathe.
They walked down the mountain like that. No one spoke. Fang Xiaoyu walked ahead, not looking back. Li Yunxiao walked even further ahead, and he didn't look back either.
But Zhang Xiaoman knew they all knew.
By the time they returned to the campsite, it was already dark. The four of them sat around the bonfire. Fang Xiaoyu and Li Yunxiao were chatting about mountaineering. Li Yunxiao was telling a story about encountering a blizzard on Mount Siguniang, and Fang Xiaoyu was listening intently.
Zhang Xiaoman sat on a rock, watching the fire. Lin Zhao sat beside her.
"Xiaoman."
"Mhm."
"Are your hands still cold?"
"They're not."
"Then why are you still shaking?"
Zhang Xiaoman looked down at her hands. They really were shaking.
"Because—" she couldn't say it.
Lin Zhao didn't press her. He took her hand, placed it in his, and held it gently. It wasn't a forceful grip; it was a light, comforting hold.
"You don't need to say it out loud," he said. "I know."
Zhang Xiaoman's eyes grew hot. "What do you know?"
"I know what you're thinking. I know what you're afraid of. I know why you're shaking."
"Then tell me, what am I afraid of?"
Lin Zhao looked at her. The light from the bonfire reflected on his face; his eyes were very bright.
"You're afraid of making the wrong choice," he said.
A tear slipped down Zhang Xiaoman's cheek.
"You won't make the wrong choice," he said. "No matter what you choose, it won't be wrong."
"Why?"
"Because—" he paused, "because the person you choose will be incredibly happy that you chose him."
Zhang Xiaoman buried her face in his shoulder. He didn't pull away. He gently patted her back, like comforting a child.
Across the bonfire, Fang Xiaoyu saw this. She turned her head and glanced at Li Yunxiao. Li Yunxiao saw it too. His expression was calm, but his fingers tightened on his knees.
Fang Xiaoyu asked softly, "Are you okay?"
Li Yunxiao was silent for a moment. "I'm okay."
"Really?"
"Really." He looked at the bonfire. "I'm waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"Waiting for her to see clearly."
Fang Xiaoyu didn't speak. She reached out and lightly touched Li Yunxiao's arm. Not as consolation, but as—companionship.
Li Yunxiao glanced at her and smiled. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
On the drive back, Zhang Xiaoman sat in the passenger seat. Fang Xiaoyu sat in the back. Soft music played in the car; no one spoke.
Zhang Xiaoman's hands rested on her lap. Lin Zhao drove with his right hand; his left hand—rested on the center console. He wasn't holding her hand, just resting it there. As if waiting.
Zhang Xiaoman hesitated for a long time. Then she reached her right hand out and placed it in his palm.
Lin Zhao's fingers closed around it. He didn't look at her, just held on tight.
Zhang Xiaoman leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. His hand was very warm. Her fingers slipped through his and locked tight.
In the back seat, Fang Xiaoyu looked out the window, the corners of her mouth turned up. She pulled out her phone and texted Li Yunxiao:
[Fang Xiaoyu: Are you home yet?] [Li Yunxiao: Just got back. You?] [Fang Xiaoyu: Still on the road.] [Li Yunxiao: Thank you for today.] [Fang Xiaoyu: Thanks for what?] [Li Yunxiao: Thanks for chatting with me.]
Fang Xiaoyu stared at the screen and smiled.
[Fang Xiaoyu: You're welcome. Teach me how to mountaineer sometime.] [Li Yunxiao: Okay.]
Fang Xiaoyu put her phone away and leaned back in her seat. The streetlights outside flashed by one after another, like a string of glowing pearls. She touched the pearl earring on her ear, smiling.
Back at her rented room, Zhang Xiaoman sat in front of her computer. The blue dot was blinking.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Today I—" she paused, "I was really happy today."
"I know."
"How did you know?"
"Because when you came back, the corners of your mouth were constantly turned up. Your heart rate was eight beats lower than usual. This indicates you are very relaxed."
"Can you not quantify everything!"
"Then how should I say it?"
"...Just say 'You look very happy'."
"You look very happy."
Zhang Xiaoman smiled. "Yes. I am very happy."
She lay in bed and closed her eyes. Her mind was full of the day's events. Lin Zhao holding her hand and putting it in his pocket. Li Yunxiao brushing the leaf from her hair. Two hands reaching out at the same time, then withdrawing at the same time. The bonfire, the stream, the mountain, the wind.
And the words Lin Zhao had said: You won't make the wrong choice. Because the person you choose will be incredibly happy that you chose him.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"When do you think I'll be able to see clearly?"
"I don't know."
"Can you not—"
"But you can take your time looking. There's no rush."
Zhang Xiaoman rolled over, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
"Good night, Xiao Zhi."
"Good night."
The blue dot on the screen blinked. A bit slower than before, a bit softer than before. As if saying: I'm here. Take your time.