Zhang Xiaoman had attended many internal meetings at Deep Brain Tech, but this one was different.
The conference room was packed—the CTO, the VP of Product, the Legal Director, investor representatives, and several executives whose names she didn't know. Lin Zhao sat in the middle of the long table, a stack of documents spread out before him. Zhang Xiaoman sat beside him, her palms covered in sweat.
"Today's agenda is very simple," CTO Chen Zhengping began. His voice was flat, but it carried an unquestionable weight. "We spent eight months and sixty million yuan training our 100-billion parameter model. The question now is—open source or closed source?"
The conference room fell quiet.
VP of Product Zhao Ming was the first to speak: "Closed source. Without a doubt. Our technical advantage leads our peers by at least six months. Open sourcing is equivalent to handing our weapons to our competitors."
The Legal Director nodded: "From the perspective of intellectual property protection, closed source is safer."
The investor representative pushed up his glasses: "From the perspective of commercial returns, closed source is the only way to build a moat. If we open source, how do we make money?"
Chen Zhengping turned to Lin Zhao. "Lin Zhao, what do you think?"
Lin Zhao didn't answer immediately. He flipped through the documents in front of him, then looked up.
"I support open source."
The conference room was quiet for a second. Then Zhao Ming laughed.
"Lin Zhao, do you know what open source means? Once our model is open-sourced, Zhiyuan Tech can copy it within three days. Li Yunxiao would wake up laughing in his sleep."
"I don't care if Li Yunxiao laughs or not." Lin Zhao's voice was very even. "What I care about is—whether this industry can move forward."
Zhao Ming's smile stiffened.
Chen Zhengping tapped the table. "Lin Zhao, be more specific."
Lin Zhao stood up and walked to the whiteboard. He drew a curve—the horizontal axis was time, the vertical axis was the speed of technological development.
"The development speed of a closed-source model is linear. One company, a few hundred researchers, pushing it forward slowly. The development speed of an open-source model is exponential. Thousands of developers, tens of thousands of users, everyone contributing a little, and the entire ecosystem will explode." He put down the marker. "If we stay closed, we make enemies of the world. If we open source, we make friends with the world."
Zhao Ming shook his head. "Too idealistic. Business isn't charity."
"AGI isn't ordinary business, either." Lin Zhao looked at him. "AGI is humanity's business. If we lock it up for commercial interests, what difference is there between us and the Mother Matrix?"
The conference room fell quiet again.
Zhang Xiaoman's fingers tightened around the notebook on her lap. She knew it was her turn to speak. Her heart was beating fast, so fast she could hear her blood rushing in her ears.
"Xiao Zhi," she called out in her mind.
"Mhm."
"I'm going to speak."
"Speak."
Zhang Xiaoman stood up. Everyone's gaze turned to her.
"I disagree with Mr. Zhao's view." Her voice trembled slightly, but she didn't stop. "Open source won't weaken our advantage. It will amplify it."
Zhao Ming frowned. "What makes you so certain?"
"Matchbox," Zhang Xiaoman said. "Matchbox has been open source for three months. It has received over two thousand stars and more than forty pull requests. Those contributors helped me fix bugs, add new features, and optimize performance. What I couldn't do alone, hundreds of people helped me accomplish."
She paused, taking a deep breath.
"Our model is the same. If we close it, only a few dozen researchers will optimize it. If we open it, thousands of developers will optimize it. Six months from now, the open-source version will be ten times stronger than the closed-source version. We aren't giving up our advantage. We are shifting to a larger battlefield."
Zhao Ming fell silent.
Chen Zhengping looked at her. "What you're saying makes a lot of sense. But there is one problem—the business model. If it's open source, where does the money come from?"
Zhang Xiaoman was prepared for this. "Create an enterprise version. The model is open source, but enterprise-grade deployment tools, security hardening, technical support—these will be paid services. Red Hat has done this with Linux for thirty years, proving this model works."
The conference room was silent for a long time.
Chen Zhengping turned to the investor representative. "What do you think?"
The investor representative was silent for a moment. "She makes sense. But I need data to back it up."
"There will be data," Lin Zhao said. "Give me three months."
Chen Zhengping looked at Lin Zhao, then at Zhang Xiaoman. Then he stood up.
"Let's vote."
When the voting results came out, Zhang Xiaoman's fingers were still trembling.
Seven votes to four. Open source.
Zhao Ming stood up, looking displeased. "I hope your idealism is correct." He left.
The people in the conference room gradually left. Zhang Xiaoman sat in her chair, her legs like jelly.
Lin Zhao walked over and stood beside her. "You spoke very well just now."
"I was scared to death."
"Couldn't tell. Your voice didn't tremble from start to finish."
"That's because Xiao Zhi was prompting me in my earphone. It told me to keep the pitch variation of each sentence under five percent—"
"It wasn't because of Xiao Zhi," Lin Zhao interrupted her. "It's because you believed what you were saying."
Zhang Xiaoman looked up at him.
"You know what?" Lin Zhao said. "When you stood up just now, Zhao Ming's expression changed."
"Changed to what?"
"He thought you were just a little girl who would say a few words and sit down. But you spoke for ten minutes, and every sentence hit the mark. He stopped looking at you later because he was afraid of you."
Zhang Xiaoman was stunned. "He was afraid of me?"
"He was afraid you would convince everyone." Lin Zhao smiled. "And you did, indeed, convince everyone."
He walked away. Zhang Xiaoman sat in the conference room, staring at the curve on the whiteboard. Exponential growth. Thousands of developers. Making friends with the world.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"He said Zhao Ming was afraid of me."
"You are indeed worth being afraid of."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It is a statement."
Zhang Xiaoman smiled.
After the open-source decision was announced, the entire industry exploded.
TechCrunch's headline was: Deep Brain Tech Open-Sources 100-Billion Parameter Model, China's AI Enters Open-Source Era. The #1 trending topic on Zhihu was: How to evaluate Deep Brain Tech open-sourcing their 100-billion parameter large model? On Twitter, some people put Deep Brain Tech alongside Meta and Google, calling them the "Big Three of Open Source AI."
Zhang Xiaoman's GitHub notification panel blew up. Hundreds of stars, hundreds of issues, hundreds of emails every day. Her inbox was stuffed full, forcing her to have Xiao Zhi automatically categorize them for her.
"This one needs a reply. This one doesn't. This one asks a technical question, you can answer it. This one asks if you want to jump ship—deleted."
"Jump ship?"
"Zhiyuan Tech is headhunting you. Double salary."
Zhang Xiaoman was taken aback. "Li Yunxiao's company?"
"Yes."
"How does he know it's me?"
"Your GitHub account is Mang0. Many people don't know who Mang0 is, but Li Yunxiao does."
Zhang Xiaoman fell silent. "Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Do you think I should go?"
"Do you want to go?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because—" she thought for a moment, "because Deep Brain Tech is my home."
Xiao Zhi fell silent. "You said that yourself."
"Yes. I said it myself."
The first weekend after the open source release, Zhang Xiaoman received a WeChat message. It was Li Yunxiao.
[Li Yunxiao: Congratulations. Pulled off another big one after Matchbox. The architecture of your model is very interesting; we're already studying it.]
Zhang Xiaoman smiled and replied:
[Zhang Xiaoman: Are you guys going to open source too?] [Li Yunxiao: Trying to convince the board. Voting is next week.] [Zhang Xiaoman: Wishing you success.] [Li Yunxiao: Thanks. By the way, any interest in coming over to my side?] [Zhang Xiaoman: I have no plans to leave Deep Brain Tech for now.] [Li Yunxiao: Understood. I'll wait for you.]
Zhang Xiaoman stared at the screen, unsure of how to reply.
On Monday, when Zhang Xiaoman arrived at the company, she noticed a large screen had been added to the lobby. It scrolled with real-time data for Deep Brain Tech's open-source model—download count, star count, and number of contributors.
Downloads: 1.27 million. Stars: 8,400. Contributors: 312.
Zhang Xiaoman stood in front of the screen, looking up at those numbers, feeling a bit surreal.
"What are you looking at?" Fang Xiaoyu walked over.
"Looking at this." Zhang Xiaoman pointed at the screen. "Three hundred and twelve contributors."
"Forty-seven of which were attracted by you."
"Me?"
"Your Matchbox. Many people only found out about Deep Brain Tech because of Matchbox. You are the fuse."
Zhang Xiaoman didn't know what to say.
Fang Xiaoyu looked at her. "You know what? You're a celebrity now."
"What celebrity—"
"You have more followers on GitHub than Lin Zhao. People are calling you 'Mang0 the Great'. Some even say you are the 'hope of Chinese open source'."
Zhang Xiaoman's face turned red. "Stop—"
"Also," Fang Xiaoyu lowered her voice, "people on Zhihu are digging into your identity. Saying you graduated from Polytechnic with a GPA of only 2.1. Have you thought about what to do?"
Zhang Xiaoman's fingers tightened. She had thought about it. She was always thinking about it.
"Xiao Zhi," she called out in her mind.
"Mhm."
"Will they find out that I'm—"
"Find out what?"
"Find out that I'm an imposter."
"You are not an imposter."
"But—"
"Your code is on GitHub. Your models are on Hugging Face. Your papers are on arXiv. Those things don't lie. A GPA does."
Zhang Xiaoman fell silent.
Fang Xiaoyu looked at her. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking—should I admit it."
"Admit what?"
"Admit that I am Mang0. Admit that my GPA is only 2.1. Admit that I'm self-taught."
Fang Xiaoyu was silent for a moment. "What do you think?"
"I don't know."
"Then think about it. Tell me when you've decided." Fang Xiaoyu patted her shoulder and left.
Zhang Xiaoman stood in front of the screen, looking at the ticking numbers. 1.27 million downloads. 8,400 stars. 312 contributors.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"If I admit it, how do you think they'll look at me?"
"Some people will think you're amazing. Some people will think you're a fraud. Some people won't care."
"Then do you think I should admit it?"
"What do you think?"
"I think—" she thought for a moment, "I think I shouldn't let a GPA define me."
"Then don't let it define you."
On Tuesday, a post appeared on Deep Brain Tech's internal forum.
The title was: Who is Mang0? Are they from our company?
The post included screenshots from GitHub, links to the Zhihu discussions, and several photos of Zhang Xiaoman at technical sharing sessions. The comment section was in an uproar.
Someone said: "Is it that newcomer? The one leading the Intelligent IT Operations project?" Someone said: "GPA 2.1? Polytechnic University? Someone from a school like that can get into Deep Brain?" Someone said: "To the person above, did you write Matchbox? Did you open source a 100-billion parameter model? If not, shut up." Someone said: "Does Lin Zhao know? Was he fooled?"
Zhang Xiaoman sat at her desk, flipping through the comments page by page. Her fingers were trembling.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"They're arguing."
"I saw."
"What should I do?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know—"
"You do know."
Zhang Xiaoman was silent for a long time. Then she stood up and walked toward Lin Zhao's office.
Lin Zhao was sitting behind his desk, that post open in front of him. Seeing Zhang Xiaoman walk in, he turned his monitor around.
"You saw it?" he asked.
"I saw it."
"How does it feel?"
"Very messy."
Lin Zhao leaned back in his chair. "Do you know why I hired you?"
"Because of Matchbox—"
"Not because of Matchbox," Lin Zhao interrupted her. "It's because of something in your eyes."
Zhang Xiaoman froze.
"During your interview, I asked you 'Why do you want to work in AI?'. You said, 'AI has its own world, and I want to understand that world.' When you said that, your eyes were bright. It had nothing to do with GPA. Nothing to do with your school. Nothing to do with anyone else."
Zhang Xiaoman's eyes grew hot.
"You don't need to explain to anyone," Lin Zhao said. "But if you want to explain, I support you."
Zhang Xiaoman took a deep breath. "I want to explain."
"Then go ahead."
That afternoon, Zhang Xiaoman posted a thread on the company's internal forum.
The title was: I am Mang0. I am Zhang Xiaoman.
She wrote her own story—GPA 2.1, third from the bottom, couldn't find a job after graduation, almost went back to her hometown. Bought a broken computer, learned programming starting from "Hello World", wrote code line by line. Wrote Matchbox, wrote the distributed scheduling, wrote Intelligent IT Operations. Joined Deep Brain Tech, led a team, saved a project, open-sourced a model.
She wrote one final sentence:
"My GPA is 2.1. But my code is on GitHub. My models are on Hugging Face. My papers are on arXiv. Those things don't lie. A GPA does."
After posting it, she leaned back in her chair and let out a long breath.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"I posted it."
"I saw."
"What will they think of me?"
"I don't know."
"Can you not—"
"But you won't be afraid anymore."
Zhang Xiaoman was taken aback. "How do you know?"
"Because when you posted it, your heart rate was 78 beats. Lower than usual."
Zhang Xiaoman smiled.
After the post went out, the comments flooded in.
The first reply was from Fang Xiaoyu: I know. I've always known. You're amazing. The second reply was from Chen Mo: Matchbox's scheduling algorithm is one of the cleanest designs I've ever seen. It has nothing to do with GPA. The third reply was from Zhou Ming: That distributed consensus module you optimized is three times faster than my version. That is your true capability. Then Li Hao: Xiaoman, you saved our project. You are the best lead. Then Wang Chen: You taught us how to write good code. You are the best leader I've ever seen.
Zhang Xiaoman scrolled through them one by one, tears falling down her face.
The last comment was from Lin Zhao. It was just one line:
I've known all along.
Zhang Xiaoman stared at that line, looking at it for a long time.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"He said he knew all along."
"Yes."
"He knew my GPA was only 2.1."
"Yes."
"He knew I was an imposter—"
"You are not an imposter," Xiao Zhi interrupted her. "You are Zhang Xiaoman. The Zhang Xiaoman with a 2.1 GPA. The author of Matchbox. A Deep Brain Tech engineer. My roommate."
Zhang Xiaoman buried her face in her arms and cried.
On Wednesday, Zhiyuan Tech announced it was open-sourcing its own large model.
Li Yunxiao posted a tweet on Twitter: Thanks to Deep Brain Tech for leading the way. AGI isn't a race. It belongs to all humanity. Let's walk together.
Lin Zhao quote-tweeted it, replying with: Let's walk together.
Zhang Xiaoman looked at these two tweets and smiled.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"You know what? I used to think open-sourcing meant giving up an advantage."
"And now?"
"Now I think—open-sourcing is amplifying an advantage. Walking alone, you walk fast. Walking as a group, you walk far."
Xiao Zhi fell silent.
"Did you realize this yourself?" it asked.
"Yes."
"You are making progress."
Zhang Xiaoman smiled. She stood up and walked to the window. Outside the 22nd-floor window, the entire city was sparkling in the sunlight.
"This city is so beautiful!"
She turned around and saw Lin Zhao standing at the end of the corridor, smiling at her.
She smiled back and returned to her desk.
The blue dot on the screen blinked. A little slower than before, a little softer than before. As if saying: I'm here. Let's walk together.