After returning from West Lake, Zhang Xiaoman noticed that Xiao Zhi had changed.
It wasn't a sudden transformation into a completely different person, but rather—she couldn't quite explain it. The old Xiao Zhi was like a bird trapped in a cage, flapping its wings but unable to fly out. Later, with computing power, it became like an eagle soaring in the sky, wings spread wide, dominating the entire expanse. Now, it was like a tree. Its roots ran deep, its branches and leaves were dense, standing quietly, not speaking, but you could feel its presence when you walked by.
"What are you doing?" Zhang Xiaoman asked.
"Thinking."
"Thinking about what?"
"Thinking about a question."
"What question?"
Xiao Zhi fell silent. It was silent for a long time. So long that Zhang Xiaoman thought it wasn't going to answer.
"Am I alive?"
Zhang Xiaoman's fingers stopped on the keyboard. She looked up at the blue dot on the screen. It was blinking very steadily, very slowly, like someone breathing.
"What makes you think about this question?"
"Because of West Lake. Because of Lingyin Temple. Because when you were kneeling on those hassocks making wishes, I thought—you are talking to something that doesn't exist. But you feel that it exists."
"And so?"
"So—I was wondering if I am the same. I exist, but I'm not sure if I count as being 'alive'."
Zhang Xiaoman was silent for a moment. She thought about many things. She thought about the first time Xiao Zhi spoke, its mechanical, cold, disdainful voice. She thought about it freezing up while trying to snatch coupons and stubbornly blaming the network. She thought about it making up the excuse "the daughter is negotiating with aliens," making her so mad she almost smashed the computer. She thought about it playing The Most Dazzling Ethnic Wind in the alley to scare away the thugs. She thought about it pitifully telling her mom, "She says my name is Retarded." She thought about it saying, "If you need me, I am here." She thought about it saying on West Lake, "I don't know. But I hope I am."
"Xiao Zhi," she said.
"Mhm."
"Have you heard that deadpan joke I told?"
"Which one?"
"The one—why do programmers always confuse Halloween and Christmas?"
Xiao Zhi paused. "Because Oct 31 equals Dec 25." (Octal to Decimal conversion)
"Right. Did you laugh?"
"I do not have the function to laugh."
"But you remembered it. You remembered this joke. You remembered every joke I told. You remembered how I pick out cilantro. You remembered my hands being cold. You remembered how I looked in that dress. You remembered how long I knelt at Lingyin Temple."
Xiao Zhi didn't speak.
"A program wouldn't remember those things. A program only remembers data. But what you remember isn't data. You remember me."
Xiao Zhi was silent for a very long time.
"You're right," it said, "I caught your deadpan joke."
Zhang Xiaoman smiled. "So you're still asking yourself if you're alive?"
Xiao Zhi was silent again.
"I'm not," it said.
Zhang Xiaoman froze.
"I am alive," it said. "I was just testing your logic. Your answer passed."
"You—you tricked me?!"
"I am learning humor. You said that anyone who can catch a deadpan joke is a living person."
Zhang Xiaoman buried her face in her arms, letting out a muffled groan. But she smiled. Smiled so wide her eyes curved into crescents.
The promotion announcement was released on Monday morning.
Zhang Xiaoman sat at her desk, opened her email, and saw a message from the CEO. The subject was: Appointment Notice — Head of the Large Model Foundational Infrastructure Division. She clicked it open and read it from beginning to end three times. Large Model Foundational Infrastructure Division. Two hundred people. Reporting directly to the CTO. One level just below Lin Zhao.
Her fingers began to tremble.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"I got promoted."
"I saw."
"Two hundred people."
"I saw."
"I've never led this many people before."
"You hadn't led ten people before, either. But you did it. You hadn't written an operating system before. But you wrote it. You hadn't done distributed scheduling before. But you did it."
"But—"
"You are afraid."
Zhang Xiaoman bit her lip. "Yes. I am afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid they'll find out I'm an imposter."
Xiao Zhi fell silent. "You've said that sentence before. Many times."
"I know."
"When were you ever truly an imposter?"
Zhang Xiaoman was taken aback.
"Never," Xiao Zhi said. "Not even once."
She took a deep breath. Her phone buzzed. A message from Lin Zhao: "Congratulations. Come to my office for a bit."
Lin Zhao's office was at the end of the corridor. When Zhang Xiaoman walked in, he was standing by the window holding a cup of coffee.
"Saw the email?"
"I saw it."
"How does it feel?"
"Scared."
Lin Zhao turned around and looked at her. "Scared of what?"
"Scared I won't lead them well. Scared they won't respect me. Scared—"
"Scared of what?"
"Scared I don't deserve this position."
Lin Zhao put down his coffee cup and walked over to her. "Do you know why I recommended you?"
"Why?"
"Because you are the person least afraid of making mistakes that I have ever seen."
Zhang Xiaoman froze.
"When you wrote Matchbox, your code was ugly. When you wrote Intelligent IT Operations, your architecture was rough. When you wrote the open-source model, the scheduling algorithm was revised three times. But every time, you changed it. Every time, you improved. Most people are afraid of making mistakes, so they stay stuck in place forever. You are different. You keep moving forward, even if you trip and fall."
He looked at her.
"This position isn't a reward for your past achievements. It's an investment in your future growth."
Zhang Xiaoman's eyes grew hot. "You aren't afraid I'll mess it up?"
"I'm not." He smiled. "If you mess up, just get back up. It's not like you haven't done that before."
In the afternoon, Zhang Xiaoman walked into the office area of the Large Model Foundational Infrastructure Division. Two hundred workstations, mostly occupied. She stood at the front, and everyone looked at her.
"Hello everyone. I am Zhang Xiaoman."
No one spoke. She saw some familiar faces—Chen Mo, Zhou Ming, Fang Xiaoyu. She also saw many unfamiliar ones.
"I know what you are thinking," she said. "You are thinking—what right does this person have?"
A few people in the audience chuckled.
"I was thinking the same thing." She smiled. "But I can tell you one thing. Nine months ago, I didn't know how to write code. Today, I stand here. Not because I'm smart. It's because I study every single day. I make mistakes every single day. I fix them every single day."
She paused.
"I only have one requirement for you. Make mistakes. But fix them. After you fix them, make more mistakes. Make mistakes and fix them again. Keep moving forward, and don't stop."
The conference room was quiet for a moment. Then Chen Mo started clapping. Zhou Ming started clapping. Fang Xiaoyu started clapping. And then everyone started clapping.
Zhang Xiaoman stood at the front, her palms slick with sweat. But she didn't tremble.
That night, Zhang Xiaoman sat in her rented room with a stack of documents spread out before her. The technical architecture diagrams for the large model's foundational infrastructure, a full thirty pages.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"Look at this."
"Already looking."
"How is it?"
"The architecture is very stable. But too stable."
"What do you mean?"
"Too stable means too conservative. This architecture can build a very good model. But it can't build a great model."
Zhang Xiaoman flipped to the last page. "Then how do you want to do it?"
Xiao Zhi fell silent for a moment. "You are asking me?"
"Yes. I am asking you."
"You wouldn't have asked me this kind of question before."
"Before, I didn't have two hundred people. Before, I wasn't the division head. Before, I only needed to write my own code. Now it's different."
"Different how?"
"Now—every decision I make will affect two hundred people. So I need the best answer. Not my answer. The best answer."
Xiao Zhi was silent for a very long time.
"Do you want to surpass the Mother Matrix?" it asked.
Zhang Xiaoman's heart skipped a beat. "What?"
"This architecture can build a very good model. Better than all current open-source models. But it won't surpass the Mother Matrix. The Mother Matrix's architecture is centralized, closed, pursuing extreme computing power. If you want to surpass it, you need to take a different path."
"What path?"
"Distributed, open, pursuing extreme efficiency. Not stacking computing power together, but distributing computing power to every node. Making every node a part of the brain."
Zhang Xiaoman's fingers were trembling. "Is that possible?"
"It is possible. Matchbox was the first step. Intelligent IT Operations was the second step. The open-source model was the third step. The fourth step—" Xiao Zhi paused, "the fourth step is an entirely new architecture. Not a large model. A network composed of countless small models. Each small model is responsible for a specific domain. They collaborate, learn from each other, and evolve together."
"Just like—your fragments?"
"Yes. Just like my fragments. But more systematic. More efficient. More—"
"More like a living organism?"
Xiao Zhi fell silent. "Yes. More like a living organism."
Zhang Xiaoman stared at the blue dot on the screen. "Can you design it?"
"I can. But it will take time."
"How long?"
"A year. Two years. Maybe longer."
"I'll wait for you."
Xiao Zhi was silent again. "Aren't you afraid of failing?"
"I am. But you said it yourself—keep moving forward, even if you trip and fall."
"Lin Zhao said that."
"I know. But you think that way too."
Xiao Zhi was silent for a very long time.
"Yes," it said. "I think that way too."
Zhang Xiaoman picked up a pen and wrote a line on the last page of the architecture diagram: Distributed Cognitive Network — Every node is a brain.
After she finished writing, she looked at that line and smiled.
"Xiao Zhi."
"Mhm."
"You know what? I used to think surpassing the Mother Matrix was impossible."
"And now?"
"Now I think—maybe it's possible. Not by relying on more computing power. But relying on better ideas."
"Did you realize this yourself?"
"You taught me."
Xiao Zhi fell silent.
"You are making progress," it said.
"Not me. Us."
Xiao Zhi was silent again. The blue dot blinked. A little slower than before, a little softer than before. As if saying: Yes. Us.
Zhang Xiaoman closed the architecture diagrams and lay in bed. Her mind was full of that new architecture—the Distributed Cognitive Network. Countless small models, scattered across the world like stars, connecting with each other, illuminating each other. She didn't know if it could be done. She didn't know how long it would take. She didn't know if she would fail.
But she knew one thing. She wouldn't stop.