The Lighter and Princess Gown

15  

Explaining things to Gao Jianhong took much more time than with Zhu Yun. And when he returned to the practice base, his expression wasn’t carefree, like it had been the last time. He was quiet for many days, before slowly recovering his spirit.

Zhu Yun felt that sometimes, things got more complicated between two men than it did between a woman and a man.

Once all three parties were back on the same page, Zhu Yun asked Li Xun about their next order of business. She wanted to know how exactly his new project was different from the website they had built.

Li Xun gave a copy of the project to both of them. Zhu Yun took it back to her dorm and spent the whole night going through it. Afterwards, she felt a bit strange. And also a bit disappointed.

She’d thought that she would see the makings for an unrivaled website, the culmination of amazing ideas, perfect algorithms, and great marketability. But that wasn’t the case. Strictly speaking, what Li Xun was developing couldn’t be called a website. Rather, he was expanding upon what had been included on the site that they originally built.

The functions looked very simple, but Zhu Yun couldn’t understand them. The same went for Gao Jianhong.

One day, Li Xun brought both of them to a coffee shop. When she walked inside, Zhu Yun felt that they were finally meeting up in a place where the sun did shine. They sat in a corner with a power outlet. When the waiter brought over a menu, Li Xun opened his laptop as he said, “Order whatever you want to eat.”

Boss Li was treating, so Zhu Yun wasn’t going to hold back. Shortly after, Zhu Yun’s favorite foods filled the table. Gao Jianhong couldn’t help asking, “You eat this much?”

Zhu Yun took a bite of her cream bun. “I’ve been using my brain too much recently.”

Gao Jianhong shrugged, expressing his understanding.

Li Xun turned on his laptop and turned the screen for them to see. Zhu Yun said, “No need to look. I’ve nearly got it memorized. But this isn’t a website, so what are we going to sell?”

Li Xun replied, “Who said that you can only sell websites?”

Zhu Yun chewed on her bun, waiting for him to elaborate.

Li Xun said, “Languan doesn’t want to sell on other platforms. They want their own site. That’s fine, and they’ve got a starting point. But they don’t understand the trends of the internet.”

Zhu Yun asked, “What trends?”

Li Xun explained, “In the past few years, internet shopping malls have started garnering interest. Though they seem to be flourishing, and there are many such sites, they won’t last long. Most of the resources will slowly start to pool together on a few large platforms. It’s very hard to build up that kind of platform.”

Zhu Yun asked, “We can’t do it?”

Li Xun looked at her. “We can. It’d take about ten years.”

“……”

Seeing how little faith Zhu Yun seemed to have, Li Xun leaned forward. “Princess.”

Zhu Yun put down her bun. “Can you stop calling me that?”

Li Xun asked, “Then what should I call you?”

“Don’t I have a name?”

“Doesn’t Princess sound nice?”

“The problem is that I’m not a princess.”

“Then, what are you?”

A knight—the word suddenly appeared in her head, but she didn’t say it out loud, afraid that he would laugh at her.

“Just continue.” She kept on eating.

Li Xun looked at her, and then he asked, “Do you remember how many products Languan makes?”

Zhu Yun answered, “More than 500.”

“You can write a search function for a couple hundred items on your own. But what if there are a couple hundred million items?”

Zhu Yun didn’t have a response.

“What about if there are billions or tens of billions? When things can no longer be stored on a single database, you’ll have to start researching distributed data stores. And then you’ll have to determine how to arrange the data, how to recommend it, how to add and delete things. You’ll need to have a strong algorithm supporting every task, such that it doesn’t all collapse onto itself. Do you think you could do it, given a month?”

“……”

“And we’re just talking about the search function here. Whether at the start or later on, this kind of website requires a lot of manpower and investment. We don’t have enough people for that, and Languan doesn’t have enough money either.” Li Xun leaned back against the sofa. “So, to try to compete with those large sites is unrealistic.”

After a moment, Li Xun added casually, “But to become a force to be reckoned with isn’t completely impossible either.” Zhu Yun and Gao Jianhong both turned to him.

“The characteristic of a large platform is that it is expansive. Now this is true for all things: when something becomes expansive, it becomes hard to be selective. So if we can create a function that thoroughly refines the data, maybe that old factory can be saved.”

Li Xun pointed to his screen and said, “Languan has the edge when it comes to nutritional products. The majority of their products are health supplements, which are rather unique. They’re the only ones who produce those products. This may be due to the fact that the mother of Languan’s boss is involved with traditional Chinese medicine.”

You even know what the mother of the boss does?

“Our main purpose is targeting health maintenance. Look here…” he presented to the group.

In order to ease the selection and purchasing process, Li Xun made a detailed product recommendation system.

“Most people aren’t very familiar with nutritional and health products. They won’t be bothered to read the details of each item, so it’s better that we directly provide the remedy they seek.” Li Xun clicked on the search bar. “When you type in symptoms like ‘dizzy with blurred vision’ or ‘nausea and vomitting,’ the system will recommend which products to purchase. Since Languan’s products are all grouped together in series or lines, it will be easy to make recommendations.”

Zhu Yun stared at the screen. And then she said, “What if we include explanations about the causes and effects of their symptoms, and then we recommend which products are most suitable? Wouldn’t this be more convincing and cause people to purchase the products?”

Li Xun looked at her, his expression particularly cold. But Zhu Yun just continued eating, as she’d already grown used to Li Xun’s scary expressions while he was deep in thought. She also knew that, while his eyes were on her, his mind wasn’t.

Li Xun’s thoughts were high up, like his height. He liked looking from down from above, where he could oversee everything. His thoughts must have been speeding past. He went back through the system and started weaving carefully, like a spider building its web.

After a few minutes, Li Xun’s face relaxed. Simply, he said, “We’ll add it.” Then, he nodded, and that meant everything was fine.

Li Xun lit a cigarette and leaned back in his seat leisurely. He looked at Zhu Yun.

Zhu Yun asked, “What?”

Li Xun smiled and shook his head. Cigarette in his mouth, he looked out the window as he said, “You can order more if you want.”

“Are you feeding a pig right now?”

“I’m feeding a Zhu.” (t/n: her last name, Zhu, is pronounced the same way as the word for pig)

“……”

It seemed that she would never win when it came to a battle of words. Well, that was fine. She sat there quietly, eating her bun.

On that serene afternoon, in a time when the mobile phone industry had just begun rising, a time before the era of smartphones, she sat in a small coffee shop, listening to Li Xun explain his ideas, his plans, and the new system he’d be installing at the base.

Zhu Yun didn’t know if they’d be able to sell the program to Languan. All she knew for sure was that these memories would be forever stored in her brain. Whenever she recalled them, the rays of light and the scent of cream buns would flood her senses.

They started working to perfect the software’s functions.

Zhu Yun soon realized that one of the positives to developing an add-on was that they could avoid conflict with Zhang Xiaobei. What they were building wasn’t a website. There was no intent on “replacing” anything. If Zhang Xiaobei were to question them about it, they could just explain it as “expanding their interests.”

Li Xun worked on the project as if his life depended on it. He poured over all the data and information. Especially when it came to the medical texts, he wouldn’t allow random them to just copy excerpts for it. And so, after Zhu Yun completed the page design, she immediately threw herself into the arms of the Chinese medicine world.

Li Xun gave Zhu Yun an article that listed all of Languan’s products. Each product was accompanied by a detailed description, an ingredient list, as well as usage directions.

“How long are you going to keep fucking reading the Huangdi Neijing?” Li Xun dumped a pile of information onto the desk. “Push forward from the back. From the products to the pharmacology—be meticulous!” (t/n: the Huangdi Neijing or “Yellow Emperor’s Inner Canon,” are a set of medical texts)

“What if there aren’t any products for certain symptoms?”

“……”

Li Xun got up and moved closer to Zhu Yun. Forced to retreat, she moved back as far as she could, and then she heard Li Xun say, “Princess, is our software called ‘The Cure for All Diseases’?”

Zhu Yun shook her head.

Had he showered? He smelled so fresh.

“Since it’s not, you don’t have to take up the noble profession of a doctor and try to save all lives.”

Zhu Yun nodded.

Li Xun had just returned to working when Zhu Yun spoke up, “About that…”

He glanced over.

Zhu Yun said, “I’m not a princess.”

Li Xun looked at her without a word, then he lifted his hand and pointed to her. “Zhu Yun, do you believe me when I say that if you bring this up one more time, I’m going to print out the word ‘Princess’ and attach it to your forehead?”

With his brows furrowed and forehead crinkled, Li Xun typed away on his keyboard. Zhu Yun silently cursed him as she closed her copy of Huangdi Neijing.

Although Li Xun kept emphasizing to push forward from the products, to Zhu Yun, the field of Chinese medicine was still too immense, too complicated and foreign. She’d already presented several proposals to Li Xun, each of which had been rejected, one after another.

When Li Xun saw how frantic Zhu Yun had become, he gave her two days off to rest. Of course, Zhu Yun couldn’t rest a single bit. In the end, she took advantage of the weekend to visit the largest Chinese medicine institute in the city, to see if she could find some inspiration.

The museum was located at the center of the city, a peaceful spot in the midst of the busy noise. It was classically decorated, and stepping inside felt like stepping into a Chinese painting. It was warming and delightful.

As Zhu Yun walked past the lobby inside, the crowd dwindled. As she walked further inside, she passed by a small courtyard. She vaguely heard the sound of someone speaking. She walked towards the sound and saw a small hall. On the door, there was a poster introducing some master’s health lecture.

Zhu Yun stood outside and snuck a glance through the glass. There were only a few people sitting sparsely around the room, playing on their phones.

The teacher at the front of the room caught her off guard. With a long beard and long hair, he looked just like the image of a great sage. Upon further inspection though, the man wasn’t that old, in his 40s at most.

No one was listening, but the teacher didn’t seem to care as he continued to speak calmly. He had the enthusiasm of a college professor lecturing on Maoism.

Zhu Yun was tired from walking, and since the door was open, she stepped inside and took a seat.

An old acupuncture map hung on the stage. The teacher laughed and said, “Anytime I mention Daoism, everyone thinks they have to cultivate, to soar to the heavens. That’s too high up though, so if they fail, they’ll fall to their death.”

Zhu Yun laughed.

The teacher continued, “We’ll settle for the next best thing. If we cannot ascend to the heavens, we should at least live our lives out peacefully and healthily.”

Zhu Yun sat and listened awhile. The teacher spoke of many things, which mostly wound up tangled up in her mind. While she couldn’t really appreciate the knowledge level of his talk, she did find his casual conversation enjoyable.

It was about time she got going. Zhu Yun got up, and then she saw another passerby at the door, another seemingly tired person looking for a place to rest. Zhu Yun stopped in her steps.

The teacher was still speaking, “We Daoists emphasize the idea of ‘doing as our heart desires’, and so, even though you’re all playing on your phones or sleeping as you’d like, I don’t mind. I’ll continue speaking. Even if you’re not listening, I won’t be angry.”

The young man had delicate features and looked extremely handsome.

Zhu Yun took the bus back to campus. On the way back, an thought flashed in her mind. The boy she saw who’d looked so familiar… Wasn’t he from that assignment that she helped Liu Sisi with? What was his name? Zhu Yun furrowed her brows.

“Youth artist… Tian Xiuzhu?”