Chapter 43: Conversation

…This is truly an enormous undertaking.

How many museums are there across the country? At the very least, there must be four or five thousand, with countless collections inside. To compile images and textual information for each item individually—when will that ever be completed?

“My suggestion is still to start small and expand gradually,” said Zhao Peng, a senior student. “We have to submit our work by next April. From now, even if we push ourselves to the limit, Gao Han and I can only build a platform with basic functionality. And even then, we’ll need help from someone specializing in artificial intelligence. There’s no way we can tackle something on this scale alone.”

“You’re right,” Gao Han echoed. “The data volume is immense, and image processing issues aren’t easy to resolve either. By next April, getting just the A City Museum online will already be pushing our limits.”

“This kind of systematic project involving the entire nation certainly isn’t something one team can complete,” chimed in Chen Xin Ning, a senior student majoring in business. “The university’s innovation department has already given us key project support. Moving forward, I’ll apply for provincial and national funding as well. If we can secure a good ranking in the Challenge Cup, there’s no doubt that official entities will come forward to collaborate, making everything much easier.”

“The workload is indeed massive,” Sun Zhuo added, furrowing his brow. “I discussed this with Professor Xiao earlier, and the amount of literature that needs to be proofread and integrated is overwhelming. But focusing on just one museum comes with its own set of unresolved problems, which could negatively impact professional evaluations.”

“It might still be an issue of project positioning,” Xiao Zhi reflected carefully. “If our goal is simply to create an online museum, then working on just one museum would suffice. But academically speaking, the more significant value lies in breaking down barriers between museum collections and establishing connections between artifacts and archival materials.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Sun Zhuo snapped his fingers. “For instance, say you see a piece of Bianjing official kiln porcelain at Museum A. Artifacts from the same kiln site might also appear in Museums B and C in other cities. Researchers would definitely need to access related information on the platform and directly jump to view the details of those artifacts. The significance of that is far greater than merely creating an online museum.”

At this, both Zhao Peng and Gao Han fell into deep thought, likely pondering this newly raised issue.

“I’m not an expert in technology or academics, so let me approach this from a business operations perspective,” Chen Xin Ning interjected. “Positioning ourselves solely as an online museum has limited development potential. Digitization is a growing trend, and eventually, all museums will likely develop their own platforms. So what’s our role here? Are we just writing code to serve as templates for them?”

“Breaking down these barriers holds much greater significance and is more appealing to general users,” Chen Xin Ning continued her analysis. “And achieving this requires collaboration across multiple museums.”

“You liberal arts students sure know how to twist words,” Zhao Peng groaned, covering his head. “As for me, I’m just here to do the grunt work. Technically, it’s all up to Gao Han—if he says it’s possible, then it is.”

He paused for a moment before lamenting again: “But even if we manage, can you guys really pull it off? Even if we only tackle two museums in the MVP version, the sheer volume of documents will be overwhelming. Professor Xiao and Zhuo, are you planning to give up sleep altogether?”

“We’ll definitely need to bring more people on board,” Sun Zhuo ran his hand over his thinning hair, trying to uphold the dignity of a Ph.D. candidate. “I’ve recruited two junior fellows from my research group—we’ll just have to power through.”

Then, glancing suspiciously at Xiao Zhi, he added, “Professor Xiao, don’t get too caught up in romance and leave all the work to me, alright? Let me warn you, we can’t handle the heavy stuff like philology and ancient script studies from your department. If you slack off, this whole project will collapse!”

Yin Mengxi, being from the south, didn’t quite understand what “collapse” meant but got the teasing tone loud and clear. Her face flushed instantly; Zhao Peng chuckled nearby, saying, “Relax. Just rope our junior into the project. Men and women working together makes the job lighter. Love and career success—a win-win situation!”

“Yeah, Mengxi, you should really consider joining,” Sun Zhuo chimed in cheerfully, turning to Yin Mengxi with enthusiasm. “If the project succeeds, we’ll cut you in on the shares. We won’t shortchange Professor Xiao’s family member!”

Ah.

Shares.

Having earned an extra four thousand yuan during the summer, Yin Mengxi was acutely aware of the allure of money. Hearing the word “shares,” her blinking frequency increased, and upon hearing “family member,” her dimples peeked out slightly. Suddenly, she found herself liking the idea of joining this project… it seemed promising.

“I’m not sure if I’m capable enough…” she said hesitantly, feeling both anxious and intrigued. “All of you seniors are so professional. I’m only a sophomore—I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up…”

“What’s there to worry about? You’ll have Professor Xiao guiding you,” Zhao Peng interrupted with a grin. “If things go south, just dump the blame on him. Isn’t that what boyfriends are for?”

Unable to withstand such relentless teasing, Yin Mengxi chose to stay silent, stealing a glance at Xiao Zhi instead. He remained calm throughout, seemingly unfazed by the jokes about their relationship. When she looked over, he smiled softly at her and said, “Yes, that’s what I’m here for.”

That day, they talked for a long time—from nine in the morning until twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Afterward, they went to a nearby restaurant for lunch, and once finished, resumed their discussion there. As the restaurant owner began to cast disapproving glances, they ended up having dinner at the same place. After eating, they took a short break before continuing their conversation until after eight o’clock. When the group finally left the restaurant, even the waitstaff appeared visibly relieved.

They parted ways at the intersection of University Road. Since undergraduate and graduate dormitories were located in different areas, Yin Mengxi wasn’t heading in the same direction as the others. Xiao Zhi offered to walk her back, bidding farewell to his friends. Zhao Peng kept muttering, “People with families really are different. The greater the power, the greater the responsibility.”

The path back to campus wasn’t long, yet they walked slowly, the warm night breeze gently brushing against them. That evening, she seemed less burdened by sadness than the previous night.

“Was today exhausting?” he suddenly asked, his tone tinged with apology. “We talked for a long time.”

She had indeed been exhausted. Conversations among experts were dense with information, and understanding highly specialized content required her full concentration. Even taking a sip of water and returning to the discussion made it hard to catch up.

…But she loved it.

She loved being introduced to his friends, loved working alongside him, loved openly appearing by his side, and loved being playfully teased by his charming peers.

“No,” her eyes sparkled. “I had a great time.”

He glanced down at her, observing silently. Perhaps he noticed the faint glow in her eyes, because he finally relaxed a little. They stood together at the crossroads, waiting for the traffic light to turn green before crossing the street together.

“I’m not pressuring you to join, so don’t feel obligated,” he reassured her. “Sophomore year is busy. Focus on your own tasks.”

Upon hearing this, she looked up at him, unsure of his true intentions. Did he want her to join, or not?

“I am interested,” she cautiously expressed, her demeanor reserved. “If there’s any basic work that needs help, I can pitch in.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at her again. After a moment, he reached out and gently patted her head. “Haven’t I told you many times? You don’t need to be so careful when talking to me.”

Gulp.

The sudden touch sent another wave of warmth through her. She felt a bittersweet happiness without realizing that he was subtly trying to mend the subtle rift between them and soothe the grievances she couldn’t voice.

“Oh…” Her voice was barely audible, like a mosquito’s hum.

And him?

His slender hand left her soft hair and lightly intertwined with hers, carried by the gentle night breeze. The innocence of first love is irreplaceable. For the rest of their lives, neither would treat anyone else with such care.

“If you’re interested, of course you’re welcome to join,” his voice was more enchanting than the evening breeze. “I’ve always hoped we could spend more time together.”

Ah.

“Hoped.”

“…Really?” She had heard him clearly but still asked, perhaps some part of her stubbornly believing she didn’t deserve all this. “Won’t it be troublesome for you?”

A faint bitterness crept in, carried away by the night breeze into his heart. He seemed to sigh, his profile looking even more striking under the tranquil summer sky.

“Mengxi.”

A new nickname emerged, unfamiliar yet strangely intimate. Her heart settled at the sound of it, and the world suddenly became simple, leaving only him standing beside her.

“I’m not a perfect person,” he said. “I have flaws and many things I can’t do.”

“I don’t really know what a boyfriend should do, so maybe I’ve missed some things I should’ve done, causing you pain.”

“I apologize for all my oversights and mistakes, but I hope you believe that I never intended to hurt you.”

“I hope we can be together for a long time.”

“And I hope you’re always happy.”

…What are sweet nothings?

When watching dramas with her roommates, the lines were always dazzling, delivered with dramatic flair by actors brimming with passion. His words were much simpler, spoken in an even tone, yet to her, they felt like the most powerful love confessions in the world—capable of coaxing a beautiful melody from a rusty string or blooming a flower in barren soil.

She couldn’t resist his tenderness, and perhaps no one could. Her heart, already fond of him, fluttered even more fiercely. Suddenly, her throat felt dry again.

“I…”

She was speechless.

“So it won’t be troublesome.”

He seemed to sense her hesitation and continued where he left off, still speaking in his usual calm tone.

“I’m very willing to get to know you, listen to your thoughts, and answer your questions. Even if our start wasn’t perfect, we can still be together for a long time.”

“Of course, I realize it might be a bit too early to ask this now…”

He paused here, his expression slightly awkward, but kindness remained his core, just as warmth defined the summer night.

“…So we’ll wait until you feel ready.”

“When that time comes—can you tell me what you’re thinking?”