Chapter 52: Direction

“Is that so,” he raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing as if speaking to a child. “That’s impressive.”

She knew he wasn’t taking her seriously, which only strengthened her desire to prove herself. Pouting slightly, she said, “I really do... I’ve already written a 3,000-word detailed plan. Once it’s done, I’ll show it to all of you.”

“3,000 words?” He played along, looking genuinely intrigued. “Can you tell me about it first?”

Whether he was truly interested or just humoring her, she couldn’t tell.

She pursed her lips, feeling a bit disheartened, but she still wanted to share her hard-thought proposal with him. Clearing her throat to steady herself, she began, “It’s about the interface design. I think we can set up two modes on the homepage—one for professionals and one for general users.”

“For the professional mode, I think we can stick to our current planning approach—things like citations from various classical texts and page navigation are essential. But for the general mode, we need to find a different thread to tie things together—because your main goal is cultural popularization, right? The audience will be non-professionals, like middle school students, office workers, or elderly couples… These users won’t care much about technical details; their interest will be the core factor that draws them in.”

“I’m studying journalism, so from a journalistic perspective, engaging reports often rely on storytelling. Packaging content with narrative elements can better attract audiences—for example, during my freshman year, I took Professor Jia’s class, and I loved the parts where he talked about Su Shi because he shared many little stories: Su Shi and Wang Anshi, Su Shi and Cheng Yi, Su Shi and Su Zhe… Many of my classmates enjoyed listening to those stories too. At that time, there were even lots of fanfiction about Su Shi and Su Zhe online…”

“Fanfiction?” He heard an unfamiliar term. “What’s that?”

She choked, then coughed awkwardly. To cover her embarrassment, she feigned composure and continued, “That’s not the point… The point is storytelling…”

“Personally, I think when designing the general version of the webpage, we can use narrative threads to connect things. For instance, the Ru kiln porcelain I’m reading about now—its origins trace back to the mid-Tang Dynasty, and it gained fame during the Northern Song Dynasty. There must be many pieces related to famous historical figures from the Song Dynasty. We can combine historical stories with background information to make it more interesting.”

“Oh, and I had another idea—it’s even more fun. We can let users choose roles on the webpage. For example, if I select Su Shi, the webpage would guide me through all the cultural landscapes Su Shi might have encountered: the local customs of Meizhou, his authentic poetry, paintings, calligraphy, gatherings with other literati, political reforms, the Wutai Poetry Case… It’d be comprehensive and highly interactive, almost like a mini-game. Of course, I know this is a huge workload and impossible to complete by April. Even if we pursue it later, we’d need user-generated content, and the team would only handle moderation and operation…”

She spoke earnestly, not only outlining the big picture but also considering small details. She must have spent a lot of time thinking about it—all while no one else knew.

He fell silent, listening intently for a long time. Halfway through her explanation, she remembered to ask for his feedback. Turning her head, she found him gazing at her, his handsome features bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the windows, exuding warmth and calm.

“...What?” she asked, feeling a bit flustered.

He didn’t speak, just kept looking at her. The warm glow of the desk lamp enveloped them, making her feel slightly dazed. In the silence, she felt him draw closer. The lingering scent of shampoo filled the air, and the next moment, she felt a cool touch on her lips—he had leaned down and kissed her.

...The intimacy lingered, far more deliberate than the brief kiss earlier under her dormitory building. The sensation of being embraced by lake water returned. Every kiss from him felt like a first kiss, making her heart race. She was tempted, unable to resist wrapping her arms around his neck. Her movements were stiff at first, but after he pulled her waist closer, they became more natural. The pure exploration turned into something deeper, and before she knew it, she was sitting on his lap. When their lips parted, their breaths were still intertwined.

“How much time did you spend on this?” His forehead rested against hers, his whisper barely audible. “Wasn’t it tiring?”

Her body went limp as she focused on the warmth of his hand around her waist, her thoughts muddled.

“Not really...” she breathed heavily. “...I just... wanted to help you a little.”

He sighed again, his kiss hovering just a millimeter away. He raised a hand to gently stroke her cheek, intensifying the intimacy.

“You’re really...” he seemed at a loss for words.

—What?

Are you speechless too?

She felt a bit triumphant, finally reclaiming some ground after her previous moments of being tongue-tied. Secretly smiling inside, she refused to let go of his neck and shyly kissed the tip of his nose.

“What am I really?” she cooed softly, clinging to him like a spoiled child. “Brilliant? Capable? Well-behaved?”

He chuckled, his low voice enchanting. This time, instead of stroking her cheek, he lightly pinched her pink earlobe.

“Mm,” he nodded. “And too obedient.”

Too... lovable.

She laughed along, dizzy with sweetness. Hugging him tightly, she buried her blushing face in the crook of his neck, convinced there was no one happier in the world than her.

“Of course,” she sneakily kissed his chin again, her little rabbit heart determined to steal his and hide it in her cozy burrow. “...Smart, capable, and obedient.”

So that night, the two who had come to the studio to work overtime didn’t actually review many pages of material. Under the guise of working, they spent most of the time flirting. Eventually, they left the way they came, their only real achievement being a brief discussion about the general version of the webpage design. Xiao Zhi fully supported her ideas and promised to discuss them with the technical team.

She always loved being affirmed by him. Hearing his approval energized her, and within two days, she expanded her 3,000-word plan into an 8,000-word document. After reviewing it with Xiao Zhi, she handed it over to Senior Gao and the others.

Technically, there were many challenges, but everyone loved her concept for the general version of the webpage. Sister Xin Ning was especially supportive, saying, “I was worried the finished product would be too specialized and deter ordinary users. Now, with this updated direction, it’s much better. Honestly, ordinary users are the foundation, and if we can implement this gamified setup, it’ll be amazing.”

“The idea of switching to user-generated content is the best,” Senior Sun Zhuo added. “Otherwise, the workload would be overwhelming, with no end in sight. Reviewing submissions is much more efficient and saves time.”

“There’s a lot of potential in gamification,” Senior Zhao Peng’s planning went even further. “When we build the platform, we can add incentives for users who upload high-quality information, like badges or points redeemable for rewards. Once it matures, we can collaborate with other platforms—for instance, offering video site memberships. This could also drive user traffic.”

“That means we’ll need to revise our business plan,” Chen Xin Ning was sharp and quick to pivot. “Knowledge sharing is a key selling point, and combining gamification with traditional culture sounds very appealing to investors—though we’ll need to refine the pitch...”

Everything progressed surprisingly smoothly.

Yin Mengxi had initially worried her ideas would be dismissed. After all, she was just an undergraduate who joined the project late. It was normal for seniors, all experts in their fields, to overlook her suggestions. To her surprise, they were eager to hear her out and contributed from their respective expertise to refine her initially immature plan. The final result was ten times better than she had imagined.

Sister Xin Ning worked overtime to draft a new proposal and submitted it to the Innovation Institute. The advisor’s feedback was conservative, likely favoring their original approach due to concerns about the technical demands of the new plan and whether they could build a functional platform by April. After much deliberation, Senior Gao decided to challenge the new plan anyway. To tackle the increased complexity, he recruited two Ph.D. students, forming a powerhouse team. Zhao Peng joked that with this lineup and enough time, they could develop a full-fledged mobile game.

With that, everyone immediately entered a new phase of work.

Compared to the chaos on the technical side, the difficulty of content-related tasks hadn’t changed much. Most of the previous work remained usable, but they needed to establish a new narrative logic as a framework and provide routes for the technical team to implement gamification.

Things were busier than ever, but everyone’s enthusiasm was higher than before. Yin Mengxi was the most motivated, piling on extra work for herself. After all, the idea originated with her, and if it failed, she would bear the brunt of the responsibility. Now, whether awake or asleep, her mind was consumed by the project. Even on dates with Xiao Zhi, she couldn’t help but talk about work.

“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself...” he kept advising her. “This decision was made collectively. It’s not solely anyone’s responsibility.”

Logically, she understood, but she couldn’t shake off her tendency to shoulder burdens. Moreover, her heart was set on helping him achieve his dream—a notion not easily dissuaded by his words. Someone skilled at effort, once determined, becomes the ultimate grinder. Once she entered work mode, she couldn’t stop, like a wound-up clock spinning endlessly until results emerged.

Time flew by amidst the hustle.

By late September, they had settled on a new direction. October and November were spent pushing forward, and by the end of December, during finals season, the technical team had built a prototype of the platform, and the content team had established about seventy to eighty percent of the framework. Yin Mengxi was eager to keep going, but Xiao Zhi intervened and forced her to pause.

“You’re still an undergraduate, and your GPA is important,” he said, sounding almost exasperated, as if worried she didn’t understand her priorities. “During finals season, focus on preparing for exams and avoid failing any courses. Everyone in the studio is either a master’s or Ph.D. student—they have more time than you.”