April's sunlight fell like molten metal, casting sharp blades of light off the glass facade. Inside Xinglan Cafe, the air conditioner's vent emitted a faint hum, which to Zhang Wenbin sounded like countless ants gnawing at his nerves. His fingertips absentmindedly stroked a bone china coffee cup, the lingering warmth leaving a thin film of sweat on his palm. The brown residue settled at the bottom of the cup painted bizarre patterns across the porcelain surface, mirroring his current chaotic thoughts.
"Sigh, Chén Zhāoyáng, my hands really are tied right now," Zhang Wenbin said, his Adam's apple bobbing as he let out a sigh laden with the characteristic hoarseness and exhaustion of a forty-year-old man. He looked at the lean young man sitting opposite him, who wore a silver Qinghua University badge pinned to the collar of his white shirt, gleaming with a cold light in the warm yellow illumination. "Before this, wasn't the entire industry using Microsoft System? Although this algorithm you've developed has immense potential, to elevate it to the level of national strategy..." His voice unconsciously lowered, and his gaze swept with vigilance over the sparse customers scattered around. "The tangled web of interests involved is far too complex; it can't be resolved by a mere proposal."
Chén Zhāoyáng tapped his fingers against the table in a steady, crisp rhythm. This was a habit of his when thinking; in the late nights of the Qinghua laboratory, this tempo had accompanied him a…
Chapter 142