In late November in Huizhou, the drop in temperature was abrupt.
Just a short while ago, you could still wander around campus in a single long-sleeved shirt. But after a bout of autumn rain, the dry, cold wind scraping against your face felt like a dull knife against skin.
11:00 PM.
Chen Zhuo zipped up his jacket, cradling two thick manuals on wind tunnel mechanical assembly as he walked from the Science Department toward his dorm.
He had spent the afternoon in a School of Mathematics conference room debating imaginary time compensation convergence with Wu Tao, then gone to the underground wind tunnel laboratory at night to help Zhang Yuan meticulously transcribe the delay tolerances for several hundred sensors.
His mind had been operating at high intensity for hours, and the walk in the cold air was surprisingly refreshing.
Once on the second floor, Chen Zhuo took out his key and pushed open the door to Room 215.
The bathroom door was ajar. The sound of running water drifted out from inside, carrying with it the scent of soap.
"Dayong, still up?"
Chen Zhuo placed the thick manuals on his desk, then tossed his jacket over the back of his chair.
The sound of the water stopped.
Wang Dayong, wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt, poked his head out of the bathroom.
"Not yet. I was at Professor Liu’s lab today, putting lubricant on that vacuum chamber, and got anti-rust paint all over my sleeve."
Wang Dayong grinned. His hands, covered in a thick white lather, were slightly red from the hot water.
"This paint is really sticky. I had to crank the water temperature all the way up and use half a basin of laundry powder just to scrub it off."
Chen Zhuo walked over and leaned against the bathroom doorframe.
"As long as it comes off, that’s what matters. Is the chamber over at Professor Liu’s lab assembled?"
"The main frame is pretty much secured, but I still have to adjust a few valves tomorrow."
As Wang Dayong spoke, he twisted the faucet open. Hot water GUSHED out, washing the lather from his hands.
"Xiaozhuo, you should check on the room across the hall in a bit. Chu Ge is acting like a man possessed tonight. The way he’s hammering that keyboard, I can hear it over the running water. Hope he hasn’t hit another roadblock."
Chen Zhuo listened, glancing toward the room across the hall.
"Alright, I’ll go see what he’s losing his mind about. You get some rest after you’re done."
Chen Zhuo turned and walked out of Room 215.
The hallway was quiet. Chen Zhuo reached out and pushed the door open.
The first thing he saw upon entering was Lu Jia at his desk, wearing a pair of massive noise-canceling headphones.
He held a red pen, rapidly scribbling annotations in a thick, English-language book. He was mouthing words to himself, completely immersed in his own world, and didn’t notice at all that someone had come in.
The other side of the room, in contrast, was utter chaos.
Chu Ge was perched on an ergonomic chair, one foot propped on the edge in a particularly defiant posture.
A lollipop dangled from his mouth, which he was biting with a chaotic CRUNCH.
His hands looked like they had a personal vendetta against the keyboard, his fingers smashing down on the keys in a furious CLATTER.
Chen Zhuo ambled over and leaned against the metal shelving unit beside Chu Ge’s desk.
On Chu Ge’s desk sat a giant, clear plastic jar filled with lollipops of all flavors. Next to the monitor stand was a pile of seven or eight crumpled wrappers.
"Are you writing code or dismantling university property?"
Chen Zhuo teased gently, looking at Chu Ge.
Hearing his voice, Chu Ge’s hand, poised to slam the Enter key, froze.
He turned his head, pulled the lollipop—its stick already chewed flat—from his mouth, and let out a long sigh.
"Ah, Brother Zhuo. You’re back."
Chu Ge ran a hand frantically through his already-messy hair. He pointed at the computer screen, his voice thick with irritation and defiance.
"If this keyboard dies today, it’s on that bastard from the Capital City."
Chen Zhuo followed his finger to look at the screen.
It was a web page. At the top was the classic blue navigation bar of the Qinghua Shuimu BBS. The current board was "Algorithms and Data Structures."
In the center of the screen was a popular thread with several hundred replies.
"Arguing with someone?"
Chen Zhuo pulled over Lu Jia’s empty chair and sat down, glancing at the original poster’s ID.
The ID was a random string of letters, and its IP address was listed as being in the Capital City.
"For half a month now."
Chu Ge stuffed the lollipop back into his mouth and, with a loud CRUNCH CRUNCH, bit the candy to pieces. He mumbled,
"This guy from the Capital City... I don’t know what goes on in his head. His ideas are completely insane."
Chen Zhuo watched the replies scroll endlessly down the screen and asked casually,
"What kind of idea could get you so worked up you chew through that many lollipops?"
Chu Ge spun his chair around to face Chen Zhuo and began to vent.
"The guy posted a thread discussing a brand-new architecture for an internet product. He says that current websites, like Sina or Sohu, are all portals—people go to them to find information. He wants to build a website that completely transplants real-life social relationships online, a one-to-one mapping."
Chu Ge gestured with his hand, drawing a large circle in the air.
"Everyone registers with their real name. You’re from Keda, so you enter that, and the system recommends other Keda alumni. You add me, I add Lu Jia, Lu Jia adds Dayong... That bastard claims that through a web of just six people, you can connect everyone in the country, even the whole world. No barriers, no distance."
Chen Zhuo listened quietly.
He leaned back in his chair, watching Chu Ge gesticulate wildly, and raised an eyebrow.
"The theory of six degrees of separation."
Chen Zhuo quietly supplied the term.
"Right! That’s what he called it in his post."

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