He pulled over a chair from beside Chen Zhuo and sat down heavily. The instant noodle bag in his hand CRINKLED loudly as he squeezed it.
"We survived the stress test over the New Year."
Chu Ge said through gritted teeth, his voice filled with resentment.
"It’s all thanks to that Discrete Matrix algorithm you taught me over the phone. It cut down more than half of the concurrent redundancy, which is the only reason the server didn’t deadlock on New Year’s Eve."
"That guy, Wang Xing, took the user data and activity stats that skyrocketed over the holiday and ran his legs off in Beijing, pulling strings everywhere to meet with investors."
Chu Ge sighed and tossed the remaining half of the noodle cake into his mouth.
"And what do you know, the blind squirrel found a nut. He actually managed to sweet-talk his way into some angel investment."
Wang Dayong, who had just finished hanging up some cured meat nearby, clapped his hands and walked over, chiming in.
"Isn’t that a good thing? You got funding, so your shoestring operation can be considered a proper company now. You won’t have to keep writing code here and paying for the electricity out of your own pocket."
"Good, my ass!"
Chu Ge’s voice suddenly shot up, his emotions flaring.
He fiercely crumpled the empty wrapper in his hand and threw it into the wastebasket under the table.
"That bastard got the money and went completely insane!"
Chu Ge stood up and paced back and forth a couple of steps in the aisle.
"It’s only 2004! What kind of environment is the domestic internet scene right now?"
Chu Ge turned his head and stared at Chen Zhuo.
"He saw NetEase doing blogs, saw some site in South Korea—Cyworld or something—doing photo walls, and he got all jealous! He called me at three in the morning yesterday, completely pumped up like he was on steroids."
"He said there are too many alumni sites online now, so we have to differentiate ourselves. He’s not satisfied with just letting users post a message to find old classmates anymore."
Chu Ge started counting on his fingers, listing the items for Chen Zhuo one by one.
"He’s insisting on adding a photo upload feature to our bare-bones website."
"He also wants to add a journal feature for users to write diaries."
"And the most ridiculous thing is, he’s green with envy over how much money WhatsApp Avatars are making, so he’s forcing me to build a virtual currency system! He wants users to pay real money to buy virtual background music for their homepages, and virtual clothes and accessories!"
The more Chu Ge spoke, the more frantic he became. He plunged his hands into his messy hair and tugged at it twice.
"Does he think this is The Sims or something?!"
Chen Zhuo leaned against his wardrobe door, arms crossed over his chest, looking thoughtful.
"Our underlying database was already a cobbled-together mess to begin with."
Chu Ge walked over to Chen Zhuo’s desk, picked up the water cup on it, and took another gulp, trying to force down his anger.
"Back then, to get it done quickly, we used nothing but simple relational linear tables. A user ID corresponds to a school name, which corresponds to a message. It could barely handle cross-referencing text."
"And now?"
Chu Ge pointed at the air, as if an invisible system architecture diagram was floating there.
"He wants to add all this messy, unstructured data! Pictures, audio, all kinds of custom decoration tags."
"With several hundred people online at once—uploading a photo on one person’s homepage, leaving a comment under another person’s journal, downvoting each other—the original linear tables can’t handle such complex concurrent logic at all. The data will be a total mess!"
The bloodshot veins in Chu Ge’s eyes grew even redder.
"As soon as we hit the peak traffic period around eight or nine at night, the database CPU shoots straight to one hundred percent! The server alarms go off like air-raid sirens. I’ve been hunting for related bugs for days, to the point where even when I close my eyes, all I see is garbled code and SQL statements."
"If this keeps up, we won’t even need competitors. Our own server will burn itself out first."
After this long tirade, Chu Ge seemed to have exhausted his last bit of energy and collapsed back into the chair.
The room finally fell silent.
Wang Dayong stood to the side, completely lost.
He was a physics guy, so he didn’t have a clue about all this database and server stuff Chu Ge was talking about. He could only look at Chu Ge’s miserable state with sympathy.
Chen Zhuo remained in his position, leaning against the wardrobe door.
He walked to his desk, picked up the jar of meat sauce meant for him, unscrewed the lid to take a sniff, then tightened it again.
"Chu Ge."
Chen Zhuo’s voice was very soft and steady, carrying a warmth that could instantly calm a person down.
Chu Ge looked up, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Chen Zhuo.
"What you guys are doing right now is like setting up a small food stall on the side of the road."
Chen Zhuo placed the glass jar on the table.
"Right now, you can’t even get a simple plate of egg-fried rice right. Customers place an order and have to wait forever."
Chen Zhuo turned his head and looked into Chu Ge’s eyes.
"And at a time like this, Wang Xing is insisting that you add a Manchu-Han Imperial Feast to your greasy menu."
"Do you think that stove is going to explode or not?"
Chu Ge was stunned.
Chen Zhuo pulled out a chair and sat down across from Chu Ge.
"Chu Ge, step back from the code for a second and think about what your website is actually for."
Chen Zhuo’s tone was even.
"Do people go online and sign up for your alumni network to buy clothes on it? Is it to listen to background music?"
Chen Zhuo shook his head.
"No. They go there to find people."
"To find their middle school deskmate, their high school crush, their college roommate from the top bunk."
"The essence of social networking is connecting people. Right now, you haven’t even smoothed out the most basic pathway of letting someone quickly find a friend of a friend. The moment traffic picks up a little, you get jams and crashes."
Chen Zhuo looked at Chu Ge, who was lost in thought.
"At this stage, giving them virtual clothes to wear online and a place to hang photos is completely meaningless."
"The foundation isn’t even solid, yet you’re rushing to build a skyscraper on top of it. Even if you manage to build it, the first strong wind will bring it down. It’s only a matter of time before the whole thing collapses."
After speaking, Chen Zhuo picked up the kettle and poured himself a cup of hot water.
He didn’t say another word.
Chu Ge sat in his chair, not moving for a long time.
’He’s right.’
’The search function lags, even basic messages get lost all the time... Who are all these flashy, value-added services even for?’
’Technology serves a need. When the need itself is a false premise, every line of code a programmer writes is just another brick for their own future tomb.’
Chu Ge took a deep breath.
The confusion in his eyes vanished, replaced by a do-or-die determination.
"You’re right."
Chu Ge shot to his feet, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor.
"We can’t even cook the damn fried rice properly, and he wants a Manchu-Han Imperial Feast."
Chu Ge rubbed his face, then smoothed his messy hair back.
"I’m going to call him right now."
Chu Ge ground his back teeth.
"I’m going to chew that bastard out until he sees sense. If he dares to refuse to cut these ridiculous features, then someone else can write this shitty code. I’m done."
With that, Chu Ge turned and walked toward the door.
At the doorway, he suddenly stopped and glanced back at Chen Zhuo.
"Brother Zhuo, thanks."
Chu Ge’s chapped lips parted into his first smile in days.
Then, without a backward glance, he rushed out of Room 215. The sound of his hurried footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Chen Zhuo sat at his desk, raised his cup, and took a sip of hot water.
Watching Chu Ge’s back as he disappeared through the door, Chen Zhuo gave a helpless smile.
Chu Ge always had a certain reckless energy about him.
Wang Dayong watched all this from the side, unable to make heads or tails of it.
"He’s leaving already? Is his problem solved?"
Wang Dayong asked, puzzled.
"Maybe."
Chen Zhuo put down his cup and stood up, getting ready to go to the sink and wash his face.

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