Chapter 10: 16 Terabytes, All Used Up in Half a Day?

With the support of the human-computer interaction basic module, the program finally took on the embryonic form of artificial intelligence, beginning to show some semblance of life. After a full day of meticulous testing without uncovering any major issues, Li Ping’an decisively uploaded the compiled and packaged program to the class group chat.

At the same time, he thoughtfully attached a detailed user manual and a clear list of precautions to help his classmates better understand and use the software.

“Friends, please help me test this newly developed human-computer interaction program,” Li Ping’an posted in the group. To liven up the atmosphere and encourage participation, he also sent a 200-yuan lucky money red envelope.

Though the amount wasn’t large, the key was to create a lively and engaging environment to boost everyone’s enthusiasm. As expected, the moment the red envelope was sent, it was like a pebble thrown into a still lake, instantly stirring up waves—the previously silent classmates all popped up at once.

“Oh man, my luck is terrible! I only grabbed one cent? That’s just not fair!” someone wailed in the group—the very person who had grabbed the red envelope first.

Seeing this dramatic scene, Li Ping’an couldn’t help but laugh. The chat software’s quirky red envelope snatching mechanism always meant that the earliest snatcher often got the smallest share. However, grabbing only one cent out of 200 yuan was truly a stroke of bad luck.

At this point, some classmates finally shifted their attention from the red envelope to the files and software Li Ping’an had uploaded.

“@Li Ping’an, buddy, this is basically a no-name, no-brand, no-service software. You’re not secretly developing a virus on us, right? Just messing around?” one classmate teased.

Calling it a “no-name software” wasn’t entirely unfounded. Because this half-finished, packaged embryonic AI had only one interactive window—a simple input box. But it did support uploading various file formats by drag-and-drop, enabling basic human-computer interactions.

“It’s a little gadget I developed myself,” Li Ping’an quickly explained. “I mainly want you all to help me test it and find any bugs. The first person to find a bug gets a piece of specialty cured meat from my hometown when school starts.”

As soon as he said that, the group chat buzzed even more wildly.

“I’m not really after that cured meat—I just want to take on the challenge,” a classmate said proudly.

Li Ping’an watched the download records in the group files and saw that everyone was eagerly downloading the software.

As that classmate said, everyone here was an elite in the computer science major, and who wouldn’t want to be the first to win in this test?

In a uniquely charming courtyard house in the capital, Zhao Peng sat in front of his computer. Instead of rushing to test the software he just downloaded, he immediately began reverse engineering it.

As Li Ping’an’s roommate, Zhao Peng knew well that Li Ping’an’s technical skills were formidable, ranking easily within the top ten in their class in all aspects. Zhao Peng leisurely sipped his coffee while waiting for the reverse engineering to complete.

But after a long time, he found the process stalled with no progress. His brow furrowed in surprise: “Hmm, I see why this guy is so confident. He’s really not messing around—I knew it wouldn’t be so easy.”

A slight smile of excitement crept over Zhao Peng’s lips, as if he had encountered a worthy opponent. Sitting upright, he flexed his fingers and fully immersed himself in this “battle” with the program.

After more than ten minutes of trying every method, he still had no success. He stared silently at the chaotic, disorganized 100-plus megabytes of garbled code he had finally managed to extract.

He speculated inwardly: “This guy might really be planning to start a business. This looks like he’s serious.”

Since brute-force cracking had failed, Zhao Peng decided to test the software itself. After installing Li Ping’an’s so-called “no-name software,” he was shocked to find the interface unimaginably plain.

Besides the most basic and direct input box, there were no beautified or decorative elements at all. Yet this seemingly crude program stubbornly resisted his brute-force attempts, which surprised him.

Glancing through the user manual, Zhao Peng saw that despite its plain appearance, the software could handle simple data processing and analysis, and even had learning algorithms.

As for the note about data uploads, Zhao Peng didn’t pay much attention. These days, privacy was almost nonexistent. As long as browser histories weren’t uploaded, nothing else really mattered.

Like Zhao Peng, other classmates testing the program also found that although Li Ping’an’s software looked crude on the outside, its internal structure was remarkably robust, making it difficult to break into and giving a sense of helplessness in tackling it.

Thus, the entire afternoon passed. The class group, which originally had over eighty lively members, was unusually quiet. Everyone was deeply engrossed in testing and exploring the software.

With continuous uploads of various types of data for testing, they noticed that the human-computer interaction seemed increasingly “intelligent” — it even began to handle simple data processing and format conversion.

Most surprisingly, it could perform the simplest chat function. From initially taking half a day to respond, it gradually felt like conversing with a cheeky little kid.

This... was something special!

As night fell like a vast black curtain, enveloping the world, Li Ping’an sat alone at home. The room was so quiet that the only sound was the occasional crackle from the charcoal brazier.

He quietly sat beside the brazier, enjoying the solitude while leisurely eating dinner.

“Ding dong~~~”

Suddenly, a crisp notification sound shattered the silence. Li Ping’an was momentarily startled, then pulled out his phone. When he saw the message on the screen, he was dumbfounded, his face full of shock and disbelief.

“What? My 16-terabyte home NAS cloud storage is already almost used up after just half a day?” Li Ping’an muttered to himself.

He stared blankly at the software’s alert: only 1 terabyte of free space remained, with a prompt to delete useless data or expand storage.

Resigned, he silently exited the software, then quickly switched back to the class group chat, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he typed:

“Guys, what on earth did you all upload? My brand new 16-terabyte home NAS cloud storage got eaten up in just one afternoon!”

His words carried a hint of helplessness mixed with a wry laugh.

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