Chapter 11: Irreplaceable

After Li Ping’an sent his message in the class group chat, it fell into complete silence, as if cast into the depths of the ocean—not a single reply emerged.

Everyone felt uneasy deep down. After all, no one dared to admit openly that once they discovered this program was like a bottomless pit, capable of consuming anything, they all indulged in uploading all sorts of miscellaneous, largely useless files.

This reckless upload spree rapidly consumed the cloud storage space.

At that moment, his roommate Zhao Peng quietly sent him a private message.

“Fourth brother, the learning algorithm you embedded in this program isn’t simple at all; it has serious commercial value. Remember, technology kept in your own hands remains exclusive.”

Zhao Peng was quite a “special figure” in their dormitory.

With a wealthy background and extensive connections, he was the one with the most influential family and the greatest wealth among them.

Although he never disclosed any of this upon their initial acquaintance, over time, Li Ping’an and the other two roommates had more or less formed some guesses about his family background.

They knew perfectly well this guy was no ordinary person.

Seeing Zhao Peng’s earnest tone, Li Ping’an felt a warmth in his heart and replied teasingly:

“Relax, son. I’m not the shortsighted type; I know what I’m doing.”

In the capital city, Zhao Peng sat before his computer, nodding silently as he read Li Ping’an’s reply.

His mind involuntarily pictured the scene at Fourth Brother’s home, knowing that he had a younger sister to support and the burdens of life were far from light.

Life was already hard enough.

Starting a business would be even more difficult.

After much hesitation, Zhao Peng tapped the keyboard decisively and sent the message:

“If anyone tries to make trouble in the future, forcibly demanding your code, or resorting to dirty tricks to threaten you, just tell me.”

By the charcoal brazier, warmth enveloped the room. Li Ping’an stared at the newly popped-up message on his phone, slightly startled.

He was silent for a long while, his finger hovering over the screen, wrestling with his thoughts. In the end, he did not refuse this kindness.

Li Ping’an knew that with Zhao Peng’s network, what seemed impossible to him might be accomplished with just a word.

He was keenly aware of his own vulnerability: his sister was his only close family in this world.

If she were harmed or used as a hostage to coerce him, he doubted he could harden his heart and stand by indifferently. He would most likely comply.

After all, losing the code could be recovered from, but his sister was irreplaceable.

At that moment, filled with gratitude for Zhao Peng’s support and knowing he truly needed it, Li Ping’an simply replied with one word:

“Okay.”

On the other end, Zhao Peng’s lips curved slightly, a benevolent, paternal smile blooming on his face.

He seemed to envision Li Ping’an’s future entrepreneurial journey, full of challenges but steadily improving.

Seeing the NAS cloud storage space nearing capacity, Li Ping’an reluctantly began modifying the configuration parameters to restrict upload content.

He then hurriedly posted a message in the class group to inform everyone:

“Friends, due to urgent storage space issues, the file upload function is temporarily disabled, but the chat function remains fully operational. Feel free to keep using it.”

Once sent, the message was like a stone cast into a still lake—no ripples stirred as expected.

Half a day passed. Not only was no one able to find any program loopholes, but even the classmate who had initially boasted in the group, “I’m not really interested in the code; just wanted to challenge it,” seemed to have vanished, pretending not to see or hear Li Ping’an’s message.

In truth, everyone was well aware: although nobody openly admitted it, the program Li Ping’an had developed was formidable.

Looking at the AI applications on the market for mobile phones, while they could handle and analyze some files and hold casual conversations, their operation was rigid and mechanical, unable to connect context smoothly—mere question-and-answer machines.

Moreover, their answers were mostly patched together from search engine results online.

Compared to the learning algorithm embedded in Li Ping’an’s program, the difference was vast.

It wasn’t that no one had thought about collaborating with Li Ping’an, but once they considered his dorm mates—

They had money, if you wanted money;

They had skills, if you wanted technology;

They had connections, if you wanted networks;

They had influence, if you wanted power.

In short, they lacked nothing.

Strangers approaching them rashly would most likely be shut out, creating trouble for themselves, so everyone restrained their desires.

The next day at noon, just after finishing his meal and without washing his dishes, Li Ping’an hurriedly mounted his electric scooter and sped toward his sister’s school.

He dared not forget that today his sister was starting her winter break and had specially reminded him to pick her up on time.

Upon arriving at the school gate, the large iron doors were still closed.

Li Ping’an, along with other parents, craned his neck to peer through the gaps in the iron gate, gazing inside.

He saw the students neatly lined up by class. The usual school bell was now replaced by the principal’s voice echoing through the loudspeakers.

“I must emphasize to all students: safety comes first during the holiday!” The principal’s voice reverberated over the campus.

“During this cold winter, there will be frequent use of fire and electricity. As the old saying goes, fire and water are merciless—please be extra cautious about fire safety at home…”

The principal droned on for over ten minutes, repeating the same old warnings, but finally concluded.

With the command “Orderly dismissal,” the students scattered like released birds in an instant.

The elderly security guard quickly opened the gate, and parents filed in.

Amid the crowd, Li Ya’s distinctive bun hairstyle stood out vividly. Li Ping’an’s eyes scanned the group and immediately spotted his sister.

Approaching Li Ya, he asked, “Do you have much to bring home?”

“Just a suitcase,” she replied, rubbing her reddened, cold hands.

Li Ping’an nodded slightly. “No problem, I can make a couple of trips. I’ll take the suitcase home first, then come back for you.”

“Or you could take the bus home yourself—up to you.”

Li Ya hunched her shoulders, watching her classmates hurriedly leave the school, hoping to return home soon to warm up.

After a brief hesitation, she said, “I’ll take the bus then.”

“Alright.”

The once vibrant and bustling campus seemed to lose its life force in the instant the students left like a tide ebbing away, leaving only emptiness behind.

Perhaps due to the absence of people, or perhaps because of the mood, the chill in the air grew more intense, creeping insidiously into one’s heart.

It evoked an inexplicably sharper, more biting cold than the winter winds outside, as if loneliness and coldness wrapped tightly around the entire being.