# Chapter 4: Code Refinement

The bell rang out with a bright, clear chime — a sound as welcome as music from the heavens.

The mathematics teacher at the podium had noticed the homeroom teacher standing outside the window long before the bell sounded. He was a man who habitually ran over his allotted time, yet today, quite remarkably, he ended class on the dot.

Beneath the anxious, uncertain gazes of his students, the homeroom teacher entered the classroom with a grave expression, his pace deliberate and unhurried.

The air inside was somewhat stale from the press of so many bodies, but the homeroom teacher seemed not to notice — he was long accustomed to it. His eyes swept the room like searchlights, taking in every corner.

Under the weight of his stern authority, the students seemed to fall under a collective spell, one by one bowing their heads and assuming the posture of diligent readers.

Of course, whether anyone was actually reading — well, both the teacher on the platform and the students below knew perfectly well. No one was fooling anyone.

The homeroom teacher stood at the podium, his expression grave, and began to speak.

"After the New Year, you have barely half a year left before the high school entrance examinations. And you are students of Class One — do you understand what that means? It means you are supposed to be the best. So where does that leave you now?

Some of you have the audacity to occupy yourselves with things entirely unrelated to your studies during class. Do any of you actually care about these exams?"

"Have you no sense of urgency whatsoever? Do you know what the entrance examination is? It is the moment that will determine the course of your lives!"

He paused, then continued, his voice hardening further. "To be perfectly honest, this cohort is the worst I have ever taught. Mediocre results would be one thing — but you are disobedient on top of it. How is that acceptable?"

"Starting tomorrow, I will be conducting unannounced inspections. If I catch any of you doing something unrelated to your studies during class, I will not let it slide. I will call your parents in directly."

With that, he clasped his hands behind his back and swept the room with a gaze sharp as lightning.

When his eyes reached Li Ya, they stopped.

"Li Ya. Step outside for a moment."

Li Ya looked up with a bewildered expression, her heart full of confusion.

She thought to herself: I have been paying attention in class the entire time. Why is the teacher calling on me?

Outside, the bitter winter wind struck like a charging beast. Li Ya had just stepped out of the warm classroom, and she instinctively hunched her shoulders, as though that might keep some of the cold at bay.

Out in the corridor, the homeroom teacher stood quietly waiting.

He looked at the girl before him. She had been away from home for some time and was wearing only a thin knitted sweater beneath her school uniform — not even a padded coat to her name.

He had intended to sit down with Li Ya and go through the reasons her monthly exam results had been disappointing. But seeing her shivering in the cold wind, the words rose to his lips and then quietly retreated.

"You really ought to take a page from your brother's book," he said at last.

"When your brother was a student here, he was something else entirely — top of the rankings, year after year." As he spoke, he noticed her hunch her shoulders again, and added:

"Go to the gatehouse. Your brother has brought you some clothes."

"My brother is here?" Li Ya's head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise and delight.

She looked as though she had just heard the most wonderful news in the world.

"He's probably gone by now — the school doesn't allow outsiders on campus," the homeroom teacher replied.

"Go on, quickly."

Li Ya tucked both hands into her uniform pockets and took off at a joyful trot toward the gatehouse, light-footed as a young deer.

"Uncle, I'm here to pick up what my brother dropped off," she said breathlessly to the old gatekeeper, who sat warming his hands over a brazier.

The old man pointed toward the corner of the room. "There — that whole pile is yours."

Li Ya looked where he pointed, and her eyes lit up at once.

On the floor sat a warm padded coat, and beside it, her brother had thoughtfully included her favorite snacks and a selection of fresh fruit.

Her brother truly was the best person in the entire world.

"Thank you, uncle!" Li Ya said happily.

She gathered up the bags, large and small, and bounced back toward the classroom like a little sprite who had stumbled upon a treasure hoard.

The sky hung low and leaden, like an enormous slab of iron pressing down upon the earth — the unmistakable harbinger of snow. The thick, dark clouds seemed to be gathering their strength, heralding a heavy fall to come.

Li Ping'an rode his electric scooter home and began searching the house for the charcoal brazier.

Electric heaters were convenient enough, but there was something about the warmth of an open flame — something that seeped into the bones in a way no appliance could replicate, warming a person from the inside out.

Li Ping'an lit the charcoal with practiced ease.

Seeing that it was still early, he opened his laptop and set to work studying, while simultaneously transcribing from memory the code for the artificial intelligence data collection and preprocessing module stored in the learning device — piece by piece, transferring it into the world.

Over the next two days, Li Ping'an was practically fixed to the chair in front of his computer.

The old man from next door came by several times, and each time, seeing Li Ping'an absorbed in what appeared to be intense study, he quietly withdrew without disturbing him.

Late one night, Li Ping'an finally completed a phase of his work. He stretched, rose from his chair, and opened the window to let in some fresh air.

The brazier was wonderfully warm, but after a long stretch of time — even with the door ajar — the gases from the burning charcoal had a way of making one's head swim.

Outside the window was a darkness thick as ink, impenetrable, with nothing visible at all. The sky had remained overcast, and the stars that usually scattered brilliance across the night had vanished entirely. The whole world seemed to have sunk into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Li Ping'an gazed out into the dark and let the cold night air wash over his face, clearing his head.

He murmured to himself, "I hope it doesn't snow tomorrow. Otherwise my sister will have to walk all the way home."

That was simply how things were in these mountain townships. The moment snow began to fall, every bus running between the county seat and the surrounding villages would suspend service — ostensibly for passenger safety, and to avoid liability.

The following noon, after lunch, Li Ping'an successfully completed the coding for the artificial intelligence data collection and preprocessing module, then compiled, encrypted, and packaged it according to the unique encryption method native to the learning device.

In just three days, he had finished transcribing the entire module. The speed was, by any measure, astonishing — and perhaps a little unsettling.

The artificial intelligence materials stored in the learning device were not only clear and accessible; more crucially, the code itself was extraordinarily lean. It achieved the same complex functionality with the fewest possible lines — an elegance of design that left Li Ping'an genuinely impressed.

He suspected that if the code had been written in the programming language native to the civilization that had originally produced the device, it might have been even more compact still.