Chapter 71: A Sudden Flurry of Activity

Lu Yu found himself suddenly swept up in a flurry of activity. There had been no warning, no hesitation. After instructing Liu Shichang to recruit several software architecture engineers, he threw himself into days of coding alongside the staff of Yunhan Technology.

Nine groups, nine modules—they started with the simpler parts. Each day, Lu Yu assigned tasks and reviewed the code submissions, so often working late into the night that he sometimes slept on the office sofa rather than returning home.

As Liu Shichang’s recruitment brought more programmers into Yunhan Technology, each newcomer was thrust immediately into the relentless cycle of coding, with hardly a moment to catch their breath.

It’s worth mentioning that Yunhan Technology operated on highly flexible working hours; Lu Yu imposed no rigid rules. If the previous night’s coding stretched too late and you slept in the next morning, as long as your tasks were completed, no one minded. Sometimes, programmers simply stayed at the company, coding late into the night and sleeping on the sofas in the rest area—not to impress Lu Yu, but because, like writers chasing inspiration, once you hit your stride, it’s hard to stop. Commuting between home and office seemed a waste of time; why not stay and get more rest?

Day by day, the programming team grew. Over time, those with talent naturally emerged as group leaders. The workload increased, but so did the pay, and finally, Lu Yu was no longer alone in shouldering all the responsibilities—assigning tasks, reviewing code. If it weren’t for the tonic he’d been taking to strengthen his health, Lu Yu wasn’t sure he could have endured such intensity.

A supervisor was appointed for the programming team: Ge Yuncong, whom Liu Shichang had recruited with a generous offer. Ge Yuncong was a formidable software architect, versatile in other fields as well, with solid management experience. With him on board, Lu Yu’s burden eased considerably—he needed only to monitor progress and periodically assign new tasks to the group leaders. The rest of his time was spent writing critical code, while Ge Yuncong’s team took over code review and patching.

Other departments were also staffed up—HR, administration, finance—all in place. The administration team was particularly notable: a cadre of young women, brought in to balance what would otherwise have been a company full of iron-willed men. Most of their time was spent handling various small tasks. With everyone so absorbed in coding, meals were often forgotten, and it was these administrative assistants who kept things running smoothly.

Lu Yu even had the procurement department buy fitness equipment—treadmills and such—setting up a workout area in a corner of the office. When exhausted from coding, anyone could take a break and recharge, regardless of the time.

Overall, Yunhan Technology’s management was loose and the atmosphere relaxed, a direct reflection of Lu Yu himself. In the beginning, he managed everything directly, but he had no experience working in big companies; after graduation, he started his own business, which was only a handful of people. Later, with Nebula Beyond and Pink-White-Black, truthfully, Lu Yu rarely involved himself in day-to-day management, leaving it to Liu Shichang and Deng Qiang. He only checked the financials and whether tasks were completed. With such a background, how could he have strong management experience? Thus, Yunhan Technology developed its current free and easy atmosphere. But it didn’t matter—as long as the work was done, nothing else was of consequence.

On the contrary, the programmers relished this environment. It looked informal, a bit disorderly, but it was genuinely comfortable and free of stress. Coding itself was pressure enough, draining both mind and spirit; who had time to worry about rules and regulations? Even when Ge Yuncong suggested tightening management, Lu Yu insisted that unless someone committed a serious breach, as long as the work got done, he was fine with however they worked. Seeing the boss so laissez-faire, Ge Yuncong simply set a few principles and let things be.

One evening, Lu Yu worked late at the office and only returned to the home shared with Shi Zixuan and Qin Xiaomian. The two women had already washed up and were preparing for bed, but upon seeing Lu Yu, they told him they’d be reporting to the University of Finance the next day—their studies were about to begin. Their work at the company had been handed off, and Deng Qiang had approved.

Lu Yu was momentarily stunned, then realized it was late August—time for the new academic year. The two had enrolled in a business school training program, an eighteen-month course covering business management and finance. Qin Xiaomian, especially, was in her final year at her junior college and needed to prepare for graduation exams and her thesis.

Hearing their words, Lu Yu understood what they meant. With nothing especially urgent planned for the next day, he agreed to drive them to the university. The campus was accessible by subway, but still quite far. Lu Yu wanted Shi Zixuan, whose upbringing had been difficult yet who remained resilient, to experience the atmosphere of a university.

He suggested they could stay in the dorms or return home at any time. The two women hesitated, but Lu Yu convinced them to check out the dormitory first before deciding, and they agreed.

The next morning, the three rose, washed, dressed, and ate breakfast outside their apartment before heading to the university. After exiting the subway, they walked for ten minutes to the campus. The lake was clear, trees lush, statues dotted the grounds, winding paths crossed the lawns, and benches appeared here and there—a refined environment, rich with scholarly charm.

Qin Xiaomian was visibly excited, scanning her surroundings as soon as she entered the gate. Shi Zixuan was more curious and nervous; she had never imagined she’d have the opportunity to study at such a university. Life had always been busy enough just to get by.

It was clear both women looked forward to the coming year and a half of campus life. Lu Yu smiled as he accompanied them, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation. Since graduation, he hadn’t set foot in a campus; though this wasn’t his alma mater, it still felt familiar. Perhaps it was the aura of academia—deeply literary, rich in tradition.

After a while, the two women remembered they needed to register. Qin Xiaomian pulled Lu Yu along, urging him to hurry. Lu Yu deliberately slowed his pace, making Qin Xiaomian feign annoyance. She was like a child, sometimes a bit silly, and her presence always made Lu Yu laugh. Shi Zixuan, reserved, followed beside them, her lips curving in a smile as she watched their antics.

The university hadn’t officially started, so few students were around. Occasionally, a passerby would glance curiously at the trio.

They soon arrived at the registration area; fees had already been paid online, so they only needed to check in. Shi Zixuan and Qin Xiaomian finished the paperwork and each received a bag containing school information and a dormitory key. With the campus map, they found their way to the dormitory building.

Because it was a women’s dorm, Lu Yu couldn’t go inside; the two women went upstairs to inspect the accommodations. Lu Yu sat quietly at the edge of the flowerbed nearby, waiting for them.

It was amusing—when he was a student, he had never waited outside a women’s dormitory. Now, so long after graduation, he was experiencing this for the first time. Thoughts of the dorm, of waiting, brought back memories of his university days. He’d always felt his college life was pretty good, but viewed from another angle, it was rather monotonous: study, skip classes, hang out with Chen Xiaofei, join the seniors’ entrepreneurial ventures—it seemed colorful enough. But there was one thing missing: a romantic relationship.

Despite Chen Xiaofei’s encouragement, Lu Yu had once pursued a senior, but he knew he hadn’t truly liked her. It was more about the thrill of the chase than genuine affection. What was romance, really? Lu Yu didn’t know. He’d never experienced it himself—only seen others do so. In that sense, his college life lacked a certain shade.

Yet, Lu Yu felt no regret. He wasn’t the person then that he was now, and every trivial event, every seemingly inconsequential choice, shapes the future self. Maybe you skip an elective just to sleep in, missing content you might need later. Or you happen to miss a visiting student you might have liked, altering your romantic history. If Lu Yu had fallen in love in college, perhaps none of those later events would’ve happened—maybe he wouldn’t have gone to the rooftop to drown his sorrows. And then, he wouldn’t be the Lu Yu of today.

Contemplating these oddities, he found them amusing, and waiting became a pleasure rather than a chore.

Fortunately, Shi Zixuan and Qin Xiaomian didn’t keep him waiting long. They had checked out the dorm with their keys—a four-person room, desks below, beds above, individual wardrobes, a private bathroom for showering. Small, but well-equipped. The two were satisfied, locked up, and came downstairs to find Lu Yu.

Seeing them approach, Lu Yu asked, “How does it feel?”

Qin Xiaomian hugged his arm. “Not much different from other dorms, maybe a bit better. But, uncle, should we really stay here?”

Shi Zixuan gazed at Lu Yu. He scratched his head, “It’s up to you. Stay if you want, go home if you prefer. If you don’t mind the commute, either is fine.”

Qin Xiaomian hesitated; her home was about an hour from the university. Commuting every day would be troublesome.

Shi Zixuan noticed her uncertainty and suggested, “We can move some luggage here. When we’re not busy, we can go home; when classes are heavy, we can stay here.”

Qin Xiaomian looked up at Shi Zixuan and finally, with a pout, nodded in reluctant agreement.