Chapter 74: Compression (1)
74 – Compression (1)
“Indeed, it can be applied in many places—it’s one approach,” Lin Xun said. “But compared to other methods, it doesn’t seem to offer substantial improvement. It just provides an additional option.”
“Mhm.” Dong Jun walked over to the bedside. “Would you like to learn a bit more about the principles of the shell? Its application lies here.”
Lin Xun replied, “Yes.”
As he spoke, he looked at Dong Jun and couldn’t help but smile.
A hint of amusement flickered in Dong Jun’s eyes as well. The moment their gazes met, as if guided by some inexplicable yet natural impulse, Lin Xun reached out and gently wrapped his arms around Dong Jun’s waist, burying his face against his chest and abdomen. The sensation was warm and firm, the proximity so close he could almost hear the heartbeat.
Dong Jun ruffled his hair, the gesture intimate.
Lin Xun came to his senses and felt as though he was being clingy.
But he had no dignity left to lose anyway.
—It all started when he woke up this morning.
He knew he tended to move around in his sleep, but he hadn’t realized he’d rolled right into Dong Jun’s embrace. When he awoke, he was pressed against Dong Jun’s chest, his right hand still clutching the corner of his sleeve. As for the rest of his body, Lin Xun felt like a veritable octopus.
Dong Jun, with a patience cultivated over who knows how many centuries, had simply indulged him, holding him for who knows how long. Even after Lin Xun woke up, Dong Jun had gently asked, “Did you sleep well?”
Quite well.
Though you probably didn’t.
Sorry.
But I might dare to do it again.
Still, after a night like that, he genuinely felt closer to Dong Jun and was no longer as afraid. If Dong Jun could tolerate being tangled up with him like that, it was safe to assume his temper was generally good.
Now, with his forehead pressed against Dong Jun’s chest, he could feel a faint vibration.
Dong Jun asked, “Do you want to sleep a little longer?”
Lin Xun released him. “I should get up.”
He checked the time. “…Seems a bit late.”
Dong Jun replied, “It’s fine.”
Lin Xun got out of bed to freshen up. On the silver-white bathroom counter, all the essentials were laid out—two sets of toothbrushes and cups. In the cup closest to Lin Xun’s hand, a white electric toothbrush was already loaded with toothpaste. He recalled being kissed on the forehead by Dong Jun while still half-asleep before the other man had gone to wash up first.
He picked up the toothbrush, held it between his teeth, and smoothed his hair. The person in the mirror looked decent enough, fairly presentable.
After finishing up, he stepped out. A small robot approached, carrying Lin Xun’s clothes on a silver tray—it seemed to have secretly washed and ironed them.
In the traditional imagination, someone like Dong Jun would likely have a house full of servants, along with gardeners, drivers, and a butler. But here, intelligent systems and robots handled all the tasks that would normally require human labor, and they did it even more efficiently.
As Lin Xun dressed, he listened to the little robot announce the day’s expected temperature, weather, and morning news.
It was still bitterly cold, nothing like May or June. Summer this year was arriving late.
Dong Jun wasn’t in the room. Once Lin Xun had tidied himself up, he glanced around and noticed a partially open glass partition door. Beyond it was a walk-in closet, where Dong Jun sat before a mirror, his slender fingers just finishing adjusting his tie.
Lin Xun walked over. Perhaps to express how flattered he was by Dong Jun personally squeezing toothpaste for him, he sidled up to Dong Jun and stood behind him.
The lighting in the walk-in closet was soft. In the mirror, Dong Jun’s features were distinct—a kind of refined coolness, so beautiful it was as if he had just stepped out of a movie frame.
Lin Xun stared.
Then he saw Dong Jun in the mirror smile and lift an elbow.
Glancing at the opened cufflink box on the table, Lin Xun understood what he was meant to do.
He took a cufflink from the box—one of the pair he had given Dong Jun. Then, he grasped Dong Jun’s wrist. The shirt cuff was already folded back. After observing for about half a minute, he figured out how to use the cufflink—threading it through from the side that would show on the outside, passing through both layers from the back of the hand, and then fastening it. He repeated the process for the other wrist.
The intimate lighting, the subtly patterned cufflinks, the elegant back of the hand and knuckles—all of it made Lin Xun feel as if the aura of the capitalist class was washing over him.
But at the same time, he noticed something not so great.
Lin Xun: “It seems really hard to fasten with one hand. How did you manage before?”
Dong Jun raised an eyebrow: “I thought you knew.”
Lin Xun: “…?”
Dong Jun turned to look at him and said calmly, “The premise of giving cufflinks is that you know the other person has a lover willing to put them on for him every day.”
Lin Xun felt Dong Jun was teaching him a lesson in social etiquette—what gifts were appropriate to give and what weren’t.
But he also felt Dong Jun was **.
He brought Dong Jun’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. Regardless of what Dong Jun meant, he was going to muddle through.
Dong Jun’s eyelashes curved slightly, his eyes sparkling with a light like stars in the evening mist.
Lin Xun smiled back at him.
And just like that, he got through it.
Breakfast was still the product of the smart kitchen, and the robot had also filled Zhi Zhen’s cat bowl with food. It was a peaceful morning, except that just before leaving, Lin Xun was draped in a black coat by Dong Jun—his original clothes were too thin, and today was a lingering, damp, chilly rainy day.
On the way, Dong Jun took a call. Lin Xun didn’t know the specifics, but he heard Eagle mentioned.
Galaxy seemed to be launching a new product again, and Eagle had chosen to release a similar product at the same time. At the same time, they also seemed to be embroiled in a lawsuit.
Over the years, competition in this industry had grown increasingly fierce. Galaxy and Eagle had long since abandoned their earlier false friendship and were even openly at odds—for example, as soon as Galaxy launched the immersive holographic experience pod “Nut,” Eagle began heavily promoting their upcoming wearable holographic device across all channels. Supporters of the two companies also disliked each other. The most common refrain from Galaxy’s fans was to suggest that Dong Jun simply refuse Eagle the use of the Glax language—doing so would cripple at least half of Eagle’s projects. But Lin Xun didn’t think Dong Jun would do that. Just as science knows no borders, open source reigns supreme, and technology should never be closed off—that was the grace of a programmer.
And in fact, Dong Jun had never done such a thing.
Lin Xun stole a glance at Dong Jun’s profile, certain that his admiration for him wasn’t due to a fan filter as thick as the Hubble telescope, but because this person truly was like that.
Dong Jun’s residence wasn’t far from Galaxy’s location. After the car came to a stop, he got out and followed Dong Jun into the Galaxy lobby—wearing Dong Jun’s jacket, with Dong Jun’s cat perched on his shoulder.
—The cat’s tail was loosely wrapped around his neck.
Lin Xun endured the barrage of curious gazes, recalling how many times he had been here.
Great, third time.
No matter what rumors were circulating, by the third time something like this happened, they should be considered confirmed.
He met the inquisitive looks with a polite, slight smile—and then was pulled into the elevator by Dong Jun.
Dong Jun opened a laptop in front of him, placed the keyboard beside his hand, and set Zhi Zhen on the table.
“Entertain yourself,” Dong Jun said. “I have a routine meeting to attend, then I’ll keep you company.”
So Lin Xun entertained himself.
He put on headphones and began analyzing the data generated by the Goddess of the Luo River during the hospital escape scenario with full concentration.
He wasn’t sure if his feeling was accurate, but during that hour, the Goddess of the Luo River had displayed extraordinary agility. Lin Xun was almost convinced it was a real person assisting him.
About an hour later, he discovered that Lo had secretly learned a voice library on its own.
The principle was simple.
It converted speech based on emotional tendencies.
For example, turning “Recommend entering the elevator” into “Elevator—!”
Or transforming “Danger detected, please be cautious” into “You’re done for.”
Alright then.
Self-learning capability was indeed one of Lo’s standout features.
Just as he was about to conclude this inspection, he suddenly furrowed his brow.
A string of suspicious symbols, somewhat abrupt.
He moved the cursor there, intending to examine it carefully, when his phone rang.
A phone number, quite familiar—Lin Xun generally didn’t save numbers or assign names to contacts because he could remember them after one glance.
After a moment’s thought, it was someone unexpected.
“Hello,” Lin Xun said calmly.
A male voice came through the receiver: “Senior?”
Lin Xun replied, “Xue Xin?”
“It’s me,” the voice’s owner seemed somewhat pleased. “Senior still remembers me.”
“Mhm,” Lin Xun offered no further comment and asked, “What’s the matter?”
“I’ve been working on a project and suddenly remembered that you’re also in this field,” Xue Xin said from the other end. “I wanted to discuss it with you…”
Lin Xun listened.
Xue Xin was a junior from back in the day.
Not a direct junior either—he was from the sports college.
Lin Xun’s reason for rejecting suitors back then was, “I’m code-sexual; your code isn’t good enough.”
Thus, the world lost an athlete and gained a programmer. This junior taught himself Python, entered the industry, and eventually climbed to the peak of success—this story had once become a legend. Wang Anquan and Zhao Jiagou loved bringing it up until the junior started playing the field and went through several breakups and makeups with various men and women, after which they reluctantly dropped the topic.
Lin Xun didn’t know how he had found his contact information—his own number hadn’t changed, but Lin Xun had changed his, though it didn’t matter anymore.
Xue Xin’s point was: I heard you’re working on intelligent systems, and I’m also involved in that area, with a similar direction. If you don’t mind, you could come over to offer some guidance, or we could collaborate. We’d welcome you either way.
As Lin Xun listened, he occasionally offered a noncommittal response.
“What do you think, senior?” Xue Xin finally asked politely.
Lin Xun paused.
To be honest, Xue Xin’s direction wasn’t something he was uninterested in.
Actually, he was interested in quite a few directions.
However—
He smiled politely and was just about to answer when he suddenly felt someone move beside him.
He tensed for a moment, then realized Dong Jun must have been by his side for quite a while—the faint, cool scent of his perfume had been lingering for at least ten minutes or so. He must have been too absorbed in tinkering with the Goddess of the Luo River to notice his return, and Dong Jun hadn’t disturbed him.
He paused, gathering his thoughts, then took Dong Jun’s hand and prepared to continue answering Xue Xin.
An arm slid across his chest, fingers gripping his shoulder and slowly tightening.
Lin Xun paused again, still intending to answer.
A soft breath brushed his ear, followed by cool, thin lips pressing against his earlobe, then moving downward as teeth gently caught his ear.