In the autumn of their junior year, the peculiarly named “L&P Fortune and Strength Technology Co., Ltd.” completed all its registration procedures.
Their project required detailed, ongoing communication with hospitals, but the initial contact proved laborious — hospitals were not particularly willing to cooperate with university students still enrolled in school.
Gao Jianhong was busy at the time handling the company’s bank account setup, and Li Xun was hardly going to go around smiling and flattering people, so the burden of negotiation fell entirely on Zhu Yun. She fought on the front lines for several consecutive weeks, deploying every tactic she had — reasoned argument, emotional appeals — and finally, taking a roundabout approach, quietly passed along gifts to a group of nurses, until at last she had persuaded the head of the medical affairs department and secured a cooperation agreement.
Even so, it was only a small portion of access.
No matter how persuasively Zhu Yun presented their case, the hospital administrators saw it as nothing more than an impulsive whim from a group of college students. Nobody paid much attention to how far-reaching the ambitions of these computer science students actually were.
A doctor surnamed Lin, who had become somewhat familiar with Zhu Yun, even joked with her about it: “If you want to do a school project, you should pick something manageable. Why on earth did you choose cancer — the deepest pit in the entire medical field? Odds are you’ll come out of this with nothing to show for it.”
Zhu Yun said: “Do you know what our goal is?”
Dr. Lin: “I don’t.”
Zhu Yun held up one finger. Dr. Lin raised an eyebrow.
“One percent,” Zhu Yun said. “Our goal is to raise the cancer survival rate by one percent.”
Dr. Lin was quiet for a moment, then smiled mildly. “Well. That’s quite a magnificent ambition.”
Li Xun had begun his experiments early. He hoped to capture the interaction data between patients and medical staff at every stage of treatment, then integrate and categorize it.
Extracting electronic data from a case record database should, in theory, have been straightforward for them — but once they actually set to work, they discovered the reality was far more complicated. Due to years of accumulated problems with non-standardized data practices, the program frequently threw errors when reading records, and the misread rate was extremely high.
They tried many different approaches and eventually came to understand that manually monitoring errors through human effort alone was impossible. While their current scale was still manageable, the moment the database expanded, the error rate would climb at a speed no one could keep up with.
In the end, Li Xun decided to use a self-upgrading method — manually inputting large volumes of precisely verified data to serve as baseline reference material for checking new entries, detecting problems and feeding corrections back in real time, automatically adjusting the intake process so that the entire system continuously refined itself in a dynamic, self-correcting loop.
The initial problems were finally resolved.
They worked at this for the better part of a year, all the way through the winter of their junior year.
It was a winter none of them would ever forget.
One day, Zhu Yun was hurrying back to campus from her lodgings when she noticed a security guard at the entrance hanging a banner. She glanced at it a second time and was startled to find the content strangely familiar — it was for the information security competition.
The competition was being held here this year?
She stood there for a moment, feeling as though she had stepped back in time.
By this point, Li Xun was rarely attending classes. A pharmaceutical company had recognized the value of what they were building and had approached them about a potential partnership.
This was one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the country, with oncology drugs at the very core of their business. Being noticed by a company of this stature was the strongest possible affirmation of the project’s commercial potential.
Unlike many other startup founders, Li Xun had no anxiety about funding, thanks to Fu Yizhuo’s support. As a result, his requirements for any partner were extremely high — so high that it often became difficult to tell which side was actually doing the investing.
But this time, Li Xun had relaxed his conditions.
He explained to Zhu Yun and Gao Jianhong that this pharmaceutical company had enormous reach within the domestic market, particularly in oncology drugs — its network penetrated hospitals across the country. If they could secure a successful partnership, it would provide significant advantages for their experimental data collection.
Since Li Xun’s main energy was still devoted to the technical side, all the finer details that remained after the foundational terms were settled fell to Zhu Yun. She spent each day being ground down by the company’s legal team until her head throbbed.
Seeing that she was exhausted, Li Xun offered her something new to think about.
“The information security competition is being held at our school this year.”
Zhu Yun nodded. “I already saw.”
Li Xun smiled. “Professor Lin is one of the judging panel from our side, but he has a prior commitment and wants to send me in his place.”
Zhu Yun gave him a look of surprise. “That’s not really allowed, is it.”
“Of course it isn’t.” Li Xun was lying on the bed, watching Zhu Yun with an amused expression. “But when he came to talk to me about it, he showed me the finalist roster for this year. I noticed something rather entertaining.”
Zhu Yun: “What?”
Li Xun said with a sardonic smile: “Our matchmaker has come calling again.”
Zhu Yun: “…”
Fang Zhijing.
That man’s presence in her life was truly remarkable — every time Zhu Yun felt she was on the verge of forgetting him entirely, he would reappear to make himself known.
This year’s finals were scheduled during the winter break.
Everything was colliding at once.
On one side, Zhu Yun was tangled up in the fine print of the pharmaceutical company’s contract. On the other, the time her family had given her had reached its absolute limit — she couldn’t put it off any longer.
For an entire academic year, the atmosphere at home had been one of persistent unease. Zhu Yun had attempted to talk things through with her parents many times. Zhu Guangyi was more or less reasonable; her mother, however, was impervious to persuasion.
In some respects, Zhu Yun recognized her own character in her mother’s — which was precisely why she understood, better than anyone, how deeply stubborn her mother could be.
Before exam season, her mother called and told her to come home immediately after finishing her tests. Zhu Yun had been meaning to have a proper conversation with her parents anyway. She asked Li Xun for two days off.
“Fine.” Li Xun agreed without fuss. After a moment, he added, “When are you coming back? Li Lan arrives in a few days.”
Zhu Yun paused — this was the first time Li Xun had ever brought up anything like this with her.
Watching her blank expression, Li Xun smiled and said: “She’s getting married after the New Year. You two should meet properly — she’s the only family I have.”
Zhu Yun nodded slowly, a little dazed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”
Li Xun: “No need to rush. Stay home with your parents for a couple of days. Li Lan will be here until the semester starts.”
That time around, Li Xun was the one who packed Zhu Yun’s bag. When the moment came, Zhu Yun found she didn’t want to leave — she stood in the doorway in a listless, sulking silence. Seeing her, Li Xun teased: “What’s this? Can’t bear to part with me?”