The anticipation in the air was thick.
Dozens of reporters crowded the small press area, their cameras locked onto the podium. When Zhao Min stepped up, a hush fell over the crowd.
Standing tall and composed, Zhao Min embodied the very image of a powerful executive. As president of the Marching Ant Company—a tech titan in the making—her words carried real weight.
The rise of Marching Ant had become the stuff of modern legend.
She glanced over the room, gave a polite nod, and opened with ease.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice. I'll take a few quick questions. You—yes, the lady in glasses."
Her confident tone and warm professionalism won over many of the reporters instantly. It wasn't every day that a company president handled press personally.
"Thank you." The bespectacled reporter stood. "The Binhai Public Security Bureau released a statement today about capturing two spies from the island nation. Rumor online suggests their operation targeted Marching Ant. Can you confirm this?"
Zhao Min nodded slightly.
"We've seen those reports too. But until the relevant authorities confirm the details, we urge everyone to treat unverified news with caution.
"If our company was indeed targeted, then we're deeply grateful to the Bureau for ensuring our safety. If not, we hope people will refrain from spreading misinformation."
A few reporters exchanged knowing glances. She didn't deny it—but she didn't confirm it either.
The next reporter raised his mic.
"Has your company made any breakthroughs in artificial intelligence lately? Do you believe others might be trying to steal your technology? What's your take on the future of AI?"
Zhao Min smiled. "Well, that first part touches on trade secrets, so I can't give details. As for the second—billions of people on this planet, and I'd wager more than half would love to get their hands on our tech. After all, technology equals money. Who wouldn't want it?"
Her answer got a round of chuckles.
"As for the future of AI," she continued, "I'll let the future answer that. But I don't think it's far off."
Her tone, though casual, struck a chord. The subtle hint was enough to make every journalist lean forward. There was a breakthrough.
They're onto something big.
"Are you implying that your company has recently made a major leap in AI? Is that why the spy incident happened?"
"We're always moving forward. Whether this incident has anything to do with it… well, I'm not the one to confirm that."
While Zhao Min handled the press, Chen Mo sat calmly in his office, reviewing the final version of a very different kind of bombshell.
The Chinese Programming Language.
Designed from the ground up using Chinese syntax and grammar, it was built with help from Ink Girl—whose own framework had been written in this very language.
Chen Mo had drawn inspiration from multiple sources: C language, B language, assembly language—and merged them into a uniquely Chinese paradigm. Eighteen data types. One hundred and eight keyword groups. Thirty-six control statements. All combined with variables, arrays, constants, operators, and native character structures.
It wasn't just a new programming language—it was a cultural milestone.
Difficult to learn for foreigners. Familiar and intuitive for native Chinese speakers.
He knew what it meant: China finally had its own foundational language for computers.
"Ink Girl, get in touch with Xiao Yu," Chen Mo said.
"Right away," she replied.
Just as Zhao Min prepared to wrap up the press conference, Xiao Yu jogged up to the podium and whispered something in her ear.
Reporters buzzed like hornets. Everyone recognized Xiao Yu—Chen Mo's girlfriend and assistant. Last time she appeared in public, it had been a viral media moment.
Zhao Min looked up from her brief aside and addressed the crowd:
"The chairman has just informed me: at 12 noon today, please check the official Marching Ant Company website. There will be… a major announcement."
The crowd erupted in a frenzy. Cameras flashed. Phones went up. Everyone was dying to know—what was this news?
As the press conference closed, journalists scrambled to prep their headlines and watch the countdown. If it was new tech, it could shake the industry.
Back in Chen Mo's office, Zhao Min entered with crossed arms.
"You just love giving me heart attacks, don't you?"
Chen Mo smirked and handed her a stack of printed papers.
"This one."
Zhao Min scanned the title page.
"What is this? Programming vocabulary? If this is the major news you told me about, I swear I'll jump off this building."
"Don't," Chen Mo said dryly. "I still need someone to run the company."
He leaned back. "That's the Chinese Programming Language. A new language, built from scratch. Once it's published, those papers will belong in a museum."
Zhao Min blinked, stunned.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. This is one of the proudest things I've created."
She looked at him with new respect. She understood better than most: true innovation didn't always come with flash and explosions. Sometimes, it was a string of characters on paper that would change the world.
"If this is real," she said slowly, "you just carved your name into the history of computer science."
"You think I'd joke about something this important?"
"No," she admitted, handing the papers back. "But if you're wrong, people will laugh you off the internet."
"Let them try," Chen Mo said. "Even the theory of relativity is just a formula. But no one dares call it a joke."
"Fine," Zhao Min sighed. "Just remember—you're the one signing off on this."
As she left the office, Chen Mo stood and headed back to the lab.
"Ink Girl, at noon sharp—post the full release of the Chinese Programming Language on the official site."
"Got it, Brother."
Outside, the world was waiting.
Inside, the future was about to be uploaded.