Wei Zhe was genuinely surprised to see Chen Mo show up in person. And he wasn't the only one—the entire Chinese Programming Department froze in astonishment the moment their mysterious boss appeared.
Chen Mo rarely visited the regular staff work areas. Most of his time was spent in private labs or inside the enigmatic Building No. 1. Day-to-day operations were typically managed by Zhao Min, and even she didn't interact much with the general staff. As for Chen Mo, to most employees, he was like a myth—equal parts genius and mystery.
He was the one man powering the technological engine of the entire Marching Ant Company. In their eyes, he wasn't just the boss—he was an idol, the dream figure of countless young professionals (and young women alike).
So when Chen Mo suddenly walked into their department, people were instantly on edge. Was there a problem? A performance issue? Were layoffs coming?
The company had previously undergone structural changes, splitting several departments into independent subsidiaries. But the Chinese Programming Department remained largely intact. As a core division of the R&D system, its technical staff were among the best—experts fluent in the Chinese character programming language. Many companies had tried poaching their talent, but thanks to strict contractual agreements, no one had succeeded.
Chinese character programming had become one of the most sought-after computer languages in the world. Among tech circles—especially among hackers—it was considered elite. Ever since the legendary Clown Virus hijacked an entire city's infrastructure, Chinese programming had become infamous.
That event elevated the language into hacker lore. Suddenly, mastering Chinese programming was a rite of passage. More and more hackers entered the underground scene by using it to write new, undetectable malware. Each virus written in Chinese characters was like a fresh mutation to traditional systems. Despite the emergence of anti-virus programs tailored for the language, the arms race continued.
With cyber threats on the rise, companies had grown increasingly concerned about data security. That's why the Termite System—advertised as immune to nearly all virus attacks—became the go-to choice for enterprise clients. Nobody wanted sensitive files stolen or intellectual property wiped out due to a hacking incident. When compared to the cost of a breach, investing in the Termite System was a no-brainer.
All this only fueled the growth of the corporate office division—a steady, long-term source of income for Marching Ants, unlike the explosive short-term revenue from seismograph sales.
As the Termite System became more prevalent, the Chinese Programming Department took on the critical task of expanding and strengthening its ecosystem.
Under Wei Zhe's leadership, the department thrived—thanks in part to its unique team culture.
"Boss, why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Wei Zhe asked with a mix of excitement and nervousness.
Ever since Chen Mo recruited him, Wei Zhe had felt like a prized warhorse given free rein. And today, that very Bole had appeared in person.
"It was a last-minute decision," Chen Mo said casually.
He looked around the room. The department was organized into three teams, each with about ten members. They operated in a structured competition—cooperating and challenging one another simultaneously. Friend and rival. This healthy tension encouraged innovation, exactly the kind of energy the company wanted.
"You all look very focused. Having a meeting?" Chen Mo asked.
"Just discussing some technical issues," Wei Zhe replied.
In this department, Wei Zhe had adopted an open exchange model—akin to a tech symposium. During these sessions, team members shared insights into Chinese programming, debated best practices, and even traded code snippets. The language was still evolving, and every insight mattered.
To further encourage engagement, the department had a clever incentive system. Teams were rewarded for asking good technical questions or solving others' problems. Points were tallied, and bonuses awarded accordingly. But every question or answer had to pass a usefulness review.
This system cultivated a culture of deep learning and collaboration. Under Wei Zhe's guidance—despite his lack of traditional management experience—the department flourished. Even Zhao Min had chosen to leave things in his hands.
Chen Mo nodded in satisfaction. "I can see everyone's making good progress. Your department has the deepest understanding of Chinese character programming in the entire company. I trust you've all realized by now how powerful this language is. I place a great deal of importance on your work."
That alone was enough to electrify the room. It was rare to hear Chen Mo personally praise a department—most had never experienced it before.
"And today," Chen Mo added, turning slightly, "I've brought you a new colleague."
He gestured to the young girl beside him.
"This is Lin Shu. She's quite talented and already proficient in Chinese programming."
Everyone looked toward Lin Shu with curiosity. She didn't look like a new hire at all—her face was youthful, her clothes modest. She seemed more like a university student than a developer.
Lin Shu, clearly nervous, took a small step forward.
"Hello everyone. My name is Lin Shu. I just graduated from high school," she said, her voice clear but tentative.
The room fell silent for a moment. A high school graduate? Recruited by Chen Mo himself?
Some raised their brows, others exchanged subtle glances. It was hard not to suspect some sort of special relationship. After all, who brings a teenager into a top-tier programming department?
"She'll be working under Wei Zhe," Chen Mo said.
Wei Zhe nodded and turned to Lin Shu.
"Welcome aboard."
"You'll be studying and working here," Chen Mo added, turning to Lin Shu briefly. Then he looked back to Wei Zhe. "Help her get oriented and assign her tasks when she's ready."
Just as he turned to leave, Chen Mo paused and looked over his shoulder.
"Oh, one more thing," he added. "She's the creator of the Jiangnan Virus—the prototype to the Clown Virus. Our current Termite anti-virus software evolved from her original code. Don't underestimate her just because she's young."
Gasps rippled through the room. Eyes widened. A few even sucked in a breath.
The Clown Virus was infamous in the tech world. Anyone in this department knew exactly how groundbreaking—and dangerous—it had been. And now they learned the girl standing quietly among them had created its predecessor?
Suddenly, no one doubted her qualifications.
Many who thought of themselves as "genius-level" were shaken.
Wei Zhe recovered quickly.
"Lin Shu, you'll start as my assistant. Once you're familiar with the company and our projects, we'll plan the next steps," he said.
"Thank you," Lin Shu replied, her face lighting up. "I'm really happy to meet all of you."
"Alright then, welcome aboard," Wei Zhe said, leading the team in light applause. "Now, let's continue our discussion—and Lin Xiaomei, you're part of it now."
Back in his office, Chen Mo sipped tea handed to him by the robot assistant.
Lin Shu was a rare talent. No one had taught her. She'd taught herself programming, developed smart code on her own, and even produced a working virus prototype. That alone proved her potential.
With proper training, her future would be limitless. Chen Mo hoped she would become one of the key talents in the company's future.
Just as he was about to don his lab coat and return to his research, Xiao Yu entered the office.
She handed him a sleek envelope.
"A week from now, Binhai City is holding a cocktail party. CEOs and prominent entrepreneurs from all over the province will be attending. Here's your invitation."
"A business chamber reception?" Chen Mo took the invitation, glanced over it, and nodded thoughtfully.
"Alright. Let's go see what it's about."