The screen glowed in the dark room, lines of code racing upward like digital vines.
Chen Mo's fingers moved faster, more confidently, as the final pieces fell into place. His brow furrowed, then relaxed.
Click. Run.
He exhaled.
Lines executed. No errors.
A smile tugged at his lips.
Then—he laughed. The kind of laugh that only comes from finishing something truly difficult. Something that cost time, brainpower, and possibly sanity.
After half a month of near-madness—coding all day, training in the gym, and absorbing ridiculous amounts of programming theory from the tech library—it was done.
His own smartphone operating system.
Technically, it had been adapted from blueprints found in the Science and Technology Library. He'd modified the architecture, stripped away features that weren't usable in this world, and customized parts to suit his needs.
Shu Lao had helped, of course. That old AI—or consciousness, or whatever he really was—had provided key insights whenever Chen Mo hit a wall.
Chen Mo saved the project, pushed his chair back, and lay on the bed.
With a thought, he entered the tech library.
Bookshelves soared endlessly into the mist, and the air smelled like old paper and ozone. It was peaceful here—his sanctuary. A place where he listened to stories of other worlds before bed, or got advice from his strange yet affable guide.
"Shu Lao," he called.
A warm light flickered, and the familiar old man emerged from the dark red book, wearing the same kind smile as always.
"Finished, have we?"
Chen Mo nodded proudly. "The smartphone system's done. First version, at least."
"Excellent," Shu Lao said, genuinely pleased. "Faster than I anticipated. Will you be sharing it with the library?"
"Of course." Chen Mo didn't even hesitate. "The Library gave me this knowledge. Feels wrong not to give something back."
"Spoken like a true researcher," Shu Lao said with a twinkle in his eye. "However… since this system is based on pre-existing blueprints, you won't earn points or new tech for sharing it. It's considered a derivative work."
"Doesn't matter." Chen Mo shrugged. "What I've gained is already beyond measure."
Shu Lao's smile deepened. With a wave of his hand, a glowing curtain of light descended. Lines of code flowed across it like marching ants—dense, alive. They restructured themselves, then compressed into a book and zipped off into the depths of the library.
"Now then," Shu Lao continued, "while the core system wasn't your original invention, you did perform extensive modification. That's enough for us to offer you something: would you like the Library to optimize your system?"
Chen Mo's eyes lit up. "Do I look like someone who'd say no?"
Another gesture, another light curtain.
This time, the display was mesmerizing. Blocks of code rearranged themselves with surgical precision. Bugs disappeared, redundant code shrank, and new modules slotted in like puzzle pieces.
When the process ended, a freshly minted codebook floated down into Shu Lao's hands.
"Here. Optimized version."
Chen Mo chuckled. "What, no ceremony? I was expecting to knock myself out again."
"Do it yourself, and you'd be hospitalized. Let me."
With a light tap, Shu Lao pressed the book to Chen Mo's forehead. The knowledge flooded in.
It was staggering.
Before, his OS was a scrappy upstart—clever, functional, but flawed. Now? It was sleek. Powerful. Secure. Elegant. A match for Android and iOS, maybe even better.
The Marching Ant OS had officially leveled up.
Back in the real world, Chen Mo sat up and opened the old source code. Now, with his mind freshly loaded with optimization data, he began overhauling it.
It took hours, but the result was worth it.
After saving the final build, he picked up a brand-new China Micro M10 and began flashing the Marching Ant OS onto the device.
He named it after his soon-to-be company: Marching Ant Technology.
Ten minutes later, the phone vibrated. The screen flickered.
A cute, animated cartoon ant marched across the screen with a smug grin.
Boot time: 10 seconds.
Chen Mo raised an eyebrow. "Didn't expect that. Optimization's a beast."
He tested everything.
The UI was intuitive—unlike Android's clutter or Apple's rigidity, it struck a beautiful middle ground. Fluid, responsive. Within minutes, Chen Mo couldn't imagine using anything else.
Security-wise? Bulletproof. He'd even tried poking at it himself, half-jokingly thinking up viruses, but couldn't find a single crack.
The Marching Ant OS wasn't just viable—it was dominant.
With the M10 now running perfectly, Chen Mo backed everything up and packed the phone and files. He had somewhere important to be.
Earlier that morning, the agency he'd hired had called: his company registration was complete.
It was official.
"Mr. Chen Mo! Welcome!"
The receptionist at the agency stood up with a smile a little too wide and a gaze a little too focused. Her eyes sparkled with something between admiration and opportunity.
"You can collect your business license and all associated documents here," she said, handing him a neat folder.
Chen Mo checked through everything—business license, registration seal, official company name.
Marching Ant Technology Co., Ltd.
He grinned. "Perfect."
"Mr. Chen," the receptionist leaned closer, her voice lowering an octave, "I'm free this evening. Would you be interested in celebrating your new company over dinner?"
Her neckline dipped suspiciously lower than it had when he walked in.
Chen Mo blinked. "Tempting. But I already have a date."
He grabbed the documents, gave her a polite nod, and exited quickly.
Once outside, he exhaled. "Whew. Aggressive."
He looked down at the crisp company documents in his hands. The red seal shone faintly under the sunlight.
Marching Ant.
A name chosen not just for the software, but for the philosophy.
Small, tireless, and relentless.
His system would crawl into every phone, every pocket, every corner of the world—unstoppable, just like marching ants.
Next step?
Build the army.
He needed a manager. Someone capable of handling operations while he focused on research. But not just anyone—someone reliable. Someone who wouldn't betray him or buckle under pressure.
He was halfway down the block when a voice rang out behind him.
"Hey—handsome!"
He turned.
A magnetic, mature voice. The kind that hinted at trouble and opportunity in equal measure.
A woman stood behind him, sunglasses lowered, dressed sharply in professional heels and a tailored suit.
"You're the one who just registered Marching Ant, right? Got five minutes?"
Chen Mo raised an eyebrow.
The hunt for talent might be shorter than expected.