A New Beginning: The Tech Collaboration Platform

Jiang Chen’s words struck a fresh pang of sorrow in Li Yanze’s heart.

“I… I’m clumsy with words and not very articulate. Beyond a bit of coding, I don’t possess any remarkable strengths. To be selected for your team, I honestly feel… undeserving, so I… I can only…”

“Constantly ingratiate yourself with others?”

Zhou Yi gazed at his slumped shoulders, her voice soft as she completed his unfinished thought: “So you desperately adopt a subservient demeanor to gain a sense of security, concealing your true self, is that it?”

Li Yanze’s breath hitched, the color draining from his face by degrees.

In a daze, he felt himself transported back to the living room where he’d never dared to lift his head, his father’s incessant roars echoing in his ears.

“I don’t want to be like this… but I can’t control it…” He clutched the hem of his clothes, his voice trembling. “Since I was little, I’ve been terrified—terrified of making mistakes, of being disliked. My dad always called me useless, yet I was always trying my absolute hardest…”

These heartfelt words, buried deep within him for years, finally burst forth, carrying the tremor of long-suppressed anguish.

“I don’t want to make anyone angry… I’m afraid you…” He choked on his final words, barely able to utter, “…will abandon me…”

Jiang Chen gazed at the young man before him, a boy who had cloaked himself in humility, and a sudden tightness constricted his chest.

He reached out, pressing a hand onto Li Yanze’s subtly trembling shoulder. “Listen,” he said, “in this team, we value your ability and admire your dedication… never how adept you are at pleasing others.”

Zhou Yi slipped a tissue into his trembling palm. “Your hands were born for creation,” she stated, “not for serving coffee, nor for helping others with their homework.”

She gazed at his tear-streaked face. “You must first learn to truly love yourself,” she continued, “believe that you are worthy of affection, and learn to recognize the inherent value within yourself.”

“When you truly grow strong,” she concluded, “you won’t have to fear being disliked, nor worry about being abandoned.”

‘Love… love myself?’

Li Yanze lifted his head, and through his tear-blurred vision, he perceived two pairs of eyes brimming with warmth.

Though he still didn’t comprehend how to love himself, the shackles that had bound him for years were, with every breath, gradually loosening their grip.

He sniffed, his nose red, then haphazardly wiped his face with the tissue. “But this project…” he began.

“The project can be restarted,” Jiang Chen declared, directly rotating his laptop to face Li Yanze. “But can you now sit still and focus on writing code? If you keep fidgeting like this, I’ll be completely disoriented.”

Li Yanze nodded vigorously, quickly settling back into his chair as if granted a grand reprieve.

From beside them, Zhou Yi’s eyes suddenly lit up at the mention of “restart.”

“Ah, I’ve got it…” A cunning arc lifted the corners of her lips.

“If we can build a complete project from scratch in three days,” she stated, “then we can certainly craft an even better one in another three.”

“What about the original project then…?”

“Abandon it,” Zhou Yi declared, her tone decisive.

Li Yanze’s eyes widened. “What?” he exclaimed. “Won’t all that effort be for naught?!”

Jiang Chen observed the determined expression on Zhou Yi’s face. After a brief moment of contemplation, a flash of understanding ignited in his eyes. “She’s right,” he affirmed. “We must continue gathering evidence, but the original project is no longer viable. We need to start from scratch, embarking on an entirely new endeavor.”

Zhou Yi snapped her fingers. “Precisely,” she declared. “Rather than patching up a sinking ship, we should build a rocket from scratch. Since we’re starting anew,”

She swept her gaze over the two of them, her eyes ablaze with renewed determination. “Then let’s create a masterpiece that will captivate the judges, leaving them utterly spellbound.”

“But with only three days remaining until the deadline, how could that possibly be achieved?”

“I understand the difficulty,” she conceded, “but with unwavering conviction, no obstacle is insurmountable.”

“But what *can* we do?” a voice interjected. “I know nothing but how to write code…”

“Wait!” Zhou Yi’s eyes suddenly gleamed. She lifted her head, fixing her gaze on Li Yanze. “You just said… you can’t do anything but write code?”

Li Yanze felt a prickle of unease under her suddenly brilliant gaze. He instinctively recoiled, his neck shrinking slightly, and stammered, “Uh… yes… that’s right…”

The corners of Zhou Yi’s mouth curved upward uncontrollably, as a clear, explosive idea detonated in her mind.

“Perfect! This is precisely what we need!”

She quickly settled back before the computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard with astonishing speed. The screen’s glow illuminated her animated face.

“Since they stole the part-time job guarantee platform, we’ll do the exact opposite!” Her words tumbled out rapidly, her eyes gleaming with fervent excitement,

“We’ll develop a more precise, more specialized… a skill collaboration platform designed exclusively for tech professionals!”

Jiang Chen raised an eyebrow. “A tech professional skill collaboration platform?” he echoed.

“Precisely,” Zhou Yi affirmed, her fingers still dancing across the keyboard as she explained.

“It will allow individuals like Li Yanze—those with robust professional skills who might not excel at self-expression or social interaction—to leverage this platform. They can purely let their technical prowess speak for itself, utilizing their greatest strengths to acquire the skills, resources, or connections they require.”

Jiang Chen instantly grasped her intention. A knowing, battle-ready curve formed on his lips as he tacitly picked up her train of thought. “No reliance on connections, no consideration of background,” he articulated. “We’ll connect the world through sheer capability.”

A fervent fire burned in Zhou Yi’s eyes. “They’ll never imagine that we’d dare to switch tracks and restart within such a compressed timeframe.”

As he spoke, Jiang Chen also opened his laptop and began architecting the new system. Still, he couldn’t help but voice a concern: “Three days… will that truly be enough time for us to construct a minimum viable product?”

“Enough!” Li Yanze declared, straightening his back and responding with a newfound vigor. His voice carried a long-lost confidence. “This time, I’ll be even more meticulous, pouring every ounce of my primordial strength into it…”

As he spoke, he abruptly paused, realizing his two teammates were gazing at him, their expressions softened with smiles.

In that moment, he finally understood: he was no longer merely a shadow, forever seeking to appease others. He was now truly standing on his own battlefield, ready to fight.

****

Three days later.

Zhou Yi’s fingertips hovered above the mouse for a brief moment, as if gathering the entirety of seventy-two hours’ worth of dedication and unwavering belief. Finally, with a solemn resolve, she pressed the send button.

The soft chime of a successfully sent email echoed through the hushed corner of the library.

Success or failure, it all hinged on this single, decisive action.

Almost in the same instant the email confirmed its delivery, the tension that had strung them taut for three days and nights abruptly snapped.

The dual exhaustion of mind and body surged over them like an inescapable tide. All three simultaneously collapsed into their seats.

Zhou Yi felt as though all her strength had been utterly drained. She sank softly into her chair, letting out a long, weary sigh. “I can’t go on,” she murmured. “I officially declare myself in hibernation mode. If anyone dares to disturb me, I swear I’ll snap… I intend to sleep until the end of time itself…”

For these past three days, they had barely afforded themselves any proper rest.

Their days were spent crafting proposals, their nights debugging code, integrating modules, and refining presentations. Each of them had pushed through, powered by caffeine and an unyielding, competitive drive.

Jiang Chen gazed at her, a figure almost melting into the chair, and couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh.

Within that laugh lay a hint of indulgence, alongside an ineffable sense of pride.

He found himself instinctively reaching out, gently brushing the stray strands of hair that had fallen onto her forehead behind her ear, his words carrying a tenderness he himself hadn’t even noticed:

“Alright, go home and get some good rest.”