Chapter 211: The First Step of Artificial Intelligence! New Year

Qipan Street, at the alley entrance with white walls and black-tiled roofs.

A branch of yellow plum blossoms stretched over the low wall, hanging above Wang Ziyan's head, filling the air with a faint floral scent.

Chen Yansen's reply was crude and blunt, yet carried a hint of familiarity.

"Talk so rough, you must not have a girlfriend," Wang Ziyan said firmly, lips downturned, her face clearly reading "unhappy."

"Brat, what do you know? Here, take it—the top-spec Orange C2."

Chen Yansen snorted, pulling a palm-sized packaged box from his bag and tossing it to her.

"Thank you, Brother Yansen. Wishing you a monthly income of ten million. Mom and Dad and my brother are all home—just go straight over."

Wang Ziyan's eyes curved into crescents as she smiled.

Ten million a month?

Who are you cursing?

Chen Yansen's face darkened, reaching out to snatch the gift back.

Wang Ziyan dodged backward, then darted forward, leaving only a fiery red silhouette and a clear, bell-like laugh.

This girl has grown up a lot!

Chen Yansen smiled faintly, silently evaluating in his mind.

He continued walking down the uneven cobblestone path deeper into the alley.

Soon he saw a bare locust tree standing stark in the cold wind, beside it a persimmon tree.

The gate to Wang Zihao's courtyard stood open; even through the door, he could hear muffled sounds from inside.

Chen Yansen didn't greet anyone, stepped in, pushed open the door, and saw a large eight-legged table in the living room. Wang Zhanjun and Wang Zihao were setting out bowls and chopsticks, while Wen Shumei, apron tied, emerged from the kitchen carrying a bowl of chicken dumpling soup.

"Huh? Xiao Sen, what are you doing here?" Wen Shumei paused, then beamed, quickly setting the dish down, wiping her hands on her apron, and pulling Chen Yansen to sit.

"Seng, stay for dinner tonight," Wang Zihao suggested.

"No, I just came to see Uncle Wang and Aunt Wen. I've reserved New Year's Eve dinner at Ju Hong Sheng—I have to eat with Old Chen."

Chen Yansen waved him off, declining outright.

Wang Zihao understood—it wouldn't do to let Uncle Chen spend New Year's Eve alone.

"Old Chen's cooking still hasn't improved, I see."

Wang Zhanjun teased as he brewed tea for Chen Yansen.

He remembered how, as a child, Chen Yansen's mouth was always sweet as honey, constantly praising Wen Shumei: "Aunt Wen, your food is so delicious—can I come again tomorrow?"

The couple exchanged glances, thinking the boy had become addicted to free meals—until they learned Chen Yansen ate all three meals daily at fast-food joints.

First, the father-son relationship was tense; second, Chen Guobin's cooking was truly terrible.

He'd been mooching meals like this for six or seven years!

Later, when Chen Guobin found out, he wanted to pay Wang Zhanjun monthly for Chen Yansen's meals.

But Wang Zhanjun saw it as merely adding one more pair of chopsticks—Chen Yansen and Wang Zihao had been inseparable since childhood. Once money entered, the bond would turn sour.

At first, Wen Shumei wasn't happy—teenage boys could drain a household dry. Chen Yansen might be small, but his appetite was huge.

But after Wang Zihao went to college and started a business with Chen Yansen, the faint resentment buried in her heart vanished completely.

Now her son was a director at Pinbei, managing over ten subordinates, earning fifty to sixty thousand a month, plus four quarterly bonuses—easily over a million a year.

Wen Shumei knew clearly: this was all thanks to Chen Yansen.

"Uncle Wang, Aunt Wen, I brought some new company products—I need you to help me vet them."

Chen Yansen placed the gift bag on the table, speaking with exaggerated seriousness.

"You're getting slicker by the day. Just give the gift—you think I'd dare refuse?"

Wang Zhanjun shook his head, not playing polite at all, pulling out two phones, a lighter, and a box of cosmetics from the bag.

Wen Shumei instinctively tried to refuse, but Wang Zhanjun shot her a glare; she sighed helplessly, accepted the new phone and cosmetics, and thanked Chen Yansen: "Xiao Sen, you must come tomorrow—Aunt Wen will make you beef hotpot."

Wang Zhanjun casually slipped the lighter into his pocket, never imagining this most unassuming item cost 18, 00 yuan.

At that moment, Wang Ziyan walked in carrying a bag of solid alcohol fuel.

"Uncle Wang, it's getting late—I'll head home now," Chen Yansen said, rising to take his leave.

In Chunshen, New Year's Eve dinners usually began around five or six p. .; after eating, adults played mahjong, kids went out to set off fireworks.

He also realized: if not for the missing fuel for the small hotpot, Wang's family might've already finished half their dinner.

Wang Zhanjun gave a slight nod, not bothering with false politeness, directly telling Wang Zihao to see Chen Yansen out.

"Seng, I booked a KTV room tonight—just my big sister and six high school classmates. Want to join?"

At the alley entrance, Wang Zihao asked.

"No thanks, you guys have fun," Chen Yansen waved, sliding into the back of the Bentley and telling Xiao Li to drive first to the Yanye Company's residential compound to pick up Old Chen.

Sitting in the car, Chen Yansen recalled his past life: every New Year's Eve, he'd barely call Old Chen once.

Then he'd randomly pick a female friend to spend the Spring Festival with.

The silver Bentley sped through the night toward Xicheng.

Meanwhile.

In Luzhou, Kuai Pao riders still weaved through streets and alleys, rushing to deliver meals.

As Spring Festival neared, the marketing team launched a special New Year's Eve campaign; most participating restaurants were chains, yet the results were unexpectedly phenomenal.

Originally, only 200 riders were scheduled to take orders—but before five p. ., every participating restaurant was overwhelmed.

In this city of over seven million, far more workers couldn't return home for the holiday than Pei Yi had imagined.

So Xia Xiangyu urgently recruited over a hundred more riders to ease the delivery pressure.

Li Zhou was one of them. He bundled himself tightly; though the night was cold, his heart burned hot.

Today's Kuai Pao riders received not only a 500-yuan overtime subsidy but also a series of order-boosting bonuses. He glanced at his phone screen: 37 orders, earnings of 592 yuan—average 16 yuan per order.

If he worked all night, he'd clear over a thousand yuan!

Li Zhou grinned, riding his electric scooter toward Luzhou TaiTai for pickup.

On the other side.

After eating New Year's Eve dinner with Old Chen, Chen Yansen had Xiao Li drop him off back at the neighborhood.

He then checked into a hotel, booked an executive suite on the top floor, stood before the glass wall, and called Song Yuncheng.

"You're not here—I can't sleep. What should I do?"

Chen Yansen smirked mischievously, whispering softly.

"Mr. Chen, you're such a grown man—haven't you learned to sleep alone yet?" Song Yuncheng retorted.

"Come over and keep me company," Chen Yansen cut straight to the point.

"I can't leave—I can't tell my aunt, 'On New Year's Eve, I'm going to my boss's room to report work,' can I?"

Song Yuncheng teased with a laugh.

"You're smart—you'll find an excuse. I'll wait for you at the hotel."

Chen Yansen hung up.

"Dududu—" Song Yuncheng listened to the dial tone, her face stiffening, teeth grinding with anger.

This guy had no sense of reason!

Luzhou and Chunshen were over a hundred kilometers apart—even on the highway, it took two hours.

But after thinking it over, she turned and entered the main room, saying to her aunt and uncle: "Han Xue invited me and a few classmates to play mahjong. If it ends too late, I'll sleep at her place."

Han Xue was Song Yuncheng's high school classmate—her aunt knew her well—but in her memory, Song Yuncheng rarely played mahjong, let alone stayed up all night.

Her aunt paused, sensing something odd, but said nothing—only warned: "It's cold outside—wear an extra layer, don't catch a chill."

Song Yuncheng exhaled deeply, grabbed her car keys, and stepped out.

"Xiao Cheng has changed so much," her aunt murmured, watching her back.

"Xiao Cheng's luck has turned—she's dating an outstanding boyfriend, only twenty, a CEO of an e-commerce company and a tech corporation, worth billions."

Her uncle sipped his tea and smiled in agreement.

"Xiao Cheng works hard too—she sold phone cards with Chen Yansen, traveled to meet clients—every deal was won by her own sweat."

Her aunt shot her husband a look and countered.

"Yes, yes, you're right," her uncle chuckled, not arguing.

Song Yuncheng stepped out, pressed the unlock button, and slid into the driver's seat of the Aston Martin Rapide.

Before the holiday, Chen Yansen had given her the keys, telling her to keep them for home use.

She hadn't understood his intent at first—but after driving the car back to Luzhou, she clearly sensed the change in relatives and friends.

In truth, Song Yuncheng felt bitter: four years ago, after her family's disaster, only her aunt cared for her and her brother; all other relatives avoided them like plague.

So even now that she'd earned money, she hadn't bought a single bottle of wine or pack of cigarettes to visit those "uncles, aunts, and cousins."

The highway at midnight was eerily empty—sometimes ten minutes passed without seeing a single car.

Before ten p. ., Song Yuncheng arrived in Chunshen.

"Master, come down and get me," Song Yuncheng said, parking and entering the hotel lobby.

Chen Yansen received the message, closed his laptop, and took the elevator down to the first floor.

"Did you miss me?" Song Yuncheng smiled, lips pursed, a blush rising on her pale cheeks.

"Guess," Chen Yansen replied calmly.

"You called, I came—can't you even say what I want to hear?"

Song Yuncheng pouted, gazing at Chen Yansen with pitiful eyes.

"Alright, got guts now—daring to make demands of your boss, huh?"

Chen Yansen raised his hand and tapped Song Yuncheng on the head.

Song Yuncheng immediately winced in pain—this damn guy had a hell of a punch.

"Chen the Skinflint," Song Yuncheng muttered under his breath.

"I'm taking you to meet my mom tomorrow," Chen Yansen said casually as he walked straight into the elevator.

Song Yuncheng hurried after him, unable to suppress the smile on her lips, and dared to ask, "Did Meng Jie go too?"

"Her? Of course not."

Chen Yansen spoke honestly.

"Mm, good," Song Yuncheng said, tugging on Chen Yansen's arm and nodding obediently.

Back in the room, Chen Yansen sat down at his desk and typed rapidly on the keyboard.

"What's this?" Song Yuncheng asked curiously.

"It's a code framework for a speech recognition tool. I plan to embed a smart voice assistant in the next generation of Orange phones."

Chen Yansen replied.

"Like Siri?" Song Yuncheng asked from the edge of the bed.

"Something like that, but I think CMUSphinx is terrible—low accuracy, inefficient training, no visual interface. That's why I'm building my own."

As Chen Yansen spoke, his fingers never stopped moving.

Seeing Song Yuncheng's confused expression, he added, "CMUSphinx is an open-source speech recognition tool used mainly for processing speech and text data."

"You know so much," Song Yuncheng said, a flicker of admiration in her eyes.

"The more knowledge, the better," Chen Yansen smiled, quickly finishing the model architecture design, then closed his laptop and picked up Song Yuncheng, carrying her toward the bathroom.

The next morning.

Chen Yansen took Song Yuncheng to Beishan.

"So your mom was this beautiful—but Chen Uncle…" Song Yuncheng bowed respectfully before the incense, then stared at Liang Huizhen's photo, puzzled.

"When Old Chen was young, he had a bit of my charm. Now he's old, slovenly, always looking worn-out and lazy."

Chen Yansen laughed.

"No wonder Uncle Chen used to kick you all the time as a kid—I bet every kick had a reason," Song Yuncheng giggled, covering her mouth.

Chen Yansen rolled his eyes, ignoring her, and silently asked the tombstone: "Mom, what do you think of her? If you approve, give your son a dream."

Song Yuncheng stayed in Chunshen until ten, then rushed straight back to Lujiang.

For the next few days, Chen Yansen stayed holed up in the hotel, refining the acoustic, convolutional neural network, deep neural network, and recurrent neural network models for the speech recognition tool.

He only built the framework; the detailed work would be handed over to graduates from Huake University, Luzhou Industry, and Hui'an Industrial University.

Usually, one person couldn't complete a speech recognition tool alone—it required mastery of both speech signal processing and programming languages and algorithmic models.

But Chen Yansen had long accumulated vast technical reserves; what others saw as a complex, highly integrated R&D task was, to him, merely beginner-level.

By January 27th, the speech recognition tool named "Yuxi" had completed its overall framework.

But it was still a long way from going live.

The core function of any speech recognition tool is converting speech signals into text—but that requires massive data support.

To recognize speech from different genders, ages, dialects, speaking speeds, and environments, you need vast amounts of audio data, accurately labeled with text, before training can even begin.

Right now, "Yuxi" was just an empty shell.

(End of Chapter)