Chapter 40: 039 Take Your Time Looking—Don

People with IQs over 150 exploded in outrage.

Among them, “Eat Seven and a Half Bowls” was a Ph.D. candidate at Yanjing University, and “Hear Men Tell Ghost Stories” was a graduate student at MIT—both highly skilled, especially in modeling—but their models were mercilessly mocked by this 211 undergraduate; how could they not be angry?

Someone immediately shouted back in protest, and “Eat Seven and a Half Bowls” directly @ed Fang Qingye—but Fang Qingye had blocked the group and couldn’t see it.

The Dongguan girl replied: “Husband, your analysis makes perfect sense—I agree completely—but they don’t seem to accept what you said.”

“Did you copy our conversation into the group?!” Fang Qingye realized instantly.

“Of course, we were discussing it... Don’t worry, I won’t publicize our love talk—it’s our secret.”

Love talk, your ass.

Who the hell are you talking to about love talk?!

Fang Qingye ignored her remark and simply replied: “Whether they accept it or not—what does it matter to me?”

“Husband, don’t you want to prove you’re better than them? That your IQ is higher? That they’ll feel tiny next to your greatness?!”

Seeing the message from the Dongguan girl, Fang Qingye smiled.

This baiting tactic...

Only someone with an IQ of 250 could come up with it.

He thought for a moment, then typed back.

“I can build the model—but you’ve got to pay extra.”

“How much?”

“At least five hundred thousand.”

The other side paused for several seconds before replying.

“Fine, but I have conditions.”

“What conditions?”

“The model must be better than theirs—and it must be done by this time tomorrow.”

“No problem. Wait for me—I’m starting now,” Fang Qingye replied.

“Now? How long will it take?”

“By quitting time,” Fang Qingye said, glancing at his phone—the clock showed two hours left until dismissal.

“OK! Deal. Burn, Pikachu!”

Fang Qingye was about to log off when he suddenly remembered something and typed again.

“Did you copy our conversation again into the group?”

“Of course—I want them to see what my husband can do! Meteor strike incoming—watch closely!”

Fang Qingye smiled faintly, said nothing more, and put down his phone.

At that moment, the group was in chaos.

“What’s he capable of? Building a model in two hours—and better than ours?”

“He’s bluffing! If he had this skill, Shanghai’s Citibank and Morgan Stanley would be lining up to hire him!”

The Dongguan girl surprisingly didn’t defend Fang Qingye.

Perhaps she thought he was bluffing too.

Fang Qingye naturally couldn’t see the group’s messages—he was already building the model.

He knew logically, under normal circumstances, it was impossible to construct such a complex, high-demand mathematical model in two hours.

But...

I’m a reincarnated man.

What was the most powerful thing ten years from now?

AI.

Before his rebirth, Fang Qingye had already built a similar model using DeepSeek, which had just been released in China.

What humans strained over, AI handled effortlessly.

Fang Qingye typed rapidly, recalling memory, humming softly the summer’s most popular song:

I write poems for you, I pause for you,

I do the impossible for you,

I play every line of every love song for you.

Huh...

If I get rich someday, shall we build our own AI model?

Why build one myself? Just recruit Liang Wenheng from DeepSeek directly...

Fang Qingye was typing enthusiastically when a faint fragrance drifted beside him—he hadn’t noticed Cao Ting standing there, curiously watching his screen.

“Little Fang, who are you writing poems for?”

“No one. Just building a model,” Fang Qingye instinctively shifted away.

Cao Ting looked disappointed.

She’d truly thought he was writing poems for some girl.

She didn’t understand or care about modeling, but still offered a few words of encouragement.

“Nice. Why are you writing this?”

“Helping a friend out. Just messing around,” Fang Qingye replied casually.

“It’s definitely a guy, right? No girl likes this stuff,” Cao Ting added.

Not necessarily.

The Dongguan girl likes it.

At this point, Fang Qingye was certain the Dongguan girl was a girl—whether she was a dragon or not, that was another matter.

Of course, he had no reason to say it aloud.

Cao Ting glanced at the screen, found it dull, and returned to her desk to play on her phone. Fang Qingye continued building his model.

An hour and a half later, a brand-new credit risk assessment scorecard model was complete, using logistic regression.

[y=f(x;heta)=\frac{1}{1+e^{-(heta_0+heta_1x_1+heta_2x_2+\ldots+heta_nx_n)}}]

where y represents the output (credit risk),

x represents the input features (customer data),

θ represents the model parameters, f represents the model function.

Fang Qingye carefully checked the formula for accuracy, then input the data provided by the Dongguan girl—the results were satisfying, with minor deviations but far superior to the two 250 IQ models.

Done!

Fang Qingye checked his watch—exactly two hours.

He didn’t hesitate—he immediately logged onto QQ and sent the Dongguan girl a message: “I’ve finished. Sending it now.”

“Really????”

A string of question marks.

Fang Qingye said nothing more and sent the file immediately.

“There. Take your time reviewing—don’t forget to pay!”

After speaking, Fang Qingye logged off—she had already finished work, Cao Ting had left, so why was she still sitting in the office?

He tidied his desk, locked the office door, walked to the bike shed, mounted his little scooter, and slowly rode home.

He didn’t know the group of people with IQs over 150 had exploded.

The Dongguan girl hadn’t even looked at the model—she’d posted it directly into the QQ group space and @ed everyone:

“This is the model my husband built in two hours—come take a look.”

Someone immediately replied:

“Build a model in two hours? Pretty girl, don’t insult our intelligence—including yours.”

“OK! Pretty girl, don’t waste our time—we’re busy.”

“I suggest kicking this guy out—he’s dragging down our school’s prestige and our IQ levels!”

“Hey, are you afraid to look? Don’t just blab—watch it first, then talk!”

The Dongguan girl erupted, firing off a blunt message.

The group fell silent.

Ten minutes passed.

Twenty minutes passed.

An hour passed.

Still no one spoke.

“Hey, are you all mute? I’ve even brought back dinner—why’s no one saying anything? Did you even look?!” The Dongguan girl’s message reappeared on the screen.

Still silence below.

She didn’t know that in another group—private, excluding only her and Fang Qingye, the other thirteen members—messages kept flooding in.

“Seven Bowls, did you check it? I think this model is better than yours.”

“I’m studying it—don’t nag,” came the curt reply.

“Hey, Senior, you’re the best modeler in our group—what do you think?” someone @ed “Hear Men Tell Ghost Stories.”

After a long pause, the reply came: “I’ve reviewed it. It’s definitely better than Seven Bowls’s. I’m starting to doubt.”

“Doubt what?”

Could the beautiful girl really be telling the truth? Could that East Sea swordsman really be nothing more than a bachelor’s graduate from Shanghai Finance? With his modeling speed and skill, even I, a full-fledged Peking University PhD, can’t match him—how could he be just an ordinary clerk at a grassroots bank?

When the man typed out that nonsense, the group fell silent for a moment.

After a while, “UglyEnoughToSlowTheNet” replied: “The beautiful girl and I went to the same school. I saw her at the cafeteria recently and asked her about this—she said the East Sea swordsman really did graduate with a bachelor’s from Shanghai Finance, and his transfer address is a grassroots bank somewhere in Jiangsu Province.”

“What’s his name?”

“Fang Qingye”