Chapter 311

Zhao Xing stood on the main stage of the International Education Equipment Expo, holding the dark‑blue smart uniform; the fabric gave off a faint matte sheen under the lights. The audience below was filled with judges and spectators from over a dozen countries, and a few foreigners in suits in the front rows were bent over their score sheets, their expressions as stern as if they were examining a military blueprint.

After the host finished announcing the winners, applause filled the hall. Zhao Xing stepped forward two steps, took the gold trophy; its metal base was cold and heavy. He was about to say a few words of thanks when the projection screen behind him suddenly popped up a red pop‑up window, and immediately his uniform began to sound "di—di—", a soft noise that was especially clear in the quiet hall.

Abnormal student heart rate detected; please regulate your emotions.

The audience fell silent for a moment, then someone began whispering. A judge with gold‑rimmed glasses frowned, murmured something to the person next to him; that person nodded and also wore a doubtful expression.

Zhao Xing didn't panic, lowered his eyes to look at the debug Terminal on his wrist; the Screen showed a set of real‑time data: heart rate 132, breathing a bit fast, blood oxygen normal. He glanced toward the side of the stage and indeed saw the student representative wearing the smart uniform sitting in the first row of the guest seats, face pale, hands gripping the armrests so tightly the knuckles turned white.

"Please wait a moment." Zhao Xing set the trophy aside, picked up the uniform and walked down the stage in a few strides, arriving in front of the student: "Li, are you nervous?"

The boy lifted his head, moved his lips, said nothing, only nodded.

Zhao Xing smiled, then casually opened the shared Projection on his Terminal; the big Screen immediately switched to show a cartoon heart beating rapidly, labeled "Current heart rate: 132 beats/minute", with a line below: "The system determines a mild anxiety state and has activated the soothing program."

"This isn't a malfunction." Zhao Xing told the crowd, "It's doing its job."

As his words fell, the inner side of the uniform's cuff gave a light vibration, and a soft voice played: "Please inhale slowly… three, two, one… now, exhale gently."

The boy followed the instructions twice, his shoulders gradually relaxing. The heart‑rate curve on the Screen began to slide smoothly down, dropping from 132 to 118, then to 105.

Some judges in the audience began to nod; the gold‑rimmed glasses skeptic who had doubted earlier took them off, wiped them, and when he put them back on the corners of his mouth twitched up slightly.

Zhao Xing lifted his Terminal a little higher: "We made this uniform not to monitor anyone or to scare people. It's like a silent friend that knows the moment you feel unwell."

After he finished, he turned back to the boy: "How about you come up? Tell everyone how it feels."

The boy hesitated, then with the help of a staffer stood up and slowly walked onto the stage. His steps were a bit unsteady, but when he reached the microphone he took a deep breath and said: "I… I really couldn't catch my breath just now. My mind was full of 'don't make a mistake,' and the more I thought, the more scared I got. But when the uniform vibrated and the voice sounded, I felt… someone was helping me."

He paused, lowered his hand to touch the sleeve: "It felt like someone lightly patted me and said, 'Don't be afraid, I'm here.'"

The audience fell silent for a few seconds, then applause began to rise, scattering at first then growing into a wave that nearly lifted the roof.

The gold‑rimmed‑glasses judge stood up to clap, and while clapping he told the person beside him, "This design is interesting."

Zhao Xing seized the moment to give a live demonstration of the uniform's core functions. He had the boy stand five meters away, press the "emergency call" button, and three seconds later the backstage monitoring system instantly popped up an alarm, while simultaneously sending location information and a distress signal to the preset contacts.

"When children from mountain schools Go Home at night, walking the mountain roads is prone to accidents." Zhao Xing pointed at the simulated route on the map and said, "Just press one button and teachers, parents, and the nearby police station will receive the news immediately."

He then pulled up a test video: a child having an asthma attack suddenly struggled to breathe at the school gate; the uniform detected dropping blood oxygen and irregular breathing, triggered an alert automatically, and via Bluetooth connected to nearby medical equipment to prepare the spray in advance.

"It can't cure disease," Zhao Xing said, "but it can buy time."

The judges began to ask questions one after another. A female judge asked bluntly: "If a child's heart beats fast just after running laps, will it also trigger an alarm? Won't that be too sensitive?"

"Yes," Zhao Xing answered bluntly, "but we'd rather have ten reminders with nine false alarms than miss one and regret it."

He paused and added: "Your building's downstairs fire hydrant usually sits idle, but when a fire really breaks out, whether it's there or not makes a huge difference."

The whole hall burst into laughter, even the sternest judge cracked a smile.

The interview area was set up around the exhibition hall's perimeter; a circle of reporters gathered, their microphones almost jabbing Zhao Xing's face. A young female reporter asked him: "Will this uniform become something schools force students to wear in the future? Can parents turn it off?"

Zhao Xing took out a module the size of a fingernail from his bag: "All data Permission belongs to parents and the school; by default the upload function is turned off at the factory. You can enable whichever features you want and disable them at any time. We haven't even built a cloud server."

After he finished, he stuck the module into the uniform's inner lining slot, gave it a light press, and the indicator light changed from red to green.

"Look, this is equivalent to locking it."

The reporters lowered their heads to take notes, and some had already started writing headlines: "A Uniform That 'Heartbeats'" and "Technology's Gentle Touchdown."

Zhao Xing stood before the camera, with the huge exhibition logo behind him; sunlight slanted in through the glass roof and fell on his shoulder. He didn't feel tired—in fact, the more he spoke, the more energized he became: "Actually, our earliest version could even measure body temperature. Later we found that sometimes a child's fever comes from being falsely accused of copying homework, feeling resentful inside. So we wondered, could we make it understand emotions too?"

He chuckled: "We haven't achieved that yet, but we have to take it step by step."

An old reporter asked: "What does this award mean to you?"

Zhao Xing thought for a moment, shook his head: "It's not about the award. It's about that boy just now—he dared to get on stage and speak. That's what I find worthwhile."

As his words fell, light Footsteps sounded from behind. The boy walked out holding the dark‑blue uniform, smiling, and waved at the camera on his own initiative.

"Can I wear it home?" he asked.

"Of course." Zhao Xing said, "You're the first official tester."

The boy put on the uniform, zipped it up to his chest, and stood straight. Zhao Xing looked at him and suddenly felt the uniform had truly come alive—not because it could alarm or locate, but because it made people feel less alone.

Outside the exhibition hall, a media interview vehicle was adjusting its antenna, preparing for a live link. Zhao Xing's name had already appeared in the push headlines of several major tech channels. Not far away, a staff member checked the list for the next schedule, muttering: "At three this afternoon, an education department representative wants to meet this young fellow to discuss the pilot promotion."

Zhao Xing didn't know any of this; he was bending over to help the boy straighten his collar when he noticed a line of tiny embroidery on the inner lining, visible only up close:

"Don't be afraid, I'm here."