cafes

The warning note, marked with claw marks, drifted into Vienna's rich academic atmosphere like an untimely fallen leaf. Shen Zhiyan folded it in half expressionlessly and tucked it into his suit pocket, the movement as natural as if he were simply putting away an ordinary business card. But Jiang Mo caught a fleeting glimpse of coldness in his eyes.

“Irrelevant noise.” On the way to the next breakout session, he whispered to her, his tone calm but with an undeniable certainty, “The interference has been recorded and will not affect the main program.”

His composure acted like an invisible barrier, shutting out any external malice. Jiang Mo nodded, asking no further questions, and refocused her attention on the tightly packed forum agenda. However, the faint claw mark, like a tiny thorn, seeped deep into her consciousness.

The daytime agenda concluded amidst a flurry of intellectual exchange. In the evening, as arranged by the forum, an informal exchange was held in an old café near the University of Vienna. The café had an arched ceiling, dark wooden walls adorned with faded oil paintings, and the air was filled with the mingled aromas of freshly ground coffee and old paper. Scholars gathered in small groups, their voices low yet enthusiastic as they conversed.

Shen Zhiyan and Jiang Mo had only intended to stay briefly, but they were surrounded by several young scholars who showed great interest in their research. The questions ranged from technical details to ethical considerations, and then to the practical difficulties of interdisciplinary collaboration. The discussion deepened, and the atmosphere became increasingly lively. They talked from the dimly lit indoor space all the way to the outdoor seating area set up outside the café. In the cool Viennese night air, sparks of thought continued to fly.

A postdoctoral researcher from Caltech raised a pointed question about how affective computing models can distinguish between sincerity and performance. This question touches upon Jiang Mo's professional field as an actress and is also related to the core algorithm of the Shen Zhiyan model.

Shen Zhiyan was deep in thought, seemingly retrieving the most precise mathematical model from his mind. However, instead of immediately providing a complex formula, he asked the waiter for a stiff napkin to place under his coffee cup. Under the curious gazes of the surrounding scholars, he pulled out his ever-present black ballpoint pen and began sketching rapidly on the rough paper.

He wasn't writing a formula, but rather drawing an extremely concise yet profoundly meaningful diagram—a smooth, undulating curve representing "genuine emotional expression," intertwined and contrasted with a curve representing "deliberate performance," which, while seemingly similar, has subtle "breaks" and "repetitive patterns" in its internal structure.

“Look here,” he pointed with the tip of his pen to several barely noticeable nodes inside the performance curve, “Even the most exquisite performance will leave unnatural ‘stitching marks’ at the microscopic level of physiological signals, especially in the coordination of multiple signal sources. Just like the most perfect bionic skin, the underlying mechanical structure still cannot completely simulate the organic linkage of flesh and blood.” He raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the postdoctoral fellow who had asked the question, and finally landing on Jiang Mo, with a questioning look, “This requires a deep understanding of the essence of ‘performance’ to design a more effective recognition filter.”

His explanation was intuitive and profound, transforming abstract algorithmic problems into a perceptible and understandable image. The surrounding scholars let out quiet gasps of amazement.

Jiang Mo immediately understood and took over the conversation, adding from a performer's perspective: "Yes. When actors get into character, they pursue an 'organic belief,' allowing emotions to arise naturally from within. But deliberate acting, no matter how realistic, is often driven by 'external instructions' or 'pattern imitation,' leaving subtle, unnatural 'calculation marks' in the rhythm of emotion's initiation, transformation, and fading." She gently touched the "break" in the performance curve on the napkin with her finger. "Dr. Shen's model might be searching for these rhythms that belong to 'humans,' rather than 'programs.'"

Their explanations, one starting from mathematical logic and the other from humanistic experience, intertwined like lines of latitude and longitude, perfectly illustrating the true meaning of their cross-disciplinary collaboration—not a simple superposition, but a profound mutual verification and inspiration.

This impromptu discussion, which took place in the cafe's outdoor seating area, lasted for nearly two hours, attracting more and more listeners. No one remembered the initial warning note anymore; the joy of thinking and the passion for exploration became the sole focus.

As the discussion drew to a close, an elderly man with white hair and beard, who had been sitting quietly in a corner, slowly approached. He was simply dressed, but his eyes were gentle and wise. Jiang Mo recognized him as Professor Helmut Wagner, the Nobel Prize laureate in Physics who had given the keynote speech at the opening session that morning.

Professor Wagner picked up the densely drawn napkin, examined it carefully for a moment, and a gentle smile appeared on his face. "A very brilliant 'proof'," he said, looking at Shen Zhiyan and Jiang Mo, his voice calm yet powerful, "not only on paper, but also in your collaborative model. Science and art are the two legs by which humanity understands the world; neglecting either one will prevent us from going far."

He paused, took out a business card from his pocket, and handed it to Shen Zhiyan: "I have a small seminar at the EPFL (École Polytechnique Fédérale de Lausanne) on 'Complex Systems and the Boundaries of Cognition.' If you have time, you are welcome to come and exchange ideas. I am very interested in your 'whole-brain' research model."

This sudden appreciation was like a ray of light illuminating the Viennese night. Shen Zhiyan solemnly accepted the business card, a rare hint of emotion showing on his usually calm face: "Thank you very much, Professor Wagner. We will seriously consider it."

After bidding farewell to Professor Wagner and the scholars who were still eager to continue their conversation, the two strolled slowly back to their hotel along the cobblestone path. A night breeze brushed their faces, carrying the unique chill of a foreign land. The buildings lining the street appeared tranquil and solemn under the streetlights.

“That napkin,” Jiang Mo suddenly chuckled, “is probably the most unique ‘paper’ you’ve ever written.”

“The efficiency of information transmission is sometimes inversely proportional to the form of the medium,” Shen Zhiyan replied, his tone devoid of emotion, but his pace noticeably slowed, keeping pace with hers. After a moment of silence, he suddenly asked, “The Spanish word you mentioned earlier, ‘Sobremesa’… what kind of emotional state does it specifically refer to?”

Jiang Mo was somewhat surprised that he would ask about this. After thinking for a moment, she explained seriously, "It's not just 'on the table' literally. It's more like... a comfortable space where time seems to slow down, the conversation itself is more important than the food, and emotions flow naturally between people. It's hard to define precisely, but you can clearly feel it when you're in it."

“It’s a fuzzy set,” Shen Zhiyan said thoughtfully, “but its membership function can be approximated by variables such as the participants’ pleasure level, attention duration, and depth of the topic.”

Jiang Mo was amused by his typical "Shen-style interpretation": "Look, you're trying to quantify it again."

“Understanding is the prerequisite for quantification.” He stopped and stood under the glow of a retro street lamp, turning to look at her. “Just like understanding you is an important step for me to reconstruct my own cognitive model.”

His words remained within a rational framework, yet the underlying meaning seemed to warm the surrounding air. The streetlights refracted through his glasses, casting dappled light that obscured his true emotions, but conveyed a palpable focus.

Back in her hotel room, Jiang Mo's emotions were still slightly stirred by the evening's gains and those last words. She opened her laptop to check her emails, but a strange, encrypted message popped up in the lower right corner of the screen. The window's background was pure black, with only one line of white text flashing continuously:

"Claw marks are not a warning, but a marker. You have been placed on a 'watch list'."

At the end of the message, there was no signature, only a dynamically rotating, clearer, and more complex 3D model of bird claw marks.