Lugen and Standard Deviation
Jiang Mo's phone vibrated precisely at four o'clock in the morning.
It wasn't an alarm clock, but the 19th-century French gilded clock she'd bought at the auction house; its deep, resonant chime seemed to penetrate to the very core of one's being. Without opening her eyes, she walked barefoot across the warm, heated floor to the balcony.
Early winter in Beijing was shrouded in a layer of dove-gray leaden film, the city still asleep. She skillfully lit an incense stick and placed it in the incense holder on the edge of the flowerpot, the smoke curling and swirling in the crisp air. Then she squatted down, facing the lush green plant, and opened the worn-out copy of the Tao Te Ching lying on her lap.
"The Tao that can be told is not the eternal Tao..."
Her voice was hoarse, still groggy from just waking up. The ginger plant she called "Lu Gen" was thriving, its graceful stems and leaves spreading out like a miniature bamboo grove. Three months ago, she had hit rock bottom in her career and stumbled upon a mystical post on Xiaohongshu (a Chinese social media platform)—"Nourish ginger, call it Lu Gen, recite the *Tao Te Ching* daily to imbue it with spirit, and you can change your career fortune." She tried it almost desperately. The post said that once you started, you couldn't call it ginger anymore, and the recitation couldn't be interrupted; the lazy way was to only recite the first and last chapters, thus ensuring a beginning and an end.
She was so engrossed in her reading that she didn't notice an environmental monitoring device being tested on the roof of the building opposite, inadvertently pointing its lens at her balcony. Dozens of kilometers away, in the laboratory of the National Data Science Center, a set of abnormal data was quietly being added to a massive database.
Three hours later, Jiang Mo sat before her vanity mirror, like a piece of jade about to be meticulously sculpted. A foundation brush swept across her cheeks, concealing the traces of her light sleep the previous night. Her agent, Linda, leaned against the doorframe, her fingers flying across the tablet, speaking as rapidly as if she were broadcasting the news:
"Science Meets Art, the name itself doesn't seem to fit with you, Jiang Mo. But there's no way around it, after the brand contract termination turmoil, this is the first big production that's willing to take on. You have to wash away the labels of 'pretty face' and 'uncultured' in it, even if you have to pretend, you have to put on some intellectual beauty for me."
Jiang Mo looked at her in the mirror without saying a word. Intellectual beauty? She scoffed inwardly, but her face curved into an impeccable smile. Today, she had chosen a beige suit skirt, its clean lines perfectly accentuating her figure without being overly assertive.
“By the way, your partner,” Linda swiped the screen, “is Shen Zhiyan, thirty-two years old, the youngest researcher at the National Data Science Center, with a ton of titles. The production team wants you to show a cute, unexpected side that breaks down the barriers between dimensions, so tone down your star aura. If necessary, you can act… a little silly.”
"A little less clever?" Jiang Mo raised an eyebrow, picking up the expensive custom-made lipstick beside her. "This might be a bit too difficult for me."
Linda rolled her eyes at her: "Anyway, don't bring your worldly wisdom into this. She's a scientist, she's not from your world."
Meanwhile, on the third floor of the Data Science Center, in Shen Zhiyan's office.
It was less of an office and more of a well-organized storage room. Three walls were occupied by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crammed with books and folders. The only empty wall had a huge whiteboard covered with complex formulas and symbols. The air was filled with the faint aroma of coffee and old paper.
Shen Zhiyan, wearing a dark gray cashmere sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, was bent over organizing a document. His fingers were long and slender, and his movements were unhurried. His assistant, Xiao Chen, was reporting to him, and finally couldn't help but remind him, "Mr. Shen, the variety show crew from the TV station will be here at ten o'clock. The director said he wants you to..."
"Understood." Shen Zhiyan didn't even look up, placing the document into a metal file basket labeled "Pending Processing," spaced precisely with the other baskets beside it. "Observation period: one month; sample type...entertainment stars." His tone was flat, as if stating an experimental parameter. "Arrange it in Lab 07 of Zone A3, where the background noise is lowest and interference is minimal."
Xiao Chen opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but ultimately swallowed it back. His boss could quantify human emotional fluctuations into curve analysis, but seemed to lack even the most basic interest in living people, especially female celebrities.
The production crew's convoy drove into the Data Science Center in a grand procession. As Jiang Mo got out of the car, she habitually straightened her back and slightly raised her chin, bracing herself for the possible cameras. However, only a few researchers in plaid shirts hurried past, glancing at her curiously before quickly looking away and whispering about "algorithm iteration."
She was taken to Laboratory 07 in Zone A3. The space was pure white, filled with various unfamiliar instruments humming low, and the air was thick with a cold, metallic, disinfectant-like odor. She instinctively tightened her coat.
Shen Zhiyan appeared at that moment. He walked through the laboratory, the fluorescent lights casting a soft glow on his sharply defined face. He was wearing the same dark cashmere sweater as in the office, and a pair of frameless glasses perched on his nose. Behind the lenses, his eyes were clear, yet carried a detached, scrutinizing quality.
“Ms. Jiang, welcome.” He spoke, his voice gentle, but his words were like a cold scalpel. “I am Shen Zhiyan. Before we begin the program, there are a few basic rules I need to tell you.”
He handed me a neatly bound booklet with the title "Laboratory Safety and Code of Conduct" printed on the cover.
“First, protective clothing is required to enter specific areas. Your attire today,” his gaze lingered for half a second on her well-tailored suit dress and stiletto heels, “does not meet the standards. The contact area between the heels and the ground is too small, posing a risk of slipping. The standard deviation exceeds the safety threshold by more than twice.”
Jiang Mo's professional smile froze for a moment.
"Second, laboratory equipment is expensive and sophisticated; do not touch it without permission. Based on past cases, the probability of equipment damage caused by mishandling by non-professionals is 6.7 percent."
“Third, and most importantly,” he looked at her, his tone completely flat, as if reading an instrument manual, “to ensure the accuracy of your research data, please try to remain calm. Excessive facial expressions and body language will be recorded by the environmental sensors and treated as interference noise.”
Jiang Mo gripped the "Safety Rules" book tightly, her knuckles turning slightly white. She felt less like a guest on the show and more like a labeled experimental animal ready to be dissected. She took a deep breath, trying to maintain her composure: "Professor Shen, I'm here to experience and learn, not to cause you trouble."
Shen Zhiyan adjusted his glasses: "I hope so. According to data, most people need three to five days to adapt to an unfamiliar environment. I will closely monitor your adaptation curve."
The first day of recording ended in an eerie atmosphere. Jiang Mo tried her best to show scientific curiosity as the director requested, but Shen Zhiyan's "guidance" always left her feeling lost. When she tried to touch the spherical device that shimmered with a ghostly blue light, he would say, "The internal pressure is a vacuum; touching it will damage the seal." When she wanted to ask what the waveforms on the screen represented, he would pull up a bunch of complex formulas: "This is a spectrum analysis after Fourier transform. Would you like to understand the specific algorithm?"
She felt like a dwarf who had wandered into a land of giants, stepping on the wrong beat with every step.
As evening fell, the recording came to a temporary halt. Jiang Mo was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and just wanted to get back to the hotel as soon as possible to continue reading the *Tao Te Ching* to her potted plant. She walked alone to the entrance of the laboratory building, and the evening breeze, carrying a chill, made her instinctively hug her arms tighter.
A ginger-yellow knitted cardigan, still warm from her body heat, was silently handed to her.
She looked up in surprise and saw Shen Zhiyan, who had returned. He was wearing only a light gray shirt underneath, and his figure looked somewhat thin in the twilight.
“The temperature difference between day and night is greater than ten degrees Celsius,” he said in a calm tone, revealing no emotion. “Your clothing is not thick enough to maintain your core body temperature. According to thermodynamic models, your chances of catching a cold will rise to thirty percent within thirty minutes.”
Jiang Mo was stunned and didn't take it. This sudden care, wrapped in probability, was completely different from his rigid demeanor during the day.
Seeing that she didn't move, Shen Zhiyan gently draped his cardigan over the handle of her suitcase. "See you tomorrow, Miss Jiang." He nodded, then turned and walked back into the building.
Jiang Mo stood there, her fingers unconsciously stroking the soft cardigan. The color was almost identical to the ginger-yellow soil of her potted plant, "Lu Gen." Was it a coincidence?
Dragging her suitcase, she walked heavily towards the car arranged by the production team. Her phone vibrated; it was a WeChat message from Linda, her tone excited:
"MoMo! There's a pleasant surprise! We just received news that there's an environmental monitoring project in the building across the street, and they unintentionally captured a picture of your balcony this morning! Although it's blurry, they did capture your 'motivational' morning reading! The team thinks this is a great opportunity to change your image and we can use it to market a persona of 'being clear-headed' and 'loving traditional culture'! Get ready, we'll have a meeting tonight to discuss the specific plan!"
Jiang Mo's heart sank.
She looked up at the Data Science Center building, where a few lights were twinkling in the twilight. Which window was Shen Zhiyan's office?
She clutched the ginger-yellow cardigan tightly in her hand. What if... what if he, or someone else in the center, also saw that surveillance footage and recognized her, recognized the potted plant, or even... heard her reciting the Tao Te Ching?
How would the man who always speaks with data and probability view her as a "sample" with excessive "noise" who relies on metaphysics to change her fate?
The chill, more biting than the evening breeze, crept silently up her back.
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