Chapter 28

Jing Ming scanned the stands, nowhere open. He stepped down, catching sight of Du Ruo at the very bottom row.
The competition was about to start. She was hunting for a spot too, glancing around, shifting here and there to avoid blocking the view behind her.
After a while without luck, she just gave up and drifted over to the other stairwell, finding a place against the wall where she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way.
Jing Ming followed, quietly stepping onto the stair above her.
She turned a little, lips barely pouting, staring dreamily off to the side, waiting for the show to begin.
She had no clue he was there.
The stair and height difference meant her head barely reached his chest. From his angle, all he could see was the soft swirl of her dark hair, tucked behind one tiny ear. Her lashes were absurdly long, fluttering every time she blinked.
Whenever a staff member passed, she snapped out of her daze, turning her head this way and that, but never once seemed to sense the gaze right above her.
Quickly, the emcee took the stage.
The lights dropped. The chatter faded. Only the stage shone, blazing bright in the dark.
The emcee launched into an enthusiastic, rousing intro, officially kicking off the games.
This was a non-humanoid robot fetch competition, at the center of the square field were two raised symmetrical tracks, looking like giant building blocks.
The tracks twisted and rolled, full of inclines, sharp curves and tricky angles.
White center lines guided the robots, leading them toward a bouquet set at the far end. The mission: race along the track, grab the flowers, bring them back, fastest wins.
Unlike the last event, where Jing Ming’s team battled with remote-controlled fighters, today’s robots were fully autonomous, zero remote meddling.
As applause swept the room, the emcee started in on team intros: "After several intense rounds, the finalists are: Team Red, hailing from XX Tech University of Province A; and Team Blue, from XX Institute of Technology in Province B."
"Now, we’ll give both sides one last minute to ready up. Competition begins in one minute!”
Each team fussed over its bot in the corner. Red’s looked like a chubby layer cake; Blue’s was simpler, boxy as a shoebox.
Several students stood up, phones in hand, snapping away,
The emcee reminded, "Today’s robots are light-sensitive, please turn off your flashes so the bots won’t get confused."
"Alright then!" The emcee’s voice boomed. "Time’s up! Robots to the starting line!"
Du Ruo craned her neck, eyes fixed on the field, until suddenly a guy stepped right in front of her, blocking her view entirely.
"…"
She moved to the side, but the guy kept shifting, zigzagging everywhere. She had just started following along in exasperation when, out of nowhere, a hand gripped her arm and lifted her up one step higher.
She blinked in surprise. By the time she came to, Jing Ming had already set her on the higher stair.
The stairs were narrow; she had to squeeze close beside him.
He gave her a sidelong look, voice dryly mocking: "You’re so short, you really ought to carry a little stool with you."
"…," Du Ruo sputtered. "Excuse you, I’m 166 centimeters!"
He ducked his head to look down at her, putting on a show. "Wow, so tall!"
She rolled her eyes, but he was already watching the field stone-faced;
She dropped it, zoning out and focusing straight ahead.
The robots were in position. The entire crowd hushed.
The emcee grabbed the mic, announcing,
"Let the match... begin!”
In a flash, both robots sped onto the track, racing up and down, swerving left and right, and in barely ten seconds, Red’s robot blitzed to the finish, grabbed the bouquet, and streaked back to the start, nearly leaving a sonic boom in its wake.
Meanwhile, Blue’s robot had only just arrived at its own bouquet.
The emcee was electric: "Nineteen seconds! That’s it, nineteen seconds!"
The audience shot to its feet, roaring. Red team’s crew were hugging, bouncing, yelling like kids on too much sugar.
"Champion: Team Red! From XX Tech University in Province A!"
Clapping along with the crowd, Jing Ming glanced up at the scoreboard. Nineteen seconds, that was eight seconds faster than last year. Wild progress.
His gaze flicked down, landing on the losing robot.
While the room was a storm of cheers, not a soul was paying attention to the little shoebox on wheels, still chugging earnestly along its lane, oblivious to defeat.
He was thinking just that,
"Do you think it feels sad?" Du Ruo murmured, watching the lone "cardboard box" on the track.
Jing Ming turned, actually caught off guard by her question, and stared at her.
But she was already following the crowd down the steps, flashing her entrant badge to a volunteer, and heading toward the humanoid robotics field.
The reason she’d dressed up today was because she was a member of Yi Kun’s team.
Generally, engineering kids didn’t care what they wore, matching T-shirts were enough. But Yi Kun insisted: every match, at least a blazer on top.
Jing Ming shoved his hands in his pockets and followed after her.
There were a few minutes until their event. Du Ruo waited on the sideline for her team, calm and patient.
Jing Ming sauntered to the edge of another track, stopping two or three meters away, facing the field just like her.
The place was empty, for now, it was just them amidst the thrum of the surrounding stands.
The white lines of the sprint track glared under the lights.
Jing Ming looked up at the rig, then asked, "Li Wei said you were part of Astro Boy’s design?"
Astro Boy was Orbit’s robot for this competition.
Du Ruo took a beat before realizing he was talking to her, and answered flatly, "Yeah."
Jing Ming turned, voice carrying across the distance: "Who do you think will win?"
She hesitated, she knew how strong Jing Ming’s team was, but she wasn’t about to sell her own side short. "It’ll be close."
He arched a brow, lips quirking. "Nice."
Du Ruo eyed him with suspicion, just in time for him to add, "Ignorance is bliss."
Du Ruo’s response was to put twenty meters between them, instantly.
Jing Ming just chuckled internally and let it go.
Soon enough, Li Wei and the rest showed up with "Gourd Kid" in tow.
Gourd Kid was Prime’s latest humanoid robot: fifty centimeters tall, the size of a toddler.
Looks-wise, there wasn’t much to set Gourd Kid apart from the other teams’ bots. After all, everyone built humanoid shapes, no freaky monster-bots here. The only real difference was, the other teams went for black finishes; Gourd Kid was stark white, striking and sharp, with Prime’s signature big cartoon eyes, adorably blank and clueless.
Robot sprinting was a seriously technical event.
Unlike simply having a bot dance in place, sprinting meant every joint needed to work in sync. It amped up the chance of veering off-track or falling hard. Add speed to the mix, and it got even hairier.
Out of eight schools, one didn’t compete in sprinting at all, leaving eight teams (including two from Jing Ming’s university). After the draw, it was a regular knockout bracket: lose and you’re out, win and you advance, until two teams were left for finals.
Once everyone got their track and opponent assignments, they split off toward their respective arenas.
“Different arenas” was a stretch, really, the organizers just marked off four big rectangles side by side, running all matches at once like a gymnastics qualifying round.
The stands were packed, the crowd watching all eight teams square off at once.
During setup, the camera kept zooming in on Jing Ming and Yi Kun: one with lazy coolness, one cold as ice.
At one point, Jing Ming noticed the camera aimed his way. He lifted his gaze, eyes dark and sharp, enough for a wave of gasps from the crowd of girls watching the live stream.
He dropped the look a beat later, already bored.
Du Ruo got plenty of screentime too, being the only female contestant. She looked a bit lost, honestly, and the moment she realized she was on the jumbotron, she spooked and immediately turned her head, leaving only the back of her round head on camera.
Jing Ming caught that little dome, then looked over, Du Ruo was crouched beside Astro Boy, intensely fiddling with something. Li Qinghe squatted next to her; the two had their heads bent close together.
With a cool glance, Jing Ming moved off to prep his robot at the assigned track.
The setup was simple: a fifty-meter sprint lane, two meters wide. Each time a bot left the lines, five seconds got slapped onto the clock.
Faster speed meant bigger margin for error, more lane violations, more chances to crash and tumble, and more ways to lose time.
The running event tests a robot’s ability to balance speed, stability, and a straight trajectory.
Prime’s first opponent is a certain polytechnic university.
The robots hit the track. At the signal, they charge toward the finish line.
Well, “charge” is generous; it’s more like fast walking than actual running.
Unlike humans, robots aren’t nimble. Every joint from head to ankle is packed with control boards and motors, driven by precisely calculated programs. Every movement requires perfect coordination, if the legs are even a little out of sync, it’s a recipe for stumbles and wobbly lines.
Case in point: the opponent’s robot takes a few steps, then, smack, wipes out hard enough to rattle its whole shell. Still, it stubbornly scrambles upright and sets off again. Problem is, its legs are way out of sync, it veers off course, more and more, until it breaks out of bounds.
Oof. Five-second penalty.
Their team scrambles to haul the robot back onto the track, coaxing it along until it finally staggers through the finish line.
Meanwhile, Prime’s “Gourd Kid” has been waiting by the line for ages, clocking in at 58 seconds.
At the same time, three other teams take their groups to victory as well, including Orbit’s “Astro Boy.”
Cheers and applause erupt around the stands, wave after wave.
Losers are knocked out. Winners move on.
Second round, Gourd Kid clinches another victory. This time, 57 seconds.
As the round ends, Jing Ming glances over at the neighboring lane.
As expected, Astro Boy wins again, 59 seconds on the dot.
A fresh burst of whooping from the crowd.
The host is getting hyped all over again: “And now, our final two teams left standing are, Orbit!, and Prime!”
Screams from the audience rise up in a frenzy.
Both teams are from the home university and this is their turf. Everyone’s abuzz: snapping pics, hollering encouragement, riding the adrenaline.
After the tense elimination matches, the energy has been simmering… and now, it boils over.
The local MC, high on the excitement, gestures dramatically, riling up the crowd and pumping up the showdown for the final battle.
Both teams, however, are the picture of calm, waiting for the host’s speech to end and the match to begin.
Volunteers use these final moments to sweep the track clear of dust and stray debris.
Jing Ming stares at the lanes, lips pressed tight. The strengths of both robots are obvious: Prime’s Gourd Kid is fast, never once stumbled, never strayed outside the lines.
While over on Orbit’s side, Astro Boy’s running path is laser-straight.
Jing Ming senses something odd, he casts a glance to the side. There’s Du Ruo, standing a few meters off, blended into Orbit’s crowd of guys. The light from the gym ceiling falls over her face, leaving her pale as paper, lashes long and fluttering like delicate brushes each time she blinks.
She bites her lip, tension clear in the stiffness of her stance. Her gaze is adrift, unfocused, until suddenly she turns, their eyes lock.
There’s nothing in her stare, no emotion. Like a complete stranger, she glances off as if nothing happened.
Someone moves and blocks Jing Ming’s view a moment later.
The host calls out, “Teams, robots in position!”
“Let’s count down together, five! Four! Three! Two! One!, Go!”
Instantly, every camera and phone in the stands swings up to capture the moment. In the bright center of the field, two adorable robots dash for the finish, neck and neck.
Both teams have a legion of fans, so the gym is deafened by dueling cheers and chants spurred on by competitive energy.
“Go, Astro Boy! Go, Astro Boy!”
“Let’s go, Gourd Kid! Go, Gourd Kid!”
The roar builds higher and higher, Du Ruo finds herself pressing a hand to her chest, while Jing Ming watches coolly from the sidelines.
But slowly, a frown deepens between his brows. Something’s wrong. Gourd Kid… there’s a hint of trouble.
Suddenly, halfway there, Astro Boy topples over.
A chorus of sighs and disappointment ripples through the crowd.
Astro Boy flops on the track, limbs sprawled, trying awkwardly to prop itself up, legs stretching into a split before it manages to sit, tuck in its legs, stand again, and return to the race.
By now, Gourd Kid is merrily bounding ahead.
In this match, Gourd Kid stands alone, never once taking a tumble.
Jing Ming’s team had, before the match, painstakingly tweaked their dynamic balance tech, designing a finer anti-fall gyroscope for better control, even during big wobbles or shakes.
He’d also drilled the team mercilessly on calibrating every arm and leg joint for minimal error. That’s why Gourd Kid marched straight and true through the previous rounds.
Sure, the further it ran the more it’d veer off by a little, but still, it made it to the finish, every time.
Now, just ten meters to go. Nine meters. Gourd Kid has a commanding lead, as carefree and clumsy as ever, but way out in front.
Jing Ming’s name echoes across the stadium, his supporters massively outshouting the others:
“Go, Gourd Kid! Go, Gourd Kid!”
“Go, Jing Ming! Let’s go, Jing Ming!”
Yet the lines between Jing Ming’s brows only get tighter. He saw the problem long ago, but now it’s undeniable. In the final sprint, he watches as Gourd Kid begins to drift, more than ever before.
Maybe the first two runs introduced a compounding error. The path this time is clearly more skewed from those previous routes.
He shoots a look at Wan Zi’ang, who gets the hint and signals Zhu Tao at the finish. Zhu Tao crouches, shadowing the blundering Gourd Kid closely, poised to step in and yank it back in-bounds the instant it crosses the line.
Gourd Kid obliviously scampers toward the finish, step by step closer not just to victory, but also the sidelines…
In the final meters, everyone in the stands sees the issue. The stadium goes instantly silent; all eyes fixed on the awkward little robot, wobbling like a toddler, chubby legs pumping toward the tape.
The closer it gets to finishing, the closer it teeters toward the edge, which line will it hit first?
Dead silence. At last, the bot lurches to the end, left foot crossing the finish; right heel landing smack on the intersection of the finish and sideline.
Time: 56 seconds.
The place explodes with chatter. Questions and debate surge through the stadium.
All eyes jump to the jumbotron, tracing, Gourd Kid’s right foot is across the finish, but also kissing the sideline.
Astro Boy limps in moments later. The crowd holds its breath. On the scoreboard: one minute, one second.
And another wave of uproar!
If the judges count Gourd Kid as out-of-bounds and tack on a five-second penalty, it’s a tie! Dual champions!
The stadium feels like it might explode, no one’s seen a situation like this in competition. All the referees rush to the finish, huddling around Gourd Kid’s foot, discussing, debating.
Every neck in the audience is craning, gossiping, waiting for a verdict.
On this side, Jing Ming’s crew is still as stone; Yi Kun’s team is nervously shadowboxing in the air, waiting for the decision.
Only Gourd Kid is blissfully clueless, cocking its head, blinking its camera eyes, waving its silly arms to the crowd.
At last, the judges rule.
The sideline is painted with white oil paint, eight centimeters across. Gourd Kid’s heel overlaps the edge by less than a centimeter. No penalty. No out-of-bounds.
Prime’s Gourd Kid: 56 seconds. Victory.
The crowd roars, hailing the new champions.
But on Team Prime’s side, it’s strangely quiet. No gasps of joy, after all, with a perfectionist captain, their real contest is always with themselves. To them, brushing the line is as good as losing.
Meanwhile, Orbit shows no sign of defeat, if anything, they look relieved.
The MC, still buzzing, hypes up the rare outcome, announcing the winner and bantering with the audience.
“And the ultimate winner is, ” He swings the mic toward the stands.
“Prime!” the crowd screams as one.
The champions are the calmest in the room. Zhu Tao gently brings Gourd Kid back from the finish line.
Jing Ming crouches, pats Gourd Kid’s head, then wraps it in a hug. “Thanks, little guy.”
He glances again at Orbit’s team. They may have taken second, but their spirits are high.
Yi Kun passes by Du Ruo, offers a wordless thumbs-up in her direction.
The girl flushed red, beams shyly, her smile dazzling for her teammates. Every teammate who passes gives her praise; she almost squirms from embarrassment, cheeks and ears vivid pink as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Across two tracks and a swirl of moving figures, Jing Ming watches her.
He’d noticed: Astro Boy’s path was eerily straight, because it had something extra inside.
Truth be told, Jing Ming didn’t stress over this match or rack his brains about path correction; his focus had been on calibration and precision for a straight run.
But she’d gone a different route: instead of fussing about errors, she’d installed a light sensor in the robot, letting it scan for the lines on either side, keeping it centered and away from the edges.
Ha. Du Ruo, you’re a clever one.