At seven o'clock sharp, Yang Ping pushed the door open and entered.
He did not ask, "Did you finish?" Instead, he walked behind Tang Shun and looked at the screen. Tang Shun's fingers tapped the last line of command on the keyboard, then pressed Enter.
A green prompt popped up on the screen: "Prediction accuracy 94.7%, real-time delay 12ms, passed."
"Accuracy loss 5.3%," Tang Shun's voice was hoarse, "0.3% more than your requirement."
Yang Ping didn't speak, just reached out his hand and pressed it on Tang Shun's shoulder.
"It's enough," Yang Ping said, "0.3% doesn't count as an error for me."
Tang Shun's spine relaxed, like a bowstring that had been taut for too long finally letting go. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and his Adam's apple moved slightly.
