A nation's industrial development begins with junior engineers.

The delegation's staff became the most sought-after "resource".

They were surrounded in the hotel's cramped lounge and even the hallways, answering a barrage of questions.

The issues have long since transcended the IEC agenda itself, extending boundlessly to the R&D team of "Big Yellow 2nd Generation," potential application areas, computer education in China, and even some basic aspects of the electronics industry.

The body is exhausted. From setting up the exhibition in the early morning to the display at dusk, and now to the "siege" at night, even the strongest person can't help but show signs of fatigue.

But in the eyes of every staff member burned a fire—a blazing light that combined pride, excitement, and a strong sense of responsibility.

During questioning, most people handled the situation cautiously. They said what needed to be said, but didn't reveal a single word that shouldn't be said, maintaining a respectful yet assertive attitude.

This unexpected "overtime" did not annoy them; on the contrary, it made them stand even straighter.

of course there are exceptions.

Just as the atmosphere was getting lively, a suppressed grumbling came from a corner of the stairwell. The comrades responsible for translating less commonly spoken languages ​​walked up to Mulan, who was standing in front of the stairs checking visitor records.

"Commander Mu, this won't do, we can't hold on any longer." The lead translator rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

"They've been talking non-stop from morning till night. And now, so many people have come so late at night, all talking at once, with all sorts of accents. It's giving me a headache, and translating is even more exhausting. We need a rest. Otherwise, we'll all collapse during the formal group meeting tomorrow."

"I'm so tired! It's almost midnight and it's still going on and on, my voice is almost hoarse!"

"Exactly! Translating less commonly spoken languages ​​is already exhausting enough. If I keep going like this, my health will collapse!"

"I don't care anymore, I need to rest! If anyone else comes, you'll have to figure it out yourselves!"

Several elderly translators who had come with the delegation stood aside with their arms crossed, watching the spectacle with schadenfreude.

They had long disliked Mulan's assertive style and thought, "Now that we've lost our translator, how will you communicate with foreigners? You'll have to beg us for help."

When you ask someone for a favor, you must have the right attitude.

We won't rest until we get back the face we lost on the cruise ship!

Don't underestimate an old scholar!

Mulan looked up from the visitor logbook, her gaze calmly sweeping over the few faces in front of her that exuded a sense of smugness.

"Okay. If you're tired, take a rest. Go back to your rooms."

The group of translators were taken aback, seemingly not expecting her to agree so readily.

The lead translator opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, such as emphasizing the importance of less commonly spoken languages, or hinting at how inconvenient it would be without them tomorrow. However, Mulan had already lowered her head again, her gaze returning to the visitor logbook in her hand. Her profile appeared somewhat hard under the dim light, clearly indicating her attitude of "I've said my piece, goodbye."

Just as several translators of less common languages ​​gave up and the old translator was preparing to watch the show, the hotel's battered wooden door was pushed open again, bringing in a gust of cool night air and several neatly dressed Chinese faces hurrying along.

It was the comrades from the Chinese Embassy in Bern who drove over overnight to provide support after receiving the news.

Leading the group was Chen, the cultural counselor at the embassy. He glanced around at the unusually "lively" scene in the hotel, then quickly walked up to Mulan and whispered, "Commander Mu, the ambassador sent us to see if there's anything we can do to help. We heard the scene here is quite lively, and the language barrier is quite high?"

Several young embassy staff members also came over. Most of them were fluent in English or French and had already begun to try to help the delegation members who were surrounded, and to provide some basic communication guidance.

Seeing this, the few translators, who were speaking less common languages ​​and had their arms crossed, exchanged glances, their sneers deepening. One of them lowered his voice and muttered to his companion, "Ha, I thought she had some clever trick up her sleeve, but it turns out she just called in reinforcements from the embassy. How naive!"

Another person chimed in, his tone full of arrogance: "The embassy staff? At most, they can handle English and French, maybe German at most. Among the people who came today, there are Italian speakers, Spanish speakers, and... Hmph, that representative from Zurich spoke Romansh! They've never even heard of this official language of Žibeva, have they? Let's see how they handle it!"

The old scholar's disdain was not entirely unfounded. The Romansh he spoke was indeed one of the four official languages ​​of the Clock Country.

Who knows how this language, which originated from the vernacular Latin spoken by ancient Roman soldiers and mixed with the local Reto dialect, became the official language of Geneva...

"Exactly. Professional matters should be handled by professionals. They can't manage without us. Just wait, they'll be coming to us for help again soon."

They were confident that they had seen through Mulan's "trump card" and were waiting patiently for the situation to stalemate again, waiting for Mulan or the embassy comrades to come and ask them to "come out of retirement" with a troubled expression.

However, Mulan's reaction once again surprised them.

She nodded to Lao Chen, who had come to help, and simply said, "Thank you for your hard work. Please help maintain order and handle communication in English and French." Her tone was grateful, but not dependent.

Then, her gaze swept over the old translators whose faces seemed to say "come and beg me," without lingering, as if they were just background figures.

Mulan turned around and took out a cardboard notice with large Chinese and English characters from the drawer, and then found a roll of wire. She walked to the inside of the hotel's main entrance and, in front of several foreign representatives who had just entered, quickly and decisively pasted the notice on the most conspicuous porch pillar.

The notice was simple and direct:

important Notice

Effective immediately, the temporary reception area for this delegation will only provide communication services in Chinese and English.

For users of other languages, please bring your own translators.

We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.

Chinese text is on top, English text is below, and the font is bold, making it easy to read at a glance.

After posting the notice, Mulan clapped her hands and drew a line under the character "英" (Ying). She instructed a staff member next to her, "Keep an eye on it and follow the notice."

Then she turned around and went straight upstairs, as if all the noise behind her had nothing to do with her.

Several translators stood still, watching Mulan's retreating figure.

She stood ramrod straight, yet her steps were unusually light and agile, and her slender waist swayed rhythmically as she climbed the stairs.

The black leather heels tapped on the old wooden stairs, producing a crisp and even "tap, tap" sound, which, amidst the noise and commotion, revealed a calm and pleasant rhythm.

Anyone could see that Mulan was in a very good mood. Her slightly raised chin and light, almost floating steps made her look exactly like a kitten that had caught its prey, watched it circling within a set area, and then contentedly licked its paws, preparing to enjoy a moment of leisure.

Meow meow meow, I'm your cute little kitten. I was busy catching mice the other day, and today I'm busy collecting dried fish...

Ok?

What is that? It looks golden, like a large yellow croaker.

As Mulan stepped onto the third-floor stairs, she caught a glimpse of an incongruous wisp of long, golden hair fluttering gently in the evening breeze that swept through the corridor.

The pace slowed down.

He slowly bent his waist down, then straightened it back into the most suitable position for exerting force.

In the shadows diagonally opposite the third-floor stairwell, leaning against the mottled wall, was a figure that shouldn't have been there.

"How did you get here!"