On the afternoon of April 5th,

Benny, dressed in casual attire, appeared at the south entrance of the Art Centre.

Although he felt that the standard of the art exhibition here was rather average, and he had decided not to return after yesterday’s visit, he still came back.

But not for the purpose of leisurely strolling around the artificial lake near the eastern side of the south gate. Instead, he harboured a subtle, yet different, intention.

After his afternoon session teaching Zoe yesterday, he had idly flipped through the brochure from the Art Centre.

Upon closer inspection, he discovered something intriguing.

In the selected artworks featured in the brochure, there was a painting by a tetrachromat.

As an internationally renowned con artist of art forgery, Benny's understanding of colour was far beyond the average person.

Though he was not a tetrachromat himself, his interest in the condition had deepened ever since one of his forged works was exposed by Martin Regalado’s ex-girlfriend, a tetrachromat.

From that point on, he immersed himself in researching this rare group.

At present, Benny wouldn’t claim to fully understand the tetrachromat's world, but he had gained enough insight to grasp, at least in part, what it entailed.

So, after just a quick glance, he recognised that one of the paintings featured in the brochure, with its unusual use of colours, wasn’t a result of the artist’s pursuit of individuality. It was, in fact, the work of a rare tetrachromat.

Thus…

Benny made the resolute decision to return. However, since this time he wasn’t there to admire the artwork, he opted for a more casual outfit.

Navigating the building with ease, he avoided lingering in the so-called "Masterpieces" section on the first floor.

Masterpieces? They were nothing more than trivial works. To exaggerate slightly, Benny thought his own paintings from when he was eight—created with his feet—were of a higher standard than these.

With this thought in mind,

Benny quickly took the elevator to the second floor.

This area was much livelier than the first floor.

Many students from art colleges were intensely engaged in live painting sessions, as part of their assignments, to attract the attention of the surrounding crowds.

Perhaps because the expectations for students were lower, Benny found the artworks here to be somewhat more interesting.

While many of the paintings displayed were rigid and formulaic, overall, there was a certain vitality to them.

Most of the works had at least some commendable aspects.

As Benny casually surveyed his surroundings with growing interest, he quietly made his way towards booth 72.

Soon,

He arrived at the booth where the tetrachromat’s painting featured in the brochure was displayed. The booth’s sign revealed that the artist was named Camellya.

There, a familiar figure—one with a crow perched on their shoulder—looked at him in surprise as he approached.

“Hm? It’s you!”

Camellya smiled in mild surprise.

She then glanced around as if searching for someone.

When she realised it was only Benny, she pouted and gave him a playful look.

At this,

Benny grinned and pulled out his phone from his pocket. He opened a photo and handed it to Camellya.

“Camellya, what do you think of this painting?”

Benny cut straight to the point, cheekily pointing at the photo on his phone for Camellya to see.

The photo displayed one of Martin Regalado’s paintings from the first-floor "Masterpieces" section—one in the style of a rainy walk.

Yes, Benny’s goal for today was to have Camellya, this tetrachromat, give a sharp critique of the painting—ideally followed by her sending a scathing review, under her name, with Benny’s mocking comments aimed at Martin Regalado.

If Martin Regalado, that old man, didn’t hear his ridicule, Benny would simply feel uncomfortable all over.

Thus,

He thought it would be fun to convince someone else to do the mocking for him, allowing him to join in indirectly.

“Hmm, this looks like one of Martin’s works, right? I think it’s pretty good,”

Camellya recognised the painting and nodded in praise.

Compared to some of the internationally renowned artists, she was still a newcomer, so she gave a polite, moderate compliment.

Moreover,

In theory, she had viewed the painting on the first floor, and despite some minor flaws in the colours, most of the details were quite acceptable.

“Don’t you think his use of colours is forced and overly deliberate? Ever considered emailing him to mock him thoroughly?”

Seeing her response, Benny raised an eyebrow, unable to resist stirring the pot.

However, Camellya, clearly aware of her position, didn’t take the bait.

She calmly shook her head and subtly stepped back, distancing herself from Benny.

Even though she did feel that this so-called Martin Regalado was too rigid in his colour choices, as if he were imitating someone’s style,

She could not yet discern this from the photo.

When she had observed Martin’s work up close on the first floor, her tetrachromatic abilities allowed her to detect the hesitancy in his brushstrokes.

The stiffness and artificiality were unmistakable.

Yet, despite recognising the flaws and feeling the work was subpar, Camellya, knowing she was still a student, refrained from challenging an established authority.

“Not a friend. Have you ever quit drugs?”

“You, someone with an incredibly sharp sensitivity to colour, a person who sees the world through four colours—can you really tolerate such rigid and deliberate use of colour?”

Benny couldn’t help but exclaim, clearly frustrated.

But seeing that Camellya was still refusing, he sighed helplessly.

His attempt to ride on Camellya’s mocking email and slip in some of his own sarcasm was, for all intents and purposes, a failure.

Unfortunately, Camellya wasn’t like Martin’s ex-girlfriend, who couldn’t stand it.

Martin had once been a talented artist. After he was deceived by Benny into buying a fake piece, he became obsessed with replicating the fake, losing his own artistic style in the process.

And then… Martin ’s ex-girlfriend couldn’t bear the stiff, forced colours anymore and left him.

But Camellya, sitting in front of Benny, was clearly not the type to be so easily shaken.

After a moment of thought, Benny suddenly realised.

It seemed he had been hanging around with that mysterious fellow, Zoe, for too long.

He had developed a tendency to think that anyone would go along with his bad ideas, just because he asked.

The truth, however, was that not everyone was like Zoe, willing to dive into whatever odd or questionable plans Benny proposed. Most people preferred stability and moderation.

Realising this, Benny scratched his head apologetically and said, “Sorry, Camellya, that was a bit too forward of me.”

With that, he prepared to turn and leave.

But then he remembered how gracefully Zoe had caught the crow yesterday, and the sight of Camellya blushing in front of him just now.

With a thoughtful smile, Benny left Camellya his contact details for Zoe.

Benny mused, should he go back and give her a good meal?

He chuckled inwardly, leaving quietly, his deeds unannounced.

··························

Meanwhile, after lunch, Zoe was sprawled on the sofa, killing time by watching videos.

Since Benny was going out in the afternoon, the lessons on signal modulation, baseband signals, and key-related knowledge were temporarily on hold.

With no lessons to occupy her, Zoe decided to find something entertaining to do.

After all, she wasn’t some machine running on endless cycles; she occasionally needed to relax.

Compared to the monotonous reaction-based competitive games, Zoe found that only things unrelated to physical endurance or quick reflexes could truly capture her interest.

Non-competitive games worked.

Reading novels and watching videos also sufficed.

Recently, however, Zoe had been in a bit of a reading slump, so she turned to watching videos.

When it came to killing time, nothing was more effective than swiping through short videos.

One after another, they passed by, and it was almost impossible to feel time slipping away.

On her long-established account, Zoe couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the borderline videos that kept popping up.

The beauties in the short videos, while undoubtedly flawless in appearance, never showed her their pores, mites, or oil stains. But after seeing so many, she had grown weary, and once she started focusing, it felt as though she was just looking at pixels RGB.

Before long, something caught her attention, causing her to swipe back.

The video displayed the following text:

In the first ten moves, I felt the weight of history, the echoes of every grandmaster who had ever graced the chessboard. The brilliance of their thought, their strategy, seemed to pulse through my fingers. Yet, I was not intimidated. I refused to be constrained by the past. As I made my next twenty moves, I saw the familiar patterns—the strategies of those who had challenged me before. But still, I was unshaken. I countered, adapted, overcame. My pieces moved with purpose, unrelenting in their advance. For a moment, I dared to believe that this machine, this cold algorithm, might not be the omnipotent force the world had feared. But by the thirtieth move, I saw it clearly. In the reflections of my mind, I saw myself: the culmination of decades of study, the very pinnacle of human skill. And yet, there was something cold in the way the game unfolded—a clarity of thought and precision I could not match. I felt a creeping fear, not of the machine, but of my own limitations. If there were an invincible opponent, it was not the machine, but the truth that I had reached the edge of what humanity had once believed possible. DeepMind, relentless and certain, continued to advance. The hum of its circuits seemed to speak a simple, irrefutable truth: Chess has outgrown us. I concede. Not because I lost. But because in that loss, I realized that humanity had already lost the battle to its own creation.

 

Watching this poignant video about a world-renown chess super grandmaster conceding defeat to AI, a flash of light flickered in Zoe’s eyes.

If it were chess…

It would likely be far more challenging than any other recreational game, wouldn’t it?

Though she didn’t know much about it, she knew that chess’s complexity was unquestionable. It was arguably one of the most vast and intricate board games out there. To fully understand its theoretical optimal solution would require computational power far beyond humanity's current capabilities.

However, in the field of chess AI to the likes of Slackfish, humans had made such strides that AI could outplay even the most experienced human players, a fact that had shattered the resolve of countless grandmasters.

If chess could be a form of entertainment, it seemed it could offer a long-lasting challenge, right?

At least, Zoe thought that with her current computational power, she couldn’t possibly rival a computer’s.

Even though human players might soon be surpassed by her, she was confident that AI would still provide a long enough challenge for her.

With this in mind, Zoe eagerly registered an online chess account after downloading an app. Her nickname? “I’m_a_newbie.”

Then…

She opened a browser and began looking for chess tutorials.

Yes, she was going to start from scratch and learn chess properly.

After all, although she was already arrogantly aiming to challenge AI, perhaps even dreaming of becoming the world’s best one day…

In reality, she was still very much a beginner, just like her self-chosen nickname.