183: Chapter 183: An Embrace Across a Thousand Miles – A Scene That Moved the Entire Internet to Tears.

As soon as these words appeared, the atmosphere in the venue visibly shifted.

The big screen dimmed.

The next second, two lines of subtitles slowly emerged.

[ August 27, 2018 ] [ A border defense post in Northern Xinjiang / A home in a city in the South ]

The screen lit up.

What appeared first was a small living room, simply furnished yet very warm.

There was a cake on the table. The walls were decorated with colored paper and small birthday ornaments.

A five- or six-year-old girl in a light-colored dress stood by the table, gently tapping her toes against the floor.

She looked up at the door from time to time. Each time she looked, she felt disappointed. Yet, after a few seconds, she couldn't help but look again.

In the kitchen, the wife was looking down, arranging plates. Her movements were steady. But the way she deliberately kept her movements light only made it easier to see that she wasn't actually that steady inside.

The little girl finally couldn't hold back and asked in a low voice, "Mom." "Is Dad... not coming back this year either?"

The wife's movements paused slightly. She didn't turn around immediately; she just straightened the plate beside her before turning around and trying her best to smile at her daughter.

"Dad is at work." "You'll be able to see him a bit later."

When she said this, the corners of her mouth were turned up, but her eyes were clearly already a bit red.

The camera cut to the other side. A border defense post in Northern Xinjiang. The wind was harsh. Between heaven and earth, there was a feeling of desolation so cold it looked white.

A soldier had just changed out of his duty gear, a layer of lingering cold still clinging to his shoulders. He pushed open the door and walked into the small dormitory. His movements were light, but they carried an irrepressible urgency.

On the table sat a Virtual Helmet that was already connected. He sat down, raised his hand, and put it on.

The next second, the screen split into two. On one side was the family space reconstructed from the soldier's perspective: the living room, the cake, the lights, the daughter, and the wife. It was so familiar it felt like he had truly returned home.

On the other side, in the center of the living room at home, the air imaging device slowly started up. Tiny specks of light first lit up in the air.

Immediately after, those fine rays of light, as if pulled by some invisible force, began to gather in the center. Shoulders. Arms. Figure. Face. A human shadow, from void to solid, slowly coalesced. He was wearing a military uniform, standing beside the cake.

The daughter froze at first. Then, her eyes widened bit by bit, and as if she had forgotten to breathe, she stared blankly at the familiar figure in the center of the living room.

The father looked at her and smiled. That smile contained a longing he was clearly suppressing, as well as a bit of restraint for fear of breaking down.

He said softly, "Dad promised you." "I would definitely be here before you blow out the candles."

This sentence seemed to puncture everything the little girl had been holding back. She burst into tears and lunged forward.

But the next second, she lunged into nothingness. Her small body lurched forward, plunging into that bright yet intangible air.

She was stunned at first, as if she didn't understand why she couldn't hug her father even though he was right in front of her. Immediately after, her tears fell even more fiercely.

With red eyes and a crying voice, her whole little face scrunched up in grievance. "Dad..." "Why can't I hug you..."

When this came out, who knows how many hearts in the entire venue suddenly tightened.

In the backstage area, Wang Peng had been crossing his arms, looking like someone who had "seen every big scene." But upon hearing this, his throat choked up. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, nothing came out.

Lu Yaoguang sat beside him, her fingertips already unconsciously clutching the corner of her clothes.

On the screen, the wife was clearly red-eyed too. She actually wanted to walk forward, too. But in the end, she held back. She just subconsciously reached out to gently steady her daughter, who was unsteady after lunging into empty air.

Then, looking at the familiar figure in the air, her eyes red and her voice trembling, yet she remained very steady. "I have things covered at home." "You just guard your post over there."

As soon as these words came out, even the soldier sitting in the Virtual Helmet felt his eyes redden.

Separated by technology, by space, and by thousands of kilometers of wind, snow, and distance, he saw his daughter crying and his wife forcing a smile. His hand subconsciously lifted as well. But that hand, reaching into mid-air, ultimately stopped. Because he couldn't touch her either.

He took a low breath, his voice very soft, very soft. "Wait for Dad to take his annual leave." "I'll make up a real birthday for you."

The family of three, separated by technology, by space, by a distance where they couldn't touch each other, sang the birthday song together. Finally, the daughter blew out the candles with red eyes.

The camera froze. The father stood by the cake, as if he had truly returned to the living room. The daughter looked up with her little face, tears falling as she watched him in the air.

The subtitles slowly faded in. [ This is not a substitute for reunion. ] [ It just makes absence a little less regrettable. ]

The screen went completely dark. There was no applause in the entire venue. For three whole seconds. The entire venue was so quiet that it felt as if everyone had held their breath at that very moment, simultaneously.

Below the stage, someone quietly lowered their head to wipe the corner of their eye.

In that conference room overseas, it was also terrifyingly quiet. No one was staring at the equipment parameters anymore. They just looked at the screen that had just gone dark, as if realizing for the first time what exactly Lu Li had brought out.

They were selling lightweight equipment. Glasses. Gloves. Spatial interaction portals that were more convenient to wear. But what Lu Li was selling wasn't these. He was selling "presence." That ability of his to let people who couldn't otherwise return, briefly stand right in front of you.

And in the center of the stage, Lu Li stood back under the lights. He didn't rush to talk about a bunch of parameters, nor did he continue to play on emotions while the mood was at its peak.

He just looked at the audience, his voice very flat, yet it carried more weight than any technical introduction just now. "Their family lost the opportunity for a reunion." "But in exchange, they brought peace, tranquility, and happiness to many more families."

The venue remained very quiet. Lu Li paused for a moment and then continued, "Some people are absent from their own reunions." "It is so that more people can be reunited."

As these two sentences fell, people in the audience finally began to applaud. Not the kind of excited applause, but applause that was heavy, slow, and increasingly uniform.

Lu Li raised his hand to signal everyone to be quiet, and then explained the technical logic in the simplest terms. "At the station end, the Virtual Helmet reconstructs the 'homecoming' immersive space." "At the family end, the air imaging completes the spatial presentation of 'presence'." "This is not a substitute for meeting." "It just pushes the meeting one step forward."

This sentence also completely linked Guanghui Technology's previously strongest product—the Virtual Helmet—with the air imaging device that had just debuted today.

And just at this moment, a series of scenes flashed quickly on the big screen. Remote family companionship. Remote meeting collaboration. Three-dimensional consultations between doctors and experts in other locations. 3D teaching demonstrations in classrooms. Concerts, interactive entertainment, and commercial displays. The applause in the venue exploded once again.

... And across the ocean, the expressions on the Google side, which had originally been extremely grim, suddenly softened slightly.

Because they finally saw it. At least from the form displayed now, this Mirage was more like an environment-level device. Like a TV in the living room. Like a display terminal in a conference room. Like a spatial projection system that was very advanced and exaggerated, but also very difficult to truly carry around everywhere.

It was certainly shocking. Certainly advanced. But it wasn't "personal" enough. It wasn't "mobile" enough. The functions might even overlap somewhat with the Virtual Helmet, at most increasing the number of people who could "see." Or perhaps the cost was lower.

It was even less like the direction they had talked about last night—the future personal mobile device port.

In the conference room, that XR lead finally let out a slow breath. "Still not personal." Another person also said in a low voice, "It's amazing... but it's just a device suitable for indoor use."

It wasn't that they had won. But at least, their path of "personal mobile ports" didn't seem to have been completely blocked yet.

... On stage, Lu Li seemed not to have seen the complex expressions inside and outside the venue at all. He just raised his eyes to scan the audience and spoke calmly, "However." "If you think that the value of Mirage is just a bigger TV, or a spatial display device that you can't take out of the house—" "Then you have probably underestimated its true direction."