Will AI Make Us Unemployed

Chen Zhi stared at the hot post on the forum’s front page, silent for two whole seconds.

[Multi-Billion CEO Live Q&A: Will Moss Leave Us Unemployed Right After Graduation?]

The top-liked replies had already gone off-topic.

[I suggest we grill Chen Zhi himself.]

[Strongly demand that General Chen promises not to lay off Peking University students.]

[If he dares say AI won’t affect employment, I’ll submit my resume to Deep Space on the spot to keep an eye on him.]

[The abacus beads on the floor above just smacked me in the face.]

Guo Yang held up his phone, looking as panicked as if he were about to be replaced by AI himself.

“Godfather, this post has blown up—two hundred comments in ten minutes. Yingjie Exchange Center is probably packed by now.”

Chen Zhi pushed the phone away.

“Packed is packed. It’s not like I’ve never seen a crowd.”

Li Zicong chimed in slowly with a jab.

“You’ve seen investors, media, and netizens, but that doesn’t mean you’ve seen college students tortured by 8 a.m. classes.”

Zhang Tianyang whispered a reminder.

“College students have pretty heavy grudges.”

Chen Zhi shot him a glance.

“Which side are you three on, exactly?”

Guo Yang immediately puffed out his chest.

“Your side, of course!”

Li Zicong nodded.

“Mentally supporting you.”

Zhang Tianyang nodded along.

“If a fight breaks out at the scene, I’ll be the one to call the cops.”

Chen Zhi: “…”

Great bros.

Pei Ningxue stood to the side, scrolling through the forum comments, clearly intrigued.

“Not bad.”

Chen Zhi turned his head and demanded,

“Not bad how?”

“The students ask direct questions—way better than all that nonsense from investors.” Pei Ningxue handed the phone back to Guo Yang. “You want to build the operating system for the AI era, right? Then don’t be afraid of people asking whether AI will smash their rice bowls.”

Chen Zhi pulled himself upright with his cane and started walking out.

“President Pei, you’re becoming more and more like my life’s homeroom teacher.”

“I’m just afraid you’ll embarrass yourself at the school and hurt the company’s stock price.”

“Deep Space isn’t listed yet.”

“It will be soon.”

…

At 1:40 p.m., a long line had already formed outside the Yingjie Exchange Center.

What was originally just a college department seminar had blown up on the forum. Students from the School of Electronics Engineering and Computer Science, Guanghua School of Management, Law School, Chinese Language and Literature, and even some from Tsinghua University had sneaked in.

The volunteer at the door, holding the list, had nearly lost her voice.

“Students who didn’t sign up, please don’t push!”

“The venue is already full!”

“No standing in the hallway!”

Guo Yang looked at the surging crowd and swallowed hard.

“Godfather, maybe we should go in through the back door?”

Chen Zhi turned to him.

“Didn’t you just say your bros had your back?”

“I didn’t know my bros had to have this much back.”

Li Zicong stood nearby and snapped a photo with his phone.

“This is more intense than some celebrity fan meets.”

Chen Zhi’s mind unconsciously drifted to Lin Wanwan.

He paused for a moment, then quickly pushed the thought aside.

Pei Ningxue noticed his brief distraction and slapped the materials in her hand against his chest.

“Stop spacing out. It’s your turn on stage.”

Chen Zhi looked down.

The first page of the materials read: Peking University Youth Employment and AI Industry Transformation Seminar.

Below that, in smaller print:

Keynote Speaker: Chen Zhi.

Chen Zhi winced.

“Since when am I the keynote speaker?”

The counselor squeezed through the crowd, wearing a kindly smile.

“Last-minute adjustment. The college leadership is here, the university’s Career Guidance Center is here, and a few faculty members want to hear about Deep Space’s talent needs.”

Chen Zhi stared at the counselor.

“Teacher, is this a seminar or a campus recruitment event?”

The counselor patted him on the shoulder.

“Same thing, same thing.”

Chen Zhi: “…”

…

Inside the venue, seats were packed tight.

People were also standing along the aisles on both sides.

The moment Chen Zhi walked in, applause and rowdy cheers erupted.

“CEO Chen!”

“Godfather!”

“Stop calling him godfather—it’s ruining Peking University’s image!”

“CEO Chen, are we going to graduate and be unemployed because of Moss?”

“Is Deep Space still hiring?”

Chen Zhi sat down on the stage, leaning his cane against the desk.

The host teacher was about to open the session, but Chen Zhi grabbed the microphone first.

“First, a disclaimer: calling me godfather won’t get your resume any bonus points.”

The audience burst out laughing.

From the very back row, Guo Yang immediately shouted,

“Then what about calling you Dad?”

The entire room roared even louder.

Chen Zhi pointed to the back row.

“Guo Yang, you’re staying after this. I’ve got a position for you.”

Guo Yang froze.

“What position?”

“The company mascot at the front door.”

“Does it come with room and board?”

“It comes with being gawked at.”

Guo Yang promptly sat down.

The host teacher laughed and stepped in.

“Today’s seminar mainly covers the development of the AI industry and youth employment. Chen Zhi is both a Peking University student and the founder of Deep Space Technology. Everyone is welcome to ask questions.”

No sooner had she finished than a bespectacled male student in the first row stood up.

“CEO Chen, I’m a senior in the School of EECS.”

“I’m pretty anxious right now.”

“We study algorithms, we study engineering—and now Moss can even write and debug code. So in the future, are we just going to be assistants to AI?”

The moment this question came up, the venue grew noticeably quieter.

Many people held up their phones to record.

Chen Zhi held the microphone and didn’t rush to answer.

He looked at the male student.

“Do you know how to write code?”

The student nodded.

“Yes.”

“Do you use AI to write code?”

“Yes.”

“Then have you noticed that people who use AI to write code are way more efficient than those who don’t?”

The student paused.

Chen Zhi continued.

“Used to be, a junior programmer took a whole week to finish a small feature.”

“Now, a junior programmer who uses Moss might finish it in a day.”

“Who do you think the company will fire?”

The student thought for a moment.

“The people who don’t use AI?”

“Exactly.”

Chen Zhi brought the microphone a little closer.

“AI won’t eliminate programmers first; it’s the people unwilling to upgrade themselves.”

Some students in the audience started taking notes.

Chen Zhi added,

“Of course, if you’re just copy-pasting, don’t blame Moss for taking your job. It’s faster at copy-pasting than you are, and it doesn’t slack off either.”

The crowd laughed again.

A second question came quickly.

A female student stood up.

“CEO Chen, I’m from the Chinese Language and Literature department. Now AI can write copy, scripts, and lyrics—so what happens to creators?”

The word “lyrics” made Chen Zhi’s fingers pause briefly.

He didn’t dodge.

“AI can write things, but it doesn’t know why you cry, and it doesn’t know why you feel dissatisfied.”

The female student was taken aback.

Chen Zhi put it in plainer terms.

“AI can help you expand text, polish it, structure it, even generate ten versions for you to pick from.”

“But the things that truly move people still come from humans.”

“In the future, what you need to learn isn’t to compete with AI on speed—it’s to learn how to ask better questions and make more genuine judgments.”

A student in the crowd muttered under their breath,

“So we still have to grind?”

Chen Zhi heard it.

“Yes.”

He admitted it directly.

“AI won’t make the world easier; it’ll only make it harder for people who are lazy to coast through.”

A wave of low laughter swept the room.

The words stung, but nobody thought they were hollow.

The third student to stand up was from the Law School.

“CEO Chen, the fact that AI can make decisions for people—doesn’t that raise liability issues? For example, if Moss causes a user to lose money on an investment, or if a medical screening gives a wrong preliminary result, who bears the responsibility?”

Li Zhiyi sat in the audience, heard the question, and looked up at the stage.

Chen Zhi also glanced at her.

"That's a professional question."

The law student sitting up straighter.

Chen Zhi picked up his water glass and took a sip.

"Moss doesn't make the final decision for the user."

"It can offer suggestions, provide evidence, and highlight risk warnings, but before the user confirms, the system has to mark all key responsibility nodes."

"The same goes for Shenkong's plug-in market. Any skill related to law, medicine, or finance requires higher-level review."

The law student pressed further.

"Who does the review?"

Chen Zhi pointed his finger naturally at the audience.

"Our legal team."

Li Zhiyi looked down and wrote two words in her notebook: "Here we go again."

Pei Ningxue glanced at her.

"You'll get used to it."

Li Zhiyi sighed softly.

"I'm not your kind of 'used to it' yet."

There was no real tension between those two, but onstage, Chen Zhi almost got lit up by the next question.

A guy wearing a black windbreaker stood up, much sharper in tone than the speakers before him.

"Chen Zhi, I want to ask a real question."

"Shenkong Technology is selling phones, pushing MossOS, and operating a plug-in market all at once."

"You say it's giving developers opportunities, but in the end, you control all the gateways."

"Developers work hard to write skills, only to have you decide the pricing, distribution, and commission split."

"How is this different from a monopoly?"

The venue went silent.

This was a tough question to answer.

A lot of people looked at Chen Zhi onstage.

Guo Yang frowned.

"Who's this guy? Throwing out accusation from nowhere."

Li Zicong glanced over.

"He's not from our school."

Zhang Tianyang whispered.

"He came from the media area earlier, I think."

Onstage, Chen Zhi didn't seem rushed. He looked at the guy.

"What's your name?"

The guy hesitated for half a second.

"Wang Rui."

"Which school?"

"I... School of Economics and Management."

Chen Zhi nodded.

"Which university?"

The guy's face changed.

Students started heckling from below.

"He's not from Peking University?"

"A gatecrasher?"

"Economics and Management? That's not what PKU calls it."

The host teacher also frowned.

"Sir, please identify yourself."

The guy forced himself.

"It doesn't matter which school I'm from. The question itself matters."

Chen Zhi smiled.

"The question certainly matters."

"But who you are also matters."

He looked at the back row.

"Dai Dali."

Dai Dali was there today as handyman, holding a laptop in the corner, and looked up at the sound of his name.

"Here."

"Look up the back end of the on-site Q&A registration QR code. Check if this phone number is there."

Dai Dali's fingers moved lightning fast.

The guy's expression went clearly panicked.

"What right do you have to check my privacy?"

Chen Zhi put the mic on the table, his tone calm.

"When you scanned the QR code, you agreed to authorization. The on-site check-in system is handled by the school. Don't worry—I'm only checking the registered info."

In less than twenty seconds, Dai Dali looked up.

"Got it."

"Registered name: Wang Rui. Affiliation field says: freelance media."

The venue erupted.

"Media?"

"Seriously, pretending to be a student?"

"He's just stirring things up!"

Dai Dali kept going.

"The WeChat account linked to his phone number published an article yesterday titled 'MossOS: The New Monopoly Dressed as Innovation.'"

"The article's original source is a tech column on Baidu's Baijiahao."

Even the host teacher couldn't stay calm.

The guy got anxious.

"I was just asking a normal question! Is Shenkong Technology so afraid of scrutiny?"

Chen Zhi picked up the mic again.

"Yes, it is."

The whole venue fell silent.

The guy froze.

Chen Zhi leaned back in his chair in a level voice.

"I'm especially afraid of freelancers like you who pretend to be students."

"Because you're the best at cutting one sentence into ten pieces and slapping a headline on it."

"For example, when I said 'AI will eliminate people who don't upgrade,' you'd write it as 'Shenkong CEO lets loose: People who can't adapt to AI deserve to be jobless.'"

Someone in the audience laughed.

Chen Zhi continued.

"But I'll answer your question anyway."

He raised his hand and pulled up a blank slide on the big screen, typing live.

[MossOS Developer Ecosystem Draft]

Article 1: Developers possess full intellectual property rights over skills and plug-ins.

Article 2: Platform commission is 0% in the first year.

Article 3: Student developer teams are exempt from platform service fees for the first three years.

Article 4: Skill pricing is set independently by developers; the platform only screens for policy violations.

Article 5: Shenkong must not remove compliant plug-ins without cause.

As he typed line by line, the students stirred.

"Zero commission for the first year?"

"Student teams exempt for three years?"

"Is this real?"

Pei Ningxue, seated in the audience, her forehead twitched.

She turned to Li Zhiyi.

"He's announced preemptive sweeteners again."

Onstage, Chen Zhi saved the slide.

"These five terms will be synchronized to the Shenkong official website later."

"Classmate Wang Rui, whether you're a student or not, your question was worth asking."

The guy grimaced.

But Chen Zhi didn't let him off.

"Just next time, don't pretend to be a student."

"Peking University students usually don't bring talking-point headlines into their questions."

The entire venue burst into laughter.

Someone even led a round of applause.

"Nice!"

"Exposed on the spot!"

"Baidu strikes again, huh?"

The guy turned to leave. The security at the door was already moving in. The host teacher arranged for staff to verify his identity.

Chen Zhi didn't keep hammering him.

He turned back to the audience.

"I was just talking about the developer ecosystem."

"Since so many students are here today, I want to make an impromptu announcement."

The venue gradually quieted down.

Chen Zhi opened the next slide. It had only four words.

[Peking University Special Edition]

Everyone sat up straight.

Chen Zhi lifted the mic.

"Shenkong Technology will open the first batch of MossOS student developer beta spots at Peking University."

"The first batch includes one hundred teams."

"Each team up to five members."

"For projects that pass review, Shenkong will provide development funds, computing credits, and technical support."

"If a team produces a skill plug-in that can go live, the company will give a launch bonus."

Guo Yang's eyes lit up at the back.

"How much?"

Chen Zhi looked at him.

"Why are you so excited?"

Guo Yang thumped his own chest.

"I want to be an entrepreneur too!"

Li Zicong tagged him.

"You just want to con the development funds."

Chen Zhi couldn't help but smile, then gave the number.

"Up to one million per project."

The audience paused for half a second.

Then it went completely wild.

"How much?!"

"A million for a student project?"

"President Chen, is it too late to quit my classes and build a team?"

"Don't shove! Let me sign up first!"

The host teacher pounded the table trying to restore order.

"Quiet down! Quiet down!"

But the energy was uncontainable.

Felt more effective than any job fair lecture.

What students feared most was graduating into unemployment—but if an era reshaped by AI offered a new entry ticket, and someone was handing it to them, the vibe shot through the roof. Especially when that someone was Shenkong Technology, a unicorn in the AI game.

Chen Zhi kept talking, waited for the buzz to settle a little.

"Don't get too excited."

"Shenkong's money isn't easy to take."

"I don't want PowerPoint startups. I don't want slogan startups."

"Only if you can get it running, solve real problems, and get users willing to pay—then there's a bonus."

A student from the School of Computer Science immediately raised his hand.

"Mr. Chen, where's the registration link?"

Chen Zhi looked at Dai Dali.

Dai Dali bent his head and started hammering the keyboard.

"Three minutes."

Pei Ningxue closed her eyes.

It was her first day back at the company.

This man had just improvised—on the spot—a million-dollar university developer program.

Li Zhiyi turned her notebook to a new page and began writing: student team contract templates, intellectual property ownership, tax handling for bonuses, risks with minors—

Pei Ningxue glanced over.

"You write pretty fast."

Li Zhiyi spoke softly.

"He spends money too fast. I'm afraid I can't keep up."

Pei Ningxue actually cracked a smile.

On stage, Chen Zhi was already winding up.

"Finally, to answer that question from the forum:

Will AI leave you jobless the moment you graduate?"

He paused.

"Yes, it will leave some people unemployed."

No one in the auditorium laughed.

Chen Zhi continued, microphone in hand.

"But it will also let some people start their own businesses the moment they graduate, join new industries the moment they graduate, and build products right after graduation that used to require a whole team at a big company."

"If you're afraid of Moss, then come understand it, use it, and remake it."

"Don't just call me a code-traitor on the forum."

Someone in the crowd immediately shouted,

"Mr. Chen reads the forum!"

Chen Zhi deadpanned,

"I didn't. My roommate snitched on you guys."

Guo Yang promptly lowered his head and pretended to be invisible.

Chen Zhi added his final words.

"The registration link will go out in three minutes."

"Priority for Peking University students."

"And to our friends from Tsinghua next door—don't worry. Just line up at the door first."