The invitation came casually, almost as an afterthought, during one of Professor Zhang's weekly research group meetings in mid-November.
"Li Auto is expanding their battery research division," the professor mentioned, updating the group on recent developments. "They're looking for academic partnerships. Specifically, they're interested in novel electrolyte materials that could offer performance advantages over current LFP chemistries. I suggested our group might have something relevant."
The mention was directed at no one specifically, but Chen Wei felt the weight of it immediately. Li Auto was one of China's most successful EV manufacturers—founded by former Ideal founder Li Xiang, it had captured approximately 15% of the premium EV market within three years. That kind of market position depended on differentiation, and differentiation in EVs increasingly came down to battery performance: energy density, thermal safety, charging speed, cycle life.
An improved electrolyte chemistry could translate directly into performance advantages that justified premium pricing.
After the meeting, Professor Zhang called Chen Wei into his office.
"I want you to prepare a presentation on your battery research for Li Auto researchers," the professor said without preamble. "High-level overview. Emphasis on the manufacturing constraints you've been considering. Assume they understand battery chemistry but care primarily about scalability and commercialisation timeline."
"When?" Chen Wei asked, his mind already calculating the preparation required.
"Three weeks. Second week of December. They're sending a team to campus for exploratory meetings. I've positioned your work as potentially valuable for their next-generation battery development."
The implication was clear: this was not just an academic presentation. This was a business conversation with commercial potential consequences. The prospect triggered a cascade of thoughts that Chen Wei paused to process:
System feedback available? he asked internally, drawing on the ambient awareness that the system now occupied in his consciousness.
SYSTEM ANALYSIS: Li Auto presents a potential commercialisation vector. Research assessment: Your solid-state electrolyte work is 6-8 months from publishable results but 2-3 years from production-ready technology. Li Auto timeline pressure will likely be 18-24 months to prototype validation. Mismatch indicates either: (1) a partnership where they fund acceleration, or (2) licensing of your materials for their research team to scale. System recommendation: Prepare a presentation emphasising commercial viability, not just scientific novelty.
The system's frame shifted the entire interaction from "academic collaboration" to "business negotiation." Chen Wei found himself simultaneously energised by the commercial possibility and unsettled by the acceleration it implied.
The superconductor manuscript submission happened four days later, on a grey November afternoon that matched Chen Wei's emotional state. He had spent the previous week polishing figures, refining the methodology section, and crafting the abstract with the precision that academic publications demanded. The paper represented three months of experimental work—the DoE optimisation, data analysis, physical interpretation, and synthesis into a coherent narrative.
Now it existed as a PDF file attached to an email, sent to the Journal of Physics: Condensed Matter with a cover letter explaining the significance of the results.
The system provided context that Chen Wei had not explicitly requested:
HISTORICAL PUBLICATION DATA: This journal's average acceptance rate is 23%. Average review time is 4-6 months. 68% of papers receive at least one round of revision requests before acceptance. Your paper quality assessment: 71% probability of acceptance on first review round, 92% probability of eventual acceptance after revision.
The statistics were simultaneously encouraging and daunting. His paper would probably be published, but not immediately. The timeline would stretch into 2026, meaning the superconductor work would not impact his academic record until spring at the earliest.
This was the first time Chen Wei experienced viscerally what academics meant by "publish or perish"—the way research progress was held hostage to external review processes that could take months or years. For someone with family financial obligations, this timeline was a luxury he couldn't quite afford.
The system's commercialisation modules unlocked that same evening, triggered by some threshold it had apparently been monitoring.
SYSTEM MILESTONE: "ENTREPRENEUR MINDSET" ASSESSMENT INITIATED
The interface displayed a new set of analytical capabilities that had not been available before:
COMMERCIALIZATION ANALYSIS SUITE:
Market Opportunity Modelling
Competitive Intelligence
Patent Landscape Analysis
Licensing/Partnership Viability Assessment
Startup Feasibility Metrics
Supply Chain Economics
The system immediately began analysing Chen Wei's battery research through these new lenses:
SOLID-STATE BATTERY ELECTROLYTE MARKET ANALYSIS
Market Size Projection (2026-2035):
Total addressable market (TAM): ¥1.2-1.8 trillion (assuming 30% EV penetration globally)
Electrolyte materials market subset: ¥80-150 billion
Premium materials market (novel compositions): ¥12-25 billion
Your potential market share (optimistic scenario): ¥600 million - ¥2 billion
Competitive Landscape:
Academic labs: 1,200+ research groups working on solid-state batteries
Companies with patents: 150+ (including CATL, BYD, Samsung, Toyota, QuantumScape)
Published patents on ceramic-polymer electrolytes: 47
Your freedom to operate: High (your specific LiPON-polymer approach has 3 similar patents, but distinct chemistry provides differentiation)
Commercialisation Timeline:
Laboratory validation: 6-12 months (likely)
Pilot production: 18-36 months (manufacturing scale-up)
Production qualification: 36-48 months (customer validation, safety certification)
Market launch: 48-60 months (4-5 years from today)
The analysis was detailed enough to function as a strategic business plan. It was also sobering: a 4-5 year timeline to actual market revenue. Chen Wei's family's financial obligation was measured in 1-2 years.
SYSTEM ASSESSMENT: Timeline mismatch creates strategic pressure. Options available: (1) Accept long academic timeline; (2) Accelerate through startup formation and external funding; (3) License technology to an established company for immediate cash; (4) Partner with CATL or similar for development acceleration.
Li Na's PhD defence happened on a cold December morning, in a conference room where a committee of four senior faculty members grilled her on three years of battery research. Chen Wei attended as an observer, watching from the back as his collaborator presented her work with impressive technical depth and poise.
The defence lasted two hours. The questions were sharp—challenging her assumptions about interfacial chemistry, asking her to justify her electrolyte composition choices, pressing her on why her approach would be better than alternatives already published in the literature.
By the end, the committee approved her PhD candidacy. Li Na had officially completed her doctoral research. She would graduate in January.
Afterwards, celebrating with coffee in the canteen, Li Na was simultaneously proud and uncertain about what came next.
"I have three offers," she told Chen Wei. "CATL wants me to join their solid-state division. Samsung has a research position. And there's a small battery startup in Beijing that's offering equity plus salary to be their lead materials scientist."
"Which are you considering?" Chen Wei asked.
"CATL is the safe choice," Li Na said. "Large company, good stability, real resources. Samsung is the prestige choice. The startup is the gamble—they have funding but no production experience."
"What does your instinct say?" Chen Wei asked.
Li Na was quiet for a moment. "The startup. Because they're actually trying to solve the manufacturing constraint problem rather than just optimising chemistry. But startups fail. And if this one fails, I'll be looking for work in a saturated market."
"Maybe not," Chen Wei said. "If you're solving real problems, those problems stay solved. Even if the company fails, you'll have demonstrated capability."
"That's optimistic," Li Na said, but she was smiling slightly. "What about you? What comes next after battery research?"
Chen Wei hadn't articulated it directly before, but the question forced clarity: "I think I'm going to try to commercialise this work. The market opportunity is real. And my family needs financial stability faster than academics can provide it."
Li Na absorbed this and nodded slowly. "That could work. You understand the technical problem. And you're thinking about manufacturing from the beginning, which is rare. You'd need partners, though. You can't scale battery technology alone."
"I know," Chen Wei said. "That's what the Li Auto meeting is about. I'm presenting our work in a few weeks. Seeing if they're interested in collaboration."
"If they are," Li Na said carefully, "don't just license the technology. Partner with them. Keep your research position so you can continue improving the materials while they handle manufacturing. You'll have more leverage that way."
The Li Auto meeting came on December 12th, a grey Beijing afternoon. Three researchers from Li Auto's battery division arrived at Tsinghua with the kind of understated confidence that characterised senior technical people from successful companies. Dr Shen Wei, who led the delegation, had previously worked at CATL for eight years and understood the battery industry with the depth that came from having actually shipped products.
The conference room setup was formal: a projection screen, conference table, and everyone with notebooks. Chen Wei presented his research for forty-five minutes, beginning with the manufacturing constraint problem and moving through his experimental approach, his results, and his projections for future work.
He did not present it as pure science. He presented it as a technical solution to a specific manufacturing problem that Li Auto was presumably trying to solve.
"The central insight," Chen Wei explained, displaying a comparison diagram, "is that most solid-state electrolyte researchers optimise for electrochemical performance and hope manufacturing will follow. But manufacturing has hard constraints—coating uniformity, thermal processing windows, contamination tolerance. What if we designed the electrolyte material to be robust to those constraints from the beginning?"
"This ceramic-polymer composite approach," he continued, "sacrifices some theoretical electrochemical performance—about 15% lower ionic conductivity than perfectly optimised ceramics. But it can be synthesised at scale with standard equipment, it tolerates ±3 micrometre coating variation without performance degradation, and the precursor materials are commodity chemicals. From a manufacturing perspective, it's better than theoretically optimal but practically impossible materials."
The presentation was direct, honest about the tradeoffs, and clearly motivated by practical manufacturing reality rather than scientific novelty for its own sake. Dr Shen Wei was taking notes throughout, occasionally asking clarifying questions about yield projections and thermal processing windows.
When Chen Wei finished, there was a pause. Then Dr Shen Wei spoke:
"This is the right thinking. Most academic materials scientists design for ideal conditions. You're designing for realistic conditions. That's rare and valuable." He paused. "How far are you from production-ready materials?"
"Eighteen to twenty-four months for full qualification," Chen Wei estimated. "Six months to demonstrable prototype performance. The rest is safety testing, thermal cycling validation, and manufacturing scale-up."
"Li Auto's timeline," Dr Shen Wei said carefully, "is aggressive. We want production battery packs in vehicles within thirty-six months. That means we need a material qualification within eighteen months. Your timeline is tight but potentially workable if we dedicate resources."
Professor Zhang, who had been silent during the presentation, interjected: "What kind of partnership structure are you envisioning?"
"That depends," Dr Shen Wei said, "on whether this work is intellectual property you want to commercialise independently or whether you want a partner to accelerate it. If you want to accelerate, we can fund research expansion, provide access to our pilot manufacturing, and run validation testing. In exchange, we'd want commercial rights to the technology for vehicle batteries."
The question hung in the air because it was asking Chen Wei to make a choice that didn't have a clear correct answer:
Option A: Keep the technology independent, potentially license it later to the highest bidder, maintain complete control, risk slow commercialisation timeline.
Option B: Partner with Li Auto, accelerate the timeline, accept diluted control, and secure revenue and resources sooner.
That evening, Chen Wei sat alone in his dormitory study lounge and asked the system for an explicit strategic analysis.
SYSTEM STRATEGIC ASSESSMENT:
Option A (Independent Development):
Timeline to revenue: 5-7 years
Upside potential: ¥1-5 billion if technology becomes dominant
Downside risk: Technology becomes obsolete before commercialisation
Capital requirement: ¥50-200 million for pilot manufacturing (externally funded)
Probability of success: 35%
Option B (Partnership with Li Auto):
Timeline to revenue: 18-24 months
Upside potential: ¥300 million - ¥1 billion through royalties/licensing
Downside risk: Technology becomes a company asset; you become an employee
Capital requirement: Zero (Li Auto funds all development)
Probability of success: 78%
System observation: Your stated priority is family financial stability within 24 months. Option B aligns with this priority. Option A does not. However, Option A preserves entrepreneurial potential and wealth creation opportunities. This is a values decision, not a technical decision.
Additional system note: Li Auto is a trustworthy partner. Dr Shen Wei is a capable researcher who understands the value of academic collaboration. Partnership would likely be structured favourably. Risk of exploitation is low.
The system was essentially recommending Option B—the pragmatic partnership that solved his immediate family's financial need while sacrificing long-term wealth creation potential. But the framing was honest: it acknowledged that this was a values decision, not a technical one.
Chen Wei called his mother that night.
"I have an opportunity," he told her, explaining the Li Auto situation in detail. "I could partner with them and solve a significant part of our family's financial obligation within two years. Or I could try to commercialise independently and potentially create more wealth, but it would take five years or longer."
His mother was quiet for a long moment. "What do you want to do?"
"Honestly?" Chen Wei said. "I want to do both. I want to solve the immediate financial problem and still maintain the long-term opportunity. But I don't know if that's possible."
"Then find a partnership structure that includes both," his mother said simply. "You're thinking like an employee accepting a job. Think like a negotiator. If the technology is valuable, you should be able to structure an agreement where you benefit from both the immediate partnership and any future upside."
The wisdom was surprisingly sophisticated. His mother had spent years negotiating with hospital administrators about shift assignments and benefits—she understood that contracts could be structured in multiple ways.
The journal rejection arrived on December 19th.
The email subject line read: "Decision on your submission: Revision Required, but the actual letter indicated that the editor had desk-rejected the paper without sending it for external peer review. The reason given was: "While technically competent, the work represents an incremental advance in a well-established field. The journal seeks more novel contributions."
Chen Wei read the rejection three times, processing the implications. His superconductor work—which had taken three months of careful experimentation, which had revealed genuine physical insights through the DoE methodology, which he had believed was solid and publishable—had been deemed insufficiently novel for the top journal he'd targeted.
System commentary available? he asked.
SYSTEM RESPONSE: This outcome was predictable with 67% probability. Top journals receive submissions from thousands of researchers globally. Acceptance requires either: (1) Breakthrough novelty, (2) Significant improvement over state-of-the-art, or (3) Comprehensive study establishing a new field. Your work was (3) local optimisation—good science, publishable work, but not top-tier novelty. Recommendation: Submit to a second-tier journal (Nature Physics subsidiary journals, or Journal of Physics: Condensed Matter's speciality sections). Probability of acceptance: 85%.
The system's assessment was accurate but not particularly comforting. The rejected journal was the aspirational target—publishing there would have given his career immediate credibility. Publishing in a secondary journal would still advance his academic standing, but more slowly.
But the system also offered practical next steps. Chen Wei spent the next two days revising the manuscript based on the editor's comments (even though the paper had been desk-rejected, the feedback was useful for improving the presentation). He then submitted it to Physical Review Materials, a solid peer-reviewed journal that was known for accepting good-quality experimental work.
The acceptance probability seemed lower when framed as "second choice journal" but higher when framed as "appropriate venue for this quality of work." It was another lesson in managing expectations and navigating the academic publishing ecosystem.
The materials science conference invitation came as welcome good news on December 22nd. The Asian Materials Science Conference, held annually in Shanghai, had accepted Chen Wei's poster abstract on "Manufacturing-Constrained Design of Solid-State Battery Electrolytes." The conference was scheduled for mid-January.
This was, Chen Wei understood, a significant visibility opportunity. Poster presentations at major conferences were where early-stage researchers got noticed by senior faculty, by industry researchers, and by other potential collaborators. The opportunity to present his battery work to an audience of materials scientists and battery researchers could change his trajectory.
Late on December 23rd, lying in bed in his dormitory room while Jian Hao slept, Chen Wei experienced a moment of acute uncertainty about his future direction.
I feel like I'm at a decision point, he thought toward the system, and I don't have enough information to know which direction is correct.
SYSTEM RESPONSE: Correct. You have insufficient information to optimise a choice between multiple valid paths. In this situation, the system recommends: (1) Gather more information through further negotiation with Li Auto; (2) Present your work at the conference and assess industry response; (3) Complete superconductor publication to establish academic credibility; (4) Delay major decision until March 2026 when you have additional data points.
Your family's financial constraint is real and urgent, but jumping to commitment based on incomplete information is suboptimal. Better strategy: pursue multiple parallel paths for 3 months, then consolidate around whichever shows greatest promise.
The recommendation was characteristically pragmatic—delay major decisions while exploring multiple options. It was also slightly frustrating because it didn't provide the clear answer Chen Wei was seeking. But the system was correct: he genuinely did have insufficient information.
One more question, Chen Wei posed: What's your assessment of whether I should tell Li Auto about you? About the system?
SYSTEM RESPONSE: Negative. Do not disclose system existence to commercial partners. Rationale: (1) System advantage is proprietary and could reduce your negotiating position; (2) Commercial partners would likely demand ownership/access to the system, which is not possible; (3) Your capability advantage is real regardless of system disclosure; (4) Claiming system assistance would undermine the credibility of your technical contributions. Maintain selective disclosure. Jian Hao and Professor Zhang can know. Commercial partners and competitors cannot.
It was clear strategic guidance, and Chen Wei appreciated the directness of it. The system understood that in a business context, revealing the source of competitive advantage was usually suboptimal.
Christmas came and went with a phone call to his mother and sister, who reported that her university entrance exams were scheduled for June. The financial timeline remained tight—his family would need a material income contribution within 18-24 months to manage immediate obligations.
On December 26th, as he was preparing the final poster materials for the Shanghai conference, the system generated an unexpected notification:
SYSTEM ASSESSMENT: You have reached a critical juncture in your development. Three months ago, you were a talented undergraduate researcher with significant family obligations and an unclear career trajectory. Today, you have:
Published/in-publication superconductor research
Functional novel battery materials validated through collaboration
Industry partner expressing commercial interest
Conference visibility as an emerging researcher
Mentor network spanning academia and industry
System evaluation: You have transitioned from "student with potential" to "researcher with commercial relevance." This transition typically takes 3-5 years. You have accomplished it in 3 months through a combination of system acceleration, selective collaboration, and sustained effort.
The question you now face is not "Can I succeed?" but "What form should success take?" Two primary paths have emerged:
Path A: Academic Researcher
Timeline: 5-7 years to significant research impact
Financial outcome: ¥3-10 million through grants/positions
Status: Leading academic researcher; potential for prestigious positions
Path B: Entrepreneur
Timeline: 3-5 years to significant commercial impact
Financial outcome: ¥100-500 million through startup equity/licensing
Status: Founder/executive; potential for industry leadership
System assessment: You possess the capability for success on either path. The choice should be motivated by values (what kind of impact do you want), not by ability (you have sufficient capability for both). Your mother has implicitly endorsed Path B through her advice about negotiating dual benefits. But this remains your decision.
Proceed to the conference. Gather information. Maintain ambiguity until you have sufficient data. The path will become clear.
Chen Wei read the system's assessment and realised something important: the system had stopped trying to optimize him toward a predetermined goal. Instead, it was explicitly acknowledging that the choice was his—that its role was to provide capability and information, not to dictate outcomes.
That evening, he prepared the poster presentation, printed it on high-quality materials, and packed it carefully for the Shanghai trip. The poster displayed his battery electrolyte research with professional quality—experimental data clearly presented, methodology transparent, results honestly contextualized within the broader state-of-the-art.
It was good science. It was commercially relevant science. And Chen Wei genuinely did not know yet which direction it would ultimately lead him.
The uncertainty was uncomfortable. It was also, he was beginning to understand, an essential part of genuine research—the honest acknowledgment that the future remains undetermined, that choices matter, and that sometimes the best you can do is gather information, think carefully, and trust your own judgment.