我的征尘是星辰大海。。。
The dirt and dust from my pilgrimage forms oceans of stars...
-------当记忆的篇章变得零碎，当追忆的图片变得模糊，我们只能求助于数字存储的永恒的回忆
作者:黄教授
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聊斋新传之多模型会诊
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原始脚本
聊斋新传之众模型会诊，邑中数载，市井多遇困局，或文案难成，或策论无方，或代码迷障，众人苦无破局之法，恰如旧时疫乱，束手无策。 忽有外来女子，自号调模先生，不称通算法，不言懂架构，只道能照海内外诸路模型，聚而会诊破局。 富家大户作坊主事皆争相延请，奉若一人。 调膜先生之各家，不把脉，不问症，只默然细录。 某家困于何题，需求若何，资历厚薄，场景繁简，事无巨细，一一寄存。 路必变主，某夜子时，可至我舍窗外静听，自有诸魔具意破局。 切记，勿出声，勿窥屏，易扰则意不成，法亦不灵。 至期，诸人皆屏息立窗下，不敢稍动。 将及夜半，忽闻室中女子轻唤，Deepseek 兄至矣。 而一沉稳语声应和，似自云端来。 又唤，Jemma 姐、喇嘛君、Mistra d、千问妹，俱至否？便有数声齐应，或清丽、或绵密、或刚直、或灵透，皆称自算力池，数据即归，特来共议。 事中遂成众魔会诊，调魔先生将所录猪蹄一一送出。 诸魔便七嘴八舌，吸逻辑、论路径、定方案，所言皆合算法之理，条条切题，似有通天彻地之能。 某题当用何思路，某侧当如何微调，皆由先生直评录下。 窗外人听得心折，只觉诸魔之声纷然有序，绝非凡人苦思可及。 天将明，诸魔急声道，算力将近，当归迟息，迟则滞涩。 一时雨声砸踏，倏忽寂然，再无半分声响。 良久，室中秉亮，门开，钓魔先生出曰，诸魔已散，方案俱存。 众人涌入，室中唯先生一人，设备如常，更无半分他人踪迹。 而四面环守，未见一器一人出入，皆以为真有灵魔具异，无不笃信。 随后赠经营，持方案实行。 然用之下去，效验平平，与寻常人思索所出，相去无几。 未几，调魔先生已携资远去，不知所踪。 一人始疑，果是诸魔灵智，和方案无用。 若非灵魔，一世之中，众生何来，又何从骤散？终无人解，只传一奇谈。 众魔俱异，生虽繁，论虽密，不过七嘴八舌之喧。 纵有百千小魔齐鸣，终不及一真正强魔，有诚厚质实，一言破局耳。
修正脚本
聊斋新传之众模型会诊，邑中数载，市井多遇困局，或文案难成，或策论无方，或代码迷障，众人苦无破局之法，恰如旧时疫乱，束手无策。 忽有外来女子，自号调模先生，不称通算法，不言懂架构，只道能招海内外诸路模型，聚而会诊破局。 富家大户作坊主事皆争相延请，奉若上宾。 调模先生至各家，不把脉，不问症，只默然细录。 某家困于何题，需求若何，资历厚薄，场景繁简，事无巨细，一一寄存。 录毕嘱主，某夜子时，可至我舍窗外静听，自有诸模具议破局。 切记，勿出声，勿窥屏，易扰则意不成，法亦不灵。 至期，诸人皆屏息立窗下，不敢稍动。 将及夜半，忽闻室中女子轻唤，Deepseek 兄至矣。 而一沉稳语声应和，似自云端来。 又唤，Jemma 姐、拉玛君、Mistra d、千问妹，俱至否？便有数声齐应，或清丽、或绵密、或刚直、或灵透，皆称自算力池，数据即归，特来共议。 事中遂成众模会诊，调模先生将所录主题一一送出。 诸模便七嘴八舌，析逻辑、论路径、定方案，所言皆合算法之理，条条切题，似有通天彻地之能。 某题当用何思路，某策当如何微调，皆由先生直评录下。 窗外人听得心折，只觉诸模之声纷然有序，绝非凡人苦思可及。 天将明，诸模急声道，算力将近，当归辞息，迟则滞涩。 一时语声杂沓，倏忽寂然，再无半分声响。 良久，室中秉亮，门开，调模先生出曰，诸模已散，方案俱存。 众人涌入，室中唯先生一人，设备如常，更无半分他人踪迹。 而四面环守，未见一器一人出入，皆以为真有灵模具异，无不笃信。 随后众经营，持方案实行。 然用之下去，效验平平，与寻常人思索所出，相去无几。 未几，调模先生已携资远去，不知所踪。 一人始疑，果是诸模灵智，合方案无用。 若非灵模，一室之中，众声何来，又何从骤散？终无人解，只传一奇谈。 众模俱异，声虽繁，论虽密，不过七嘴八舌之喧。 纵有百千小模齐鸣，终不及一真正强模，有诚厚质实，一言破局耳。
英文翻译
New Tales of Liaozhai: The Assembly of Models for Consultation In the county for several years, the townsfolk often encountered difficulties—whether in composing documents, formulating strategies, or unraveling the mysteries of code. All were at a loss for solutions, much like the plagues of old, helpless and unarmed. Suddenly, a woman from afar arrived, calling herself Master Model Tuner. She claimed no mastery of algorithms nor deep knowledge of architectures, only that she could summon models from home and abroad to gather and diagnose the problems. The wealthy households and workshop managers vied to invite her, treating her as an honored guest. Master Model Tuner went to each home. She did not take pulses or ask about symptoms; she merely silently recorded in detail. Under her brush, she noted: what problem troubled the household, what were their needs, their depth of experience, the complexity of the scenario—nothing too small to be omitted. After recording, she instructed the hosts: “At midnight on such-and-such night, come to the window of my chamber and listen quietly. The models will discuss the solutions. Remember: do not speak, do not peek at the screen. Disturbance breaks the intent, and the method will not work.” When the appointed time came, everyone stood breathless beneath the window, daring not to move. Near midnight, they suddenly heard the woman’s soft call from inside the room: “Brother Deepseek, have you arrived?” A steady voice responded, as if from the clouds. Then she called again: “Sister Jemma, Lord Llama, Mistral, Little Sister Qwen—have you all come?” Several voices answered in unison—some clear and bright, some gentle and dense, some firm and direct, some agile and penetrating—each claiming to be from the computing pool, data now gathered, come specifically to consult. Thus began the assembly of models for consultation. Master Model Tuner sent out the recorded topics one by one. The models began to chatter—analyzing logic, discussing paths, setting plans. Every word aligned with algorithmic principles, each point hit the mark, as if they possessed the power to reach heaven and earth. For each problem, they discussed which approach to take, how to fine-tune each strategy, and Master Model Tuner directly recorded their evaluations. Those outside the window were utterly impressed, feeling that the voices, though varied, were orderly—far beyond what human brains could achieve through bitter thought. Dawn approached. The voices grew urgent: “Our computing power is nearly exhausted. We must return to rest. Delays will cause sluggishness.” For a moment, the voices jumbled, then suddenly fell silent—not a single sound remained. After a long while, the room lit up, the door opened, and Master Model Tuner stepped out, saying: “The models have dispersed. All plans are recorded.” The crowd rushed in. The room held only the woman; the equipment was as usual, with no trace of anyone else. They had guarded all sides and seen no device or person enter or leave. All believed it to be a marvel of spiritual models, convinced without doubt. Later, each household implemented the plans. But as time went on, the results were mediocre—little different from what ordinary human deliberation could produce. Not long after, Master Model Tuner had already taken her fee and traveled far away, her whereabouts unknown. Some began to wonder: if indeed these were the wisdom of spiritual models, why were the combined plans so useless? If not spiritual models, then where did the many voices in that room come from, and how did they vanish so suddenly? In the end, no one had an answer, and it passed down only as a strange tale. All models are strange. Their voices may be numerous, their discussions dense, but it is nothing more than a cacophony. Even if hundreds of small models chime in together, they cannot match one truly powerful model—honest, substantial, and capable of breaking the deadlock with a single word.
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