窈窕淑女

员工能兼职吗？印度科技行业在争论_我的网站

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    Chen Aijun works in an optical shop in Chengdu, southwest China's Sichuan Province, Aug. 14, 2026. (Xinhua/Lu Youyi)The video came with almost no instructions.
There was no narration explaining the mythology behind palaces rising above an ocean of clouds in the video, nor subtitles identifying the heavenly gates, cranes or tiny figures moving beneath them.
Yet viewers outside China quickly began naming the world for themselves.
Some called it "paradise." Others saw a "Celestial Palace" or an "Immortal Realm" familiar from Chinese fantasy games and television dramas. One user wrote, "Waiting on Wukong to show up," invoking the Monkey King from the Chinese literary classic "Journey to the West," or the hit game "Black Myth: Wukong."
The interpretations differed, but viewers did not seem to need the same cultural knowledge to enter the conversation.
Earlier this month, Chinese foreign ministry spokesperson Mao Ning shared the 33-second AI-generated video on social media with a question: "What does the Chinese heaven look like?"
It opened up a hermeneutic discussion, with responses overseas suggesting a cultural image does not necessarily need to elicit exactly the same interpretation for everyone in order for it to be viewed meaningfully.
"The right to interpret ultimately lies with the audience," said Zhang Zheng, deputy dean of Tsinghua University's School of Journalism and Communication.
People encountering unfamiliar cultures inevitably draw on what they already know, Zhang said. Rather than fully grasping every cultural reference, what matters is whether audiences can encounter the work, understand it and respond to it emotionally.
Before strangers abroad could interpret this particular world, however, it first had to get out of one man's head.
Chen Aijun, 34, is an optometrist in Chengdu, capital of southwest China's Sichuan Province.
By day, Chen leads a quiet, down-to-earth life in a neighborhood optical shop. Inside, he worked among eyeglass frames and optometry equipment. On his computer was another landscape entirely: cloud seas, immense palaces, flying cranes and figures in ancient robes.
Chen's heaven did not come from any single ancient text.
Growing up in the 1990s, he watched "Journey to the West" and later encountered "The Investiture of the Gods," xianxia (immortal heroes) novels and fantasy games. Those stories mixed over time with images of Chinese architecture and landscapes he saw online.
He has never visited nearby Mount Emei, and most of what he knows of Mount Huangshan's famous sea of clouds comes from videos.
What appeared on his screen was therefore not a reconstruction of one fixed mythological scene, but a world shaped by traditional stories already filtered through television, novels, games, the internet and his own memory.
For years, Chen had no way to make that world visible.
He never studied painting, design, photography or 3D modeling. After high school, he joined his parents' optical business and eventually took over the shop.
Generative AI changed the gap between imagining an image and possessing the technical skills to show it to someone else.
More than a year ago, Chen began teaching himself through free online tutorials. In September 2025, he started regularly posting AI videos, and a month later began experimenting with palaces floating above clouds. He has since published more than 200 videos.
The process, however, involves far more than entering a few prompts. The technology lowered the technical threshold, but it did not make the choices for him.
When creating Nantianmen, the mythical heavenly gate, Chen first defines the spatial rhythm and tonal hierarchy, pairing towering architecture and cloud seas with deliberately miniature figures to amplify the celestial realm's grand scale.
If the result does not match the picture in his mind, he tries again. He often generates over 1,000 images a day, revising a single scene repeatedly before moving on to animation, editing, color grading and music.
The machine can generate a thousand possible heavens. Chen still has to decide which one is his.
"AI-produced images can be soulless, and it takes human inspiration and aesthetic sensibility to endow works with warmth and vitality," he said.
Zhang believes Chen's experience reflects a broader shift brought about by generative AI. He said AI is giving people without conventional artistic training access to forms of expression that once required specialized skills. But what they create still depends on what they bring to the tool.
"A person's existing knowledge inevitably shapes how they use AI," Zhang said.
Chen brought his memories to the machine. Viewers abroad, in turn, brought theirs to the image.
"Everyone brings their own associations to these scenes," he said.
If his imagined world had to be reduced to three elements, he would keep clouds, architecture and people. The first two should feel immense, he said, while the last should remain small.
The details are culturally specific, but the visual effect is more immediate: tiny human figures dwarfed by vast clouds and monumental architecture. The responses suggest that viewers did not need to understand every cultural reference to find a way into the image.
Chen has no overseas social media accounts and learned that the video was attracting attention abroad only when friends sent him screenshots.
His life at the optical shop has changed little. He still checks eyesight and fits glasses when customers come in, then returns to his computer when the shop grows quiet.
He now hopes to make longer AI videos with fuller stories. He also wants to visit Mount Emei and, one day, Mount Huangshan.
For years, images of distant mountains and clouds reached Chen through screens. His imagined landscapes later traveled through screens to people he had never met.
Now he wants to see the real mountains and clouds for himself.
    Chen Aijun makes AI videos in an optical shop in Chengdu, southwest China's Sichuan Province, Aug. 14, 2026. (Xinhua/Lu Youyi)
。    她说：“我很擅长制作动画，正从事一个项目，我从中赚的钱几乎与我的主要工作一样多，且工作时间更短，这还有助于磨炼我的技能并增加我的收入来源。”她正在兼职：在拥有全职工作的同时，向另一个雇主出售其技能。她并不认为其中有任何错误，她的公司要求她每周工作约40小时，只要诚实照做，她就自认为没理由不让她从事一项副业。然而，并非每个人都如此习以为常。近来，印度科技咨询公司威普罗解聘300名为竞争对手从事第二职业的员工，该公司董事长普雷姆吉强烈抨击科技行业的兼职行为，“这是赤裸裸的欺骗。”尽管该现象也存在于其他国家，但这在印度引发激烈争议，尤其是在科技行业。

B | 班加罗尔就业法专家戈帕拉克里希南表示，尽管兼职在印度并非新鲜事，但它在新冠肺炎疫情后变得更泛滥，因为员工开始远程工作。同时，雇主减少或放松监督，为员工从事另一份工作提供更多时间和网络带宽。威普罗的解聘举动为该话题带来更多声音：一些公司严厉警告员工不要为其他企业工作，或者试图对员工加强监督。但其他企业领导人正采取宽松路线，声称年轻员工只是努力进取。显而易见的是，随着科技行业为雄心勃勃的年轻员工开辟更多出售其技能的增收途径，公司需要考虑如何以一种双方都能理解的方式规范员工的行为。兼职是印度科技行业的公开秘密。调查发现，近65%的IT员工表示，他们或他们认识的人在居家办公期间兼职或寻求兼职机会。拥有大量员工的IT公司难以在其职工中营造主人翁意识和归属感。改善经济条件往往需要来自不止一份工作的报酬。印度“IT之都”班加罗尔提供的薪酬相对较高，但生活成本也是如此。除增收外，许多员工也希望提高技能或追寻激情。28岁的拉詹是当地某大软件公司的全职员工，但他也有自己的YouTube频道并通过广告赚钱。他说：“新冠肺炎疫情使我意识到，人们必须未雨绸缪，拥有可用以缓冲的储蓄。”就业法专家戈帕拉克里希南表示，从法律上看，情况很复杂，员工能否从事兼职或副业，主要取决于与主要雇主的雇佣合同。在她看来，一些公司确实允许员工按事先协议从事副业或与爱好有关的项目，前提是无利益冲突。IT员工组织NITES总裁萨卢加指出，多位印度科技大亨的创业都始于副业。印度电子和信息技术国务部长拉吉夫·钱德拉塞卡也站了出来，他指出年轻员工渴望将其技能变现并建立经济稳定性。

C | 显然，无论有多少不同观点，这场争论都不会消失。

D | 蒂雅发现，在新冠肺炎疫情期间，很容易保留两份工作，但她很快就将面临被重新召回办公室的现实。在她看来，她的第二份工作不仅与钱有关，也为她带来更多满足感。（作者卡尔帕纳·桑德，崔晓冬译）。

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