Electronic Nezha

Chapter 35 Special Guest

Back on the fifth floor, I patted Liu Zhenhua on the shoulder, and he naturally followed behind me.

When we got to my room, I sat on the edge of the bed, and Liu Zhenhua sat in the computer chair.

I spoke first: "Someone has claimed that piece of paper now."

Liu Zhenhua spun his computer chair, sometimes facing me, sometimes facing the wall, and said calmly, "It's fine."

I said, "Don't you feel uncomfortable about it?"

“It’s better than continuing the investigation. I looked at Professor Huang’s resume, and he is indeed an expert. If he admits to this, then this matter will end here.”

Although according to the "707" rule, that mind map shouldn't cause any trouble, since it's an uncontrollable factor, and I think it's fine that Professor Huang attributed it to himself, I still feel uncomfortable. Isn't this just deceiving the world and stealing fame? It makes my heart ache to see an expert who takes healing and saving lives as his mission do something like this.

Liu Zhenhua sensed my thoughts and continued swirling his chair, saying, "Dad, broaden your perspective. I just casually drew that thing to save someone. Now that person is alright, and Professor Huang was the one who did the work." He genuinely didn't care. How indifferent? It's like spitting on the street, and someone passing by notices the perfectly round spit and then loudly announces over a megaphone that they were the one who spat it. How would you feel then…?

I wouldn't bother arguing with him; I'd even find it a bit ridiculous.

I said, "I just don't understand. The surgery was done beautifully, and Professor Huang gained both fame and fortune. He could have just ignored that piece of paper. Why did he have to publicize it so much?"

Liu Zhenhua said, "That's what you don't understand. The biggest difficulty in this surgery is predicting the bleeding point. Without this paper, the success of the surgery can only be attributed to luck. With this paper, it shows that Professor Huang was confident before the surgery, which is evidence of his unique vision and daring to think and act."

"If nothing unexpected happens, this surgery will become a classic case and spread throughout the industry. If the bleeding point is found during the operation, then it is just a work of art; if it is predicted in advance and accurately predicted, then it is a work of art, and Professor Huang will be recorded in medical history. That piece of paper will be his medal of honor."

I suddenly realized, and then spread my hands and said, "But isn't Mr. Huang afraid that someone will expose him?" I wasn't sure how many neurosurgeons had seen this piece of paper before Professor Huang was bewitched. At least Chen Zihan's father had seen it, otherwise he wouldn't have come to me, a fruit vendor, to verify it that day.

"That's beyond our control."

Later, after some reasoning, I roughly understood: Chen Dongliang is Chen Zihan's father, his daughter has recovered, and Professor Huang is Chen Dongliang's teacher, so what else could Chen Dongliang say at this point?
I tentatively asked, "So... this matter ends here?"

Liu Zhenhua said, "That's enough." He went back to his room, handed me a sheet of A4 paper, and said, "Dad, you handle this."

This A4 sheet of paper is missing a piece the size of a cigarette pack; the content is a request for leave from the PE teacher.

Once this is revealed to the world, all of Professor Huang's lies will be immediately exposed. I pondered for a moment, then took out my lighter and lit it. Because of the lingering effects of "A Better Tomorrow," I lit another cigarette with it. My hand was shaking a little, and the classic line from Mark Gor naturally came to mind:
I want to prove myself, not to show off how great I am, but to tell everyone that I will definitely get back what I lost!
This time, I don't intend to get back what I've lost.

It was just a wad of phlegm...

Who told you to spit it out so round?

Yuan Yuan only realized we hadn't eaten yet after we finished chatting, and she brought bad news: she thought Liu Zhenhua and I would definitely have lunch with the elderly couple, so she didn't cook. I said, "Let's order takeout."

Liu Zhenhua said, "Dad, I want to eat Zhajiangmian (noodles with soybean paste)."

Having not eaten for so long, I was starting to miss my own cooking, so I rolled up my sleeves and prepared to go to the front lines myself, with Yuan Yuan helping me out.

While kneading the dough, I asked Yuanyuan, "You can make Zhajiangmian (noodles with soybean paste) too, right?"

"Yes, but it definitely won't taste like the master's."

"Then I'll teach you, that's all." I hadn't gone far from the front line before I retreated to the second line and started instructing Yuanyuan. I wanted to test her comprehension, so I didn't teach her seriously and used all the jargon that chefs use, like "a few," "a little," and "a spoonful."

I had a bad feeling while the sauce was still in the pot—this stuff tastes better than what I make!
The noodles were cooked and topped with sauce. After taking a bite, I asked Liu Zhenhua, "Who made the better noodles, me or Yuanyuan?"

Liu Zhenhua glanced at me but didn't say anything.

This is what they call eating one without making a sound.

Later, Liu Zhenhua told me privately that it was easy to please me, but if he dared to say that Yuanyuan's work was not as good as mine, Yuanyuan would definitely do hundreds of billions of calculations to find areas for improvement. He hoped that the sauce would maintain its current flavor.

I admit that Yuan Yuan's sauce has a richer flavor profile than mine. I wouldn't say it's better than mine, but it's certainly no worse. I'm actually a little disappointed. I always thought that the bowl of noodles with soybean paste I made for Liu Zhenhua had the blessing of fatherly love, but now it seems that metaphysics can't beat metaphysics plus science.

I'm getting old; it's time to let the younger... AIs shine.

……

After my dad went back home, he really quit smoking. My mom initially thought he would only last a day or two. A week later, I called home to ask, and my mom was so excited that she said the old man really hadn't touched a cigarette pack again.

Actually, I know that the old man wanted to save money, but mainly he was afraid that if he really became paralyzed, he would be a burden to me. The most hurtful thing Xiao Wu said to him that day was that it was his own fault for being a son to have a father who was bedridden. The old man took it to heart.

Later, the old man asked me where he could download the economic interview program from that day's radio broadcast. He said he wanted to let some of his old friends who are always smoking and drinking listen to it. Where could I find it for him? Getting Xiao Wu to record another one wasn't as difficult as I imagined, but I was afraid it would cause a chain reaction. Although it's just two hijacked mouths rambling on, it certainly can't be compared to 1000 monkeys storming the United Nations building with knives, but what if?

As January arrives in the north, the weather turns coldest, and the days of hardship begin for fruit vendors, especially those of us who combine warehouse and stall. In the summer, we can turn on the air conditioning, but in the winter, we absolutely cannot turn on the heating. The temperature inside the warehouse is only slightly higher than outside. A military overcoat is standard equipment for everyone here.

In this season, the fruits receive the same treatment as people, even wearing quilts and blankets. Old Wang and I were tending our stall that day, both wrapped tightly in our army coats with our hands tucked inside. Through the glass in the door, I saw a special guest stand before our stall.

This man had the physique of a male model, but he wore an ill-fitting black down jacket. He had broad shoulders and long legs, but what was most striking about him were his eyes, which were as clear as the surface of a pool of water in a windless late autumn field.

(End of this chapter)