The little star from the Gobi Desert, handed over to the state, is hailed as a national treasure.

Qian Duoduo's words, "As long as we can defeat the Japanese devils, that's all that matters," were like a spark that suddenly splashed into the depths of Professor Qian's mind.

His pupils suddenly contracted, and his breathing stopped for a moment.

The formulas, data, and fragments of failed experiments in my mind were rapidly flipped over by an invisible hand, then smashed and reassembled with a crash.

—If the ball goes flat, the game can't continue?

No, as long as we can win, the method doesn't matter, the object doesn't matter, if it's not a ball, a metal can will do; if it's not up to standard, as long as it's modified to achieve the goal, that's enough.

Who says all projects have to be benchmarked against the West? We certainly can't use their standards to measure the path we're on!

If a ball goes flat, find a replacement. If a single project falls short, compensate with system optimization and coordinate with overall design. Empty cans, glass bottles, even a pebble… as long as the technical coordination of each subsystem is mastered, limited energy can still be maximized!

Professor Qian's chest burned, as if an electric current was coursing up his spine. The technical bottleneck that had plagued him for months was now broken through by a few unintentional words from a child.

The fog cleared, and everything became clear!

He turned almost instinctively, pushed off with his feet, and was about to run towards the nearest barracks—

notebook!

He needs a notebook!

This entire concept must be written down immediately!

"When...when did you get back?"

A trembling sound suddenly came from above.

Professor Qian paused, then slowly looked up. The second-floor window had been opened sometime earlier, and his wife leaned out, her eyes red-rimmed and her lips trembling slightly.

In that instant, his heart felt like it had been clenched tightly. The net slipped from his hand and fell to the ground with a thud.

The apple rolled out.

A few minutes later.

Professor Qian sat on the sofa at home, his eyes following his wife's busy figure.

He watched as she packed the contents of the net bag into the kitchen, poured a glass of warm water and placed it in front of him, then picked out the apples one by one, cut them into small pieces, and arranged them on a porcelain plate.

"No, don't be busy..." Professor Qian opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end he could only utter these few words.

"Just sit still. The more you help, the more chaotic things become." Madam Qian turned around and glared at him, her tone carrying a familiar, long-lost reproach.

"Ah, okay." He had no choice but to sit back down.

Qian Duoduo, clutching the tin can, blinked her big eyes as she looked him over and whispered, "Are you really my grandpa?"

Professor Qian chuckled and waved to her.

Duoduo took two steps back and hugged the jar tightly defensively.

"Duoduo, where's your dad?"

"I went to work and won't be back until very late."

"Do you have paper and a pen that Grandpa could use?"

Qian Duoduo cautiously refused: "No, my pencils are all sharpened by my mother, I can't give them to you."

"Do you have the key to Grandpa's study?" Since he left, Mrs. Qian had locked the door to prevent the children from accidentally entering his study and damaging the documents inside.

"Grandma has the key, and she won't give it to anyone." Duoduo shook her head.

Professor Qian felt for the pen in his shirt pocket. "Could you get Grandpa a few sheets of paper, please?"

Qian Duoduo tilted her head and thought for a moment. Considering that her grandfather had brought back a lot of delicious food, she reluctantly nodded and said, "Okay."

When Mrs. Qian changed into her newly bought light blue shirt and brought apples into the house, she found Professor Qian already slumped over the dining table, writing something without looking up.

He was so busy that he didn't even have time to glance at her.

Little did he know that the shirt he thought fit perfectly was an inch too big, even larger than the size his classmate had described and the one he had chosen.

Mrs. Jiang looked at Professor Qian, who was engrossed in his work, a hint of helplessness and heartache flashing in her eyes. She silently put down the apple, pulled over Qian Duoduo who was curiously peeking out from the side, and turned to walk into the bedroom.

"Grandma, Grandpa, he..."

"Shh—" Mrs. Qian shook her head, interrupting her granddaughter's voice, "Don't disturb Grandpa, he's working."

"Grandpa's so strange, is he going to work right after he got back?" Qian Duoduo asked, puzzled.

Mrs. Qian gave a wry smile and took the study key from the drawer: "Go open the door for Grandpa and invite him into the study. Writing at the dining table will hurt his back."

As night falls, a full moon hangs high in the sky, its gentle light illuminating the reunion of countless families.

In the duty room on the first floor, Song Dazhuang stopped eating, looked up, and gazed once again at the window on the second floor.

Several blurry silhouettes were projected onto the windowpane: some were slightly aged, some were in their prime, and some were playful and adorable toddlers jumping around.

The long-lost laughter, as if carried by moonlight, intermittently filtered through the glass and reached his ears.

"Brother Song, Brother Song?"

The guard on duty glanced in the direction of his gaze, then turned back. "Stop looking, eat your food, it's getting cold."

Song Dazhuang looked away, picked up a piece of stir-fried cabbage with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth. "Mmm, eat, everyone eat too."

"Xiao Song, we have people on duty tonight. Why don't you have a drink to relax and get a good night's sleep?"

Zhao Zhifeng could tell that Song Dazhuang's eyes had barely left Qian Lao all day, and now his eye sockets were sunken. He wanted him to rest for a while.

Song Dazhuang shook his head. "No, I haven't drunk alcohol in years. Besides, I have a mission to complete."

"Don't worry, besides our security bureau, there's a platoon of soldiers guarding Mr. Qian upstairs and downstairs. There's absolutely no chance of anything going wrong."

Song Dazhuang still shook his head. "Captain Zhao, it's not that I don't trust my brother, but my mission is to protect Old Qian. If he loses even a single hair, I won't be able to go back."

"Alright then." Zhao Zhifeng nodded, knowing they were disciplined and not wanting to persuade them further.

He greatly admired this soldier who appeared brave but was principled at heart, and pushed the only plate of stir-fried beef on the table towards him again.

"Eat more meat. This is thanks to Old Qian; the commander specially approved it for you."

Song Dazhuang stared at the plate of fragrant meat, his mouth watering inwardly, but he still firmly refused.

The more critical the moment, the more one must reject pleasure. Only by maintaining absolute clarity can one stay true to one's original aspirations and accomplish one's mission—this is what he learned with blood and life on the front lines.

Moreover, this bowl of meat was hard-won, and he couldn't bear to eat it.

"Team Leader Zhao, I'll say it again, we don't lack food. If none of the brothers want to eat it, then send it back to Old Qian. He doesn't even get to eat meat when he's working."

"Don't worry about eating. Today's menu was decided by the leader, and the purchasing team has already delivered the chicken, fish, meat and eggs."

Seeing his refusal, Zhao Zhifeng simply picked up the plate and scooped the meat into his bowl, saying, "Making sure you eat well is our mission! My rank is higher than yours, so listen to me!"

"I can't eat that much, Captain Zhao, you eat with the brothers." Song Dazhuang hurriedly reached out to stop him.

"Eat, that's an order!"

Without saying a word, Zhao Zhifeng poured him most of the plate.

Having no other choice, Song Dazhuang picked up the bowl and started shoveling food into his mouth.

The long-lost fragrance wafted down my lips, teeth, and tongue, then slid down my throat and into my stomach.

It smells so good, so delicious!

The aroma made his nose tingle.

When he thought of his comrades at the base and those who worked day and night on scientific research, tears welled up in his eyes.

"Brother Song, what happened to you?" The guard was surprised to see the tough guy's eyes redden as he ate, and was startled.

Song Dazhuang puffed out his cheeks and tried his best to swallow, but the more he chewed, the more uncomfortable he felt.