In the 90s, you could acquire max-level skills every 14 days.

Chapter 113 Pay Attention to Appearance at School

September 3rd, just as dawn broke.

Grandpa Chen, who was drinking tea at the gate of the guardhouse, saw Zhang Yong ride his motorcycle out and asked him a question.

"Yongzi! You're in college now?"

"Good morning, sir!"

"Study hard! Bring honor to our neighborhood!"

The motorcycle turned out of the gate of Jinsong Community and merged into the morning rush hour's flood of bicycles.

In early September in Beijing, the air still carried the lingering scent of summer. The leaves of the Chinese scholar trees lining the streets were a dark green, and occasionally a leaf would drift down, be run over by car wheels, and stick to the asphalt.

Zhang Yong drove northwest along Jianguomenwai Street.

As we drove into the east gate of Peking University, the sun had already risen, illuminating Tiananmen Square in a fiery red glow.

The shade of the plane trees pressed down from both sides, and a few broken leaves fell onto the windshield.

The road was packed with people.

Some carried net bags, some carried bedding rolls, and some pushed old-fashioned carts with wooden boxes strapped to the back.

The registration point for the newly enrolled students was located on the large playground north of the main building. A long banner stretched out, reading "Warmly Welcome 19"

"New students of the Class of '90".

Zhang Yong slowed down and gradually pulled up to the window of the Continuing Education College at the far east end of the first floor of the administration building.

There were no banners or signs.

A white sign with black lettering stood at the entrance, bearing three lines of text written in ink:

At the registration and payment window of the Adult Education College, please present your admission notice. Zhang Yong parked his car at the bottom of the steps of the administration building, locked the front of the car, and went inside.

There were seven or eight people lined up in front of the window.

They were all over thirty years old, the oldest of whom had gray hair and was wearing work clothes with the company name printed on them.

Zhang Yong stood at the end of the line, looking down as he flipped through his materials.

Admission notice, household registration booklet, letter of introduction, and two one-inch bareheaded photos.

Ahead of him in line was a burly man in his forties with a square face and fingers as thick as sausages.

The burly man turned around and glanced at him, looking him up and down twice.

"Young man, are you also in adult education?"

"Yes."

Which department?

Mechanical Engineering and Automation.

The burly man's eyes darted around. "Me too. Which unit are you from?"

"Uh, I don't have a work unit."

"No employer?" The burly man gestured. "Then who pays your tuition?"

"I earned it myself."

The burly man opened his mouth, but didn't ask any further questions.

The line moved forward two steps.

Zhang Yong heard the female teacher inside the window call out several times: "Original admission notice, photocopy of household registration book, two photos, tuition fee of two hundred, processing fee of fifteen, totaling two hundred and fifteen."

When it was Zhang Yong's turn, he handed in the materials and then took out two 100-yuan bills and a 10-yuan and 5-yuan coin that he had folded in advance from his pocket.

The female teacher took the notice, flipped through it, and glanced up at him.

"Zhang Yong?"

"Um.

""

"Eighteen years old?"

"Yes."

The female teacher glanced at him again, then paused, noticing a large bruise on the young man's face.

This is the thirty-seventh person to register for adult education today, and the youngest. The previous thirty-six were all over twenty-five.

She didn't ask any more questions, stamped the receipt, tore it up, and pushed the student ID and class schedule out from under the window.

Red hard-cover student ID.

The cover features a gold foil stamp reading "Beijing University".

The inner page has a one-inch photo of Zhang Yong pasted on it, and is stamped with an official seal.

Name: Zhang Yong; Department: School of Continuing Education, Mechanical Engineering and Automation; Student ID: 90C-0037

Duration of study: Three years (part-time)

Zhang Yong fumbled for his student ID for a while before putting it in his shirt pocket, and then flipped through his class schedule.

Classes are held on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. Tuesdays and Thursdays are holidays. The lab is open on Tuesdays and Fridays.

It won't affect my writing, my car repair, or my trip to the coal mine.

just.

He folded the timetable, tucked it into his Descriptive Geometry textbook, and carried the stack of books out.

On the steps leading to the administration building, several senior undergraduate students were chatting, with their newly received textbooks piled up beside them.

A tall, thin man wearing black-rimmed glasses was flipping through a book on theoretical mechanics. He glanced at the book Zhang Yong was holding and squinted.

"Wow, the textbooks for adult education are quite thick."

A tall, thin boy next to him came over and took a look.

"Descriptive Geometry? Isn't that a course we took in our first year? They study that too?"

The round-faced man chuckled. "Studying is one thing, but what can you do with it? A continuing education diploma isn't considered a nationally recognized degree, so employers don't really accept it."

.

He lowered his voice.

"I heard that most of the students in the continuing education classes come from factories and mines for further training, and they go back to their original units after completing the course. They're not on the same level as us."

"That's not entirely true." The tall, thin man pushed up his glasses and gestured towards Zhang Yong's retreating figure with his lip.

"Look at this guy, he's so young to have gotten in. He's probably being specially trained by the factory. He gets a salary, and the company covers his tuition. He'll probably get promoted to a leadership position when he goes back. He's not bad at all."

Zhang Yong pretended not to hear and continued driving slowly.

It doesn't matter.

Whether it's continuing education or the national unified entrance examination, it all comes down to the individual.

As he was about to get on his bike and leave, he caught a glimpse of a group of people walking along the tree-lined path in the direction of the teaching building.

He recognized the person walking in the middle.

Chen Ping.

She was still dressed in the same sophisticated manner. Two middle-aged men in their thirties accompanied her.

The three people walked over from the other end of the tree-lined path, chatting and laughing.

When Chen Ping was about ten meters away from him, his gaze swept over.

First, I saw the Jialing 125.

Then she saw Zhang Yong and paused for a moment.

The two people next to him were still talking, but Chen Ping had stopped listening.

He stared at Zhang Yong's face for two seconds.

There was a faint red floral oil stain on his left cheekbone, and half of a piece of white duct tape was visible below the shirt collar.

Chen Ping originally intended to leave at a different time.

After that meeting at the library, he no longer wanted to have anything to do with Zhang Yong.

The rejection of his refuted paper and Lin Xuechang's demotion have effectively blocked his path to working in major magazines.

Moreover, after he complained to his father last time, his father only told him to study hard, persevere until graduation, and then ask someone for help when it came time to get a job. Don't even think about anything else.

My father is really getting old; he won't even say a few good words for me anymore.

But it seems Zhang Yong was beaten up? He felt a secret thrill.

Did Zhang Yong offend someone outside?

"Zhang Yong".

He couldn't help but call out Zhang Yong's name, and the two lecturers next to him also stopped and looked at Chen Ping, puzzled.

Zhang Yong raised his head.

"Chen Ping, classmate."

The two people were five or six meters apart. The autumn sunlight filtered through the gaps in the sycamore leaves, painting a scattering of gold on the asphalt road.

Chen Ping spoke first, his voice carrying a hint of inquiry.

"What happened to your face? It's all bruised and purple. Look—it looks like you've been beaten up?"

He paused, as if his question had been too abrupt, and then added lightly.

"You need to be mindful of your appearance at school, or you could wear a mask to cover it up?"

59

This question sounds like pure curiosity.

Zhang Yong suddenly realized something.

Chen Ping probably really doesn't know what his father did.

He was unaware that someone had hired five thugs to cripple his legs by the Chaobai River.

He probably didn't know the deep relationship between that oil dealer surnamed Ma and his father.

What Chen Ping was always fighting with himself for was articles, authorship, face, and the usual literary rivalry.

Everything else was arranged by his father.

Of course, Chen Ping wasn't entirely innocent either; he was definitely one of the beneficiaries of what his father did.

Otherwise, where did his impressive clothes, expensive perfume, and overseas travel quota come from? They couldn't have just fallen from the sky.

Zhang Yong stared at Chen Ping for a while, then smiled slightly.

Chen Ping felt a little uncomfortable under that smile and could only awkwardly change the subject.

Have you written any new articles lately?

"It's written. The second part of 'The Great Power' will be published in 'October' magazine soon."

""