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

Chapter 113 Vice President of the Youth Industrial Literature Society

Chapter 114 Vice President of the Youth Industrial Literature Society

Chen Ping's expression immediately darkened again, probably because he was thinking about the manuscript that had been rejected.

"Your goal is to go to the Chinese Department to find Professor Zhao Huaijin, right? He's here, but I have something to attend to, so I'll take my leave now."

Chen Ping bluntly uttered a sentence, then turned and left with his friends.

The Chinese Literature Department's teaching and research office is located on the second floor of Building 3.

When Zhang Yong pushed the door open, Zhao Huaijin was sitting facing the window, his reading glasses perched on his nose, holding a magnifying glass, and writing tiny characters on the top of a thread-bound ancient book.

"Teacher Zhao."

Zhao Huaijin didn't look up. "Come in. Close the door."

Zhang Yong closed the door and pulled out a wooden chair opposite the desk to sit down.

Zhao Huaijin was still annotating his ancient book, muttering to himself.

Zhang Yong wasn't idle either; he carefully examined the room filled with books.

About half a minute later, Zhao Huaijin put the pen down next to the inkstone, took off his reading glasses, rubbed his nose, and then looked up at Zhang Yong.

"Is the registration complete?"

"It's done."

Zhao Huaijin nodded, picked up the cup of cold tea, took a sip, frowned, and put it back.

"Have you been to Fang Qiming's place yet?"

"Not yet, I'll go over there after I leave this door."

"Okay." Zhao Huaijin leaned back in his chair, his expression improving considerably. "You didn't come here just to drop by, did you?"

Zhang Yong took out a stack of manuscript paper from his canvas bag.

Twenty pages of red grid paper, both sides filled with writing.

The handwriting was neat, written with blue ink from a fountain pen, and there wasn't a single correction.

He pushed the manuscript paper in front of Zhao Huaijin.

"The outline of the third part of 'The Ingenuity of Great Craftsmen'. Professor Zhao, could you please take a look?"

Zhao Huaijin glanced down at the title of the manuscript.

"The Ingenuity of a Great Nation: The Furnace Fire"

"Another industrial theme." Zhao Huaijin's tone was indifferent, and his expression was blank.

In his aesthetic system, novels should depict the human heart, destiny, and the undercurrents beneath the surface of romance. Industry, indeed, holds little meaning.

He picked up the manuscript paper, put on his reading glasses, and turned to the first page of the text.

After reading half a page, he sat up straight.

Upon seeing this, Zhang Yong breathed a sigh of relief, leaned back, and glanced at the plane trees outside the window.

The sounds of freshmen shouting slogans during military training could be heard from the distant playground, wave after wave.

The teaching and research office fell silent.

Only the sound of Zhao Huaijin turning the pages could be heard.

sand.

Starting from the fourth page, Zhao Huaijin turned the pages more slowly.

Zhang Yong wrote about a person in the outline.

Master Qi, a veteran technician, was an old boiler operator at the coal mine.

By 90, he had already worked for over thirty years and had a wealth of experience; he was just one step away from retirement.

But the walls of the old boiler tubes were getting thinner and thinner, and Lao Qi was worried every day that the tubes would crack.

With the government implementing a system of self-financing, coal mines are also feeling the pressure.

A new boiler costs 120,000 yuan, which is unaffordable. The fire never seems to burn completely, and the pipes are covered in a layer of ash.

In my final nightmare, the factory was on fire, and black smoke and coal ash covered the farmland.

Until one day, a young man came to the factory.

This new generation of engineers, carrying a new improvement plan, reinforced the pipes by adding conduits and improved efficiency by adding air vents, finally allowing Lao Qi to get a good night's sleep.

Pages nine and ten mark the end of the outline.

There is a passage at the end.

"What is a boiler? It's an iron shell containing fire and water. The fire boils the water, turning it into steam. The steam drives the turbine, which in turn drives the generator. Electricity then flows through power lines, illuminating countless homes."

"But what if we shrunk this metal shell a thousand times and filled it with gasoline?"

"Then it can be called an engine."

"If we thoroughly understand the combustion principle of boilers, how far away are engines?"

"Once you master the engine, how far away is the car?"

"We've mastered cars, but what about tanks? Warships? Large airplanes?"

"This is the meaning of fire, and also the meaning of civilization."

Zhao Huaijin put down the last page, placed his hands on the table, and sat motionless for about twenty seconds.

The jasmine tea had gone completely cold, and the tea leaves had sunk to the bottom of the cup.

He took off his reading glasses and slowly wiped them with a cloth.

It took a long time to wipe.

"Teacher Zhao, could you please tell me what else I need to adjust?" Zhang Yong asked.

Zhao Huaijin didn't say anything, and put her reading glasses back on.

"Your outline starts with people, then the equipment, and the last paragraph—is written."

He tapped the manuscript paper with his finger and said calmly.

"It's alright, it didn't go astray."

"However, the specific references and allusions must be truthful. Now that you have fame, people will only have higher expectations of you."

Even a single wrong word could lead to widespread condemnation.

Zhang Yong nodded.

Zhao Huaijin organized the outline and returned it to Zhang Yong.

"How do you plan to send it?"

"Two lines." Zhang Yong held up two fingers.

"The novel 'October' tells the story of Master Qi and looks forward to the future with the engine staff."

"The Workers' Life Weekly published a popular science article using Zhang Wengong's name, explaining how honeycomb briquettes can burn longer, why boilers emit black smoke, and how to save every piece of coal, putting it into the details of people's lives."

"One side deals with those above, and the other with those below. Those above read the novel and know the direction. Those below read the popular science and know the principles. With pressure from both ends, those in the middle who are engaged in actual industry can't sit still."

"The matter can then be started."

Zhao Huaijin stared at Zhang Yong and chuckled.

"How come your head is filled with nothing but the Thirty-Six Stratagems?"

"Even the best strategies need to be written down; that's the nobility of literature," Zhang Yong said with a smile.

"If we use literature to drive industry and bring together like-minded people, we will be able to accomplish something sooner or later."

After hearing this, Zhao Huaijin laughed for a while and scolded him for being too sweet-talking.

Finally, he pulled out a brown paper envelope from the drawer and took out a mimeographed form.

The form's header reads: "Registration Form for Student Literary Societies, Department of Chinese Language and Literature, Beijing University," with an oval-shaped red official seal affixed to the upper right corner.

"This is the department's club registration list," Zhao Huaijin said, pushing the form over.

"I applied for a spot in a literary society called the 'Youth Industrial Literary Society.' To be honest, it's just a shell, registered under the Chinese Department, but it recruits from the entire university."

"You will be the vice president. The position of president will remain vacant for now, and we will fill it when we find a suitable person."

"Do you remember, this is a club in our Chinese Literature department!"

Zhang Yong picked up the form and glanced at it.

The registration column is blank.

Zhao Huaijin handed him a fountain pen.

"Sign your name. With this club, you'll have a legitimate title when you hold seminars or contact faculty and students from other departments to compile articles."

"You can't keep running around in your personal capacity. It's tiring, and people don't trust you anyway."

Zhang Yong took the pen and signed his name in the "Vice President" column.

Zhao Huaijin took the form back, carefully blew the ink dry, and stuffed it back into the envelope.

"Alright, this matter is settled."

He picked up the cup of iced tea, still smiling, and took a sip.

"Go find Fang Qiming quickly. If you stay here too long, he'll scold me again."

Zhang Yong stood up and slung the canvas bag over his shoulder.

"Thank you, Teacher Zhao."

"No need to thank me, just don't ruin my club." Zhao Huaijin waved his hand, picked up the magnifying glass again, and opened an ancient book.

Zhang Yong turned and went downstairs.

In my mind, the system panel floated quietly.

[Writing Lv.4: Progress 45% (Fixed, 33x speed)]