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

Fang Qiming's mind was already wandering; he was completely unaware that tea had spilled on his trousers.

Zhao Huaijin had already turned to the second page of his notebook, his pen scribbling rapidly across the paper.

Zhou Guoqiang sat on a small stool at the very edge, his mouth half-open, unable to utter a single word.

He had prepared a whole lot to say. Things like "This is the best student I've ever taught" and "I saw this kid's potential back then" were all stuck in his throat, unable to come out.

Because the level of the conversation was completely beyond his comprehension.

Zhang Yong continued.

"It's not just machine tools. It's also high-speed rail."

"Currently, the fastest speed on domestic railways is less than 100 kilometers per hour, and a trip on the Beijing-Guangzhou line takes dozens of hours."

"But within fifteen years, high-speed trains with speeds of over 300 kilometers per hour will definitely appear on this land. I can boldly estimate that in twenty years, China's total high-speed rail mileage will exceed the total of all other countries in the world."

Fang Qiming suddenly looked up.

"Three hundred kilometers? Absolutely impossible! That doesn't make sense! The German ICE is only going around 280 kilometers right now—"

"So I'm talking about fifteen years from now." Zhang Yong's tone was calm, as if he were stating a fact that had already happened.

"And new energy sources."

"Right now, the streets are full of gasoline-powered cars, and electric vehicles aren't well-regarded overseas. But in thirty years, China's annual production of new energy vehicles will definitely exceed ten million. Fast-charging batteries and solid-state batteries will completely reshape the global automotive industry."

"And there are chips. Although there isn't even a complete lithography production line in China right now, but—"

Zhang Yong paused for a moment.

He thought of the headlines in 2026, of the difficult situation brought about by the long-term technological blockade, and of the engineers who were seen and reported.

"Someone will do this, someone definitely will."

The only sound in the living room was the ceiling fan turning.

Zhao Huaijin turned to the third page of his notebook, where the handwriting had already become sloppy.

Fang Qiming took off his glasses, wiped the lenses, and put them back on.

Zhang Yong leaned back in his chair and softly uttered a line that Liu Cixin would write in the future.

"Give civilization to time, not time to civilization."

"What we need to do now is lay the foundation for the country's industry so that future generations can look up at the stars."

Zhao Huaijin put down his pen and looked up at Zhang Yong.

It's been almost an hour since I entered.

He originally came to scout out new talent.

At this moment, Zhao Huaijin clearly realized that Zhang Yong possessed a quality that had never been seen in academic circles before.

Is hope.

Fang Qiming closed his notebook, remained silent for a long time, and finally nodded heavily.

"Comrade Zhang Yong." Fang Qiming's voice trembled slightly.

"I know you have your own secrets, I understand, because technology is highly confidential."

"But I taught mechanical principles for eight years, and not a single student—no, not a single person—had ever talked to me about industry in this way."

"You make me feel that what I've been teaching on the podium all these years... wasn't meaningless."

Zhou Guoqiang was still sitting on a small stool.

His expression was a bit blank; his mind was completely occupied with the fact that his butt had gone numb from sitting so long, and he didn't dare to move.

Because he couldn't understand it at all.

The three of them talked for almost two hours.

The sky outside the window gradually turned orange-red.

Seeing that it was getting late, Zhao Huaijin and Fang Qiming got up to say goodbye.

Zhao Huaijin tore off a page and wrote down his office address and mailing address. Fang Qiming then took out a business card.

The business card reads: Fang Qiming, Lecturer, Department of Mechanical Engineering, Peking University.

There is a line of handwritten numbers in the bottom right corner, which is his home landline phone number.

"Zhang Yong, this is my contact information." Fang Qiming handed over the business card, his tone solemn.

"If you have any questions about machinery in the future, feel free to contact me anytime."

Zhao Huaijin handed over the paper as well.

"Mine too. If you write something new, you can send a copy to the Chinese Department mailroom, just indicate 'Zhao Huaijin' as the recipient."

Zhang Yong nodded, took the items with both hands, folded them neatly, put them in his pocket, and saw the three of them out.

As Zhao Huaijin reached the door, he suddenly stopped.

He turned around and looked at Zhang Yong, who was standing in the entryway.

"Zhang Yong, I have one more question for you."

"Please speak."

Have you ever considered pursuing further education?

Zhang Yong didn't say anything, and a warm breeze swept through the corridor.

Zhao Huaijin continued, "Beijing University has an adult education college with a part-time system, so you can work and study at the same time."

"The program lasts three years. Although the diploma obtained is not as valuable as that of a full-time student, the curriculum is the same, and you can use the library and laboratories."

He paused for a moment.

"With your level of expertise, Professor Fang and I can jointly recommend you."

Li Guilan and Zhang Defa, who were eavesdropping in the kitchen, heard the whole thing.

Li Guilan was stir-frying bean sprouts when her hand trembled, and the spatula slipped off the stove and crashed to the ground with a thud.

Zhang Defa squatted in the corner of the kitchen, the garlic cloves in his hands were crushed and deformed, his eyes staring blankly at the wall.

Beijing University.

Beijing - city - university - school.

Zhang Defa's lips were trembling.

He had lived for over forty years, driven trucks for over a decade, and the best place he had ever been was the conference room of a cotton mill.

He didn't dare to look up when passing by places like Beijing University, always feeling that he wasn't worthy of looking.

Zhang Yong looked at Zhao Huaijin and nodded seriously.

"Thank you, Teacher Zhao. I'll think about it later."

Zhao Huaijin smiled.

"No rush, registration will start in September."

Fang Qiming patted Zhang Yong on the shoulder without saying anything.

The three people went downstairs.

Zhou Guoqiang walked last.

From the moment he entered until he left, aside from introducing the two professors at the beginning, he barely had a chance to speak.

He tried to interject two or three times, but each time he was silenced by questions from Zhao Huaijin and Fang Qiming.

When he reached the corner on the second floor, Zhou Guoqiang finally stopped for a moment.

He turned to look at Zhang Yong, as if he wanted to say something.

He probably wanted to add, "Zhang Yong, don't take what I said back then to heart," but in the end he said nothing.

The footsteps continued down until they disappeared outside the building entrance.

……

Zhang Yong turned around and looked at his parents, who had just moved from the kitchen to the living room.

The garlic in Zhang Defa's hand had long since been crushed.

His eyes were red-rimmed, and his face was covered in tears and snot.

"What the hell is this garlic...it's so spicy it hurts my eyes..."

Li Guilan stood at the kitchen door, constantly wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her hand.

"Beijing University..." Li Guilan's voice was very soft. "Your father and I... we never even dared to dream of it..."

Zhang Defa raised his head, trying to wipe his face with the back of his hand, but the garlic juice got directly onto his eyelids, making him wince from the spiciness.

"Ugh, it's so spicy! Guilan, get me a towel!"

Li Guilan was both angry and amused, and threw a wet towel at them.

"You idiot! You peel garlic and then rub it on your face without washing your hands!"

Zhang Yong leaned against the door frame, watching the couple bicker, feeling a mix of emotions.

He glanced down at the panel at the edge of his field of vision.

[Writing Lv.4: Progress 21%]

[Driving Lv.6: Progress 3% (fixed)]

[Auto Repair Lv.0 - Entry Level Progress: 38% (Associated Bonus)]

I've already made my choice.

Beijing University Continuing Education College.