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

Beijing University. Continuing Education College. Part-time.

Part-time study means that you only need to attend classes for a designated time each week, and the rest of the time is completely free.

The name of Beijing University has always represented more than just a diploma.

The university has a library—the most comprehensive repository of academic documents and technical data in the national industrial sector.

There are laboratories—Fang Qiming works in the Department of Mechanical Engineering, where the CNC workshop and materials testing laboratory are equipped with equipment no less advanced than those in a factory.

They had connections—Zhao Huaijin in the literary circle, Fang Qiming in the industrial circle, opening up two lines simultaneously, as well as those talents who supported the future of the country in the 90s.

more importantly.

There are real engines in the laboratory.

There are lathes, milling machines, and grinding machines.

There are physical objects that he couldn't find in books at Xinhua Bookstore.

If I could get into the mechanical engineering lab at Kyoto University and get my hands on those real industrial machines—

The basic proficiency in auto repair can probably be unlocked in just one day.

Put him in the AFK spot, and he'll become a master in another field.

Zhang Yong went into the bedroom, turned on the desk lamp, and laid a sheet of white paper on the desk.

He picked up his pen and wrote five words at the top of the paper.

Part-time work/part-time plan.

Below are three circles, each labeled "Writing/Making Money," "Reading/Broadening Horizons," and "Driving/Auto Repair."

Zhang Yong stared at the paper for a long time.

The cicadas chirped incessantly outside the window, and the dim yellow light of the streetlights shone through the window onto the white paper.

He added another line of text at the very bottom of the paper.

"Before starting school in September - unlock auto repair, AFK complete."

Zhang Yong put down his pen and looked at the numbers flashing on the panel.

[Auto Repair Lv.0 - Entry Level: 38%]

......

Chaoyang District Traffic Police Corps, second-floor office.

Zhang Yong stood outside the yellow line at the window and waited for twenty minutes.

There were three more people ahead of me getting their licenses. They were all experienced drivers in their forties or fifties. Their hands were shaking when they received their licenses. They looked at them over and over as if they had received a family heirloom.

It was Zhang Yong's turn.

The clerk was a middle-aged woman wearing arm sleeves. She took out a red hard-cover ID card from the drawer.

After repeatedly checking the photo, age, and file information, she couldn't help but look up at Zhang Yong a couple more times and whisper to her colleague next to her.

"Eighteen years old? Passed the special driving test at such a young age?"

A colleague glanced at the register and casually remarked.

"The examiner specifically instructed the candidate, whose skills are excellent and whose file is in order. Issue the certificate."

The female clerk then nodded, stamped the document, and registered it.

"Zhang Yong, the first batch in Chaoyang District, number 007, signed and fingerprinted."

Zhang Yong took the document, looked at it for two seconds, closed it, and put it in his pocket.

"Um."

Chen Yongjian was standing in the corridor, with several cigarette butts already on his feet. When he saw Zhang Yong come out, he smiled, rubbed his hands together, and went up to him, patting him on the shoulder repeatedly.

"You're the easiest student I've ever taught."

Zhang Yong was so shocked by the camera that he staggered forward.

"Uncle Chen, be gentle."

"You remember that, kid!" Chen Yongjian added another slap, this time with even more force. "Go back and tell everyone that if anyone asks, just say it was me, Chen Yongjian, who taught you."

"Okay, it's all thanks to Master Chen's excellent teaching."

Zhang Yong rubbed his back as he went downstairs.

Zhang Defa's truck was parked at the door; my father had taken half a day off to wait for it.

Zhang Defa poked his head out of the driver's seat; his eyes were brighter than the car headlights.

"Got it?"

"Got it."

"Let me see it quickly!"

Zhang Yong took it out of his pocket and handed it over.

Zhang Defa caught it with both hands, flipped it over, looked at the front, then the back, and flipped it back to the front.

"Okay, okay, okay."

He said "good" six times before returning the documents to Zhang Yong. He kept smiling the whole way back.

……

When Li Guilan got home, she hadn't finished get off work yet.

Zhang Defa placed the documents in the center of the dining table, rearranging them three times.

On the left was a salt shaker, on the right a soy sauce bottle, and in the middle a red certificate rested on a folded white towel.

They made offerings like they were to a Bodhisattva, but then felt it wasn't enough, so they lit two incense sticks and made the offerings.

Li Guilan had just returned home from get off work when she saw the red marriage certificate on the dining table as soon as she entered the door.

Enraged, he grabbed Zhang Defa and started hitting him.

"Why bother lighting incense! That's for offering sacrifices to Heaven during the Lunar New Year!"

Zhang Yong came out of the bedroom with a handful of money in his hand. It was the money Wei Dabiao had given him last time. The royalties wouldn't arrive for another month.

"mom."

"Here's two hundred yuan. Use it to pay off all our debts first, and send the rest to Grandma."

Li Guilan took the money, touched it repeatedly, then turned around and pulled out the small notebook from the bottom of the cabinet.

It's the one I showed Zhang Yong last time.

She sat at the dining table, opened her notebook, and picked up a short pencil.

First line. Soy sauce, 15 cents.

The pencil traced a thin horizontal line that covered the text.

Fertilizer, 15 yuan. Crossed out.

Plaster, 1.6 yuan. (Cross it out.)

I need to borrow three eggs from Aunt Liu. (Crossed out)

As Li Guilan drew the lines, she mentally counted the total.

Scroll to the last line.

I borrowed two jin of cornmeal from Aunt Wang in December 89 for 2 mao.

The total was 72.3 yuan. After paying it back, I had 127.7 yuan left.

Li Guilan sat on the stool, holding a pen, and remained silent for a long time.

After a while, Li Guilan stood up and went into the kitchen. Immediately afterwards, the sound of a spatula hitting a wok rang out.

"I'm adding something special tonight! I'll make braised pork!"

……

The next morning, Zhang Yong rode his Forever brand bicycle out the door.

This car was a gift from the Wei family. The body uses a manganese steel frame.

Because the chain had just been oiled, it was very easy to pedal.

It certainly stood out in the alley; most residents in the surrounding buildings rode Flying Pigeon or Phoenix brand bicycles. Some skillful ones modified the frames and made no-name brand bicycles.

Grandpa Chen was squatting by the door brushing his teeth when he looked up and saw the car. He stopped what he was doing and stood there stunned.

"Wow! Nice car, Xiao Zhang! Where did you get it?"

"It was a gift from someone, Grandpa Chen."

"Who's so generous?"

Zhang Yong didn't reply. He pedaled his bike out of the alley, crossed Jinsong Road, and turned west into the Chaoyang District industrial zone.

Brick factory buildings stand on both sides, with thick chimneys constantly emitting exhaust.

The air was filled with the smell of coal ash and engine oil, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of dry cotton yarn.

The gate of the cotton mill was at the end of the road. The red paint on the gate, which read "Beijing Third Cotton Textile Factory," was peeling off, and the three characters were missing a horizontal stroke, making them appear as two characters from a distance.

Old Liu, the gatekeeper, recognized Zhang Defa and poked his head out to look in their direction.

"Old Zhang's son? Here to see your father?"

"Looking for Old Zhao."

"Master Zhao, he's in the workshop at the end. Just go there, don't wander off."

Zhang Yong rode his bicycle through the factory area.

On both sides are weaving workshops and warehouses, the hum of spinning machines comes from the iron walls, and female workers wearing white masks go in and out.

After a long climb deep into the factory area, a semi-open-air tin shed came into view.

There are three walls on all sides, leaving one open. The ground is covered with oil stains and scattered with iron filings.

Sunlight streamed in from the open side, illuminating the rows of wrenches and pliers hanging on the wall.

Old Zhao was squatting in the middle of the shed, with a carburetor that had been dismantled in half in front of him, and a copper wire in his hand unclogging the nozzle.

He heard the bicycle bell, but didn't stop working; his eyes remained fixed on the task at hand.

"Zhang Yong is here."

"I'm here, Master Zhao."