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

The cicadas are chirping loudly.

The setting sun squeezed in through the small window of the gatehouse, casting long, slanted shadows of the trees onto the cement floor, like a flat black fish.

Just as Grandpa Chen finished his nap, the phone rang.

"Jinsong Community Guardhouse—" Grandpa Chen answered the phone, squinting, and walked out, calling out from downstairs, "Yongzi! A man surnamed Tan is looking for you; he says it's urgent."

Zhang Yong quickly ran downstairs and took the receiver.

"Feed".

Tan Xingguo's voice came from the other end, but this time it was much lower than his loud voice from the last time they met.

"Zhang Yong, I have something to tell you."

Zhang Yong nodded and waited.

"This morning, someone came." Tan Xingguo paused, "He was in his early forties, wearing a white shirt and glasses, carrying a briefcase. He looked like someone from an office."

"He introduced himself as someone from the cultural and sports department of a ministry, saying he needed to verify the background of Zhang Wengong, the author of this issue's front page, and his qualifications for publishing articles."

Zhang Yong tapped the back of the receiver lightly with his fingers.

Chen Ping.

You acted really quickly.

"Did he bring his identification?"

"I brought it. I put it on my desk and showed it to you. I glanced at it, and it was just a letter of introduction with a literary stamp on it." Tan Xingguo snorted. "What do you think our weekly magazine is? I've seen this kind of thing a lot."

"So what did you say to him?"

"I said—" Tan Xingguo's voice suddenly carried a hint of laughter, like a victorious old cat, "I said, Comrade Zhang Wengong is a student at the Continuing Education College of Beijing University, and was jointly recommended by Lecturer Fang Qiming and Associate Professor Zhao Huaijin. The manuscript he submitted belongs to the social transformation of the student's scientific research results."

"According to the relevant regulations of the Ministry of Education, the right to publish content related to the transformation of research results belongs to the student and their institution, and is not within the scope of review by the cultural department."

Zhang Yong was stunned for two seconds.

"Where did you get this idea?"

"Oh, I made that up," Tan Xingguo answered frankly. "But it makes sense. If you let him investigate, go to the ministries, the Ministry of Education, Peking University—investigate whatever you want. The more he investigates, the more trouble he'll cause. He's just here on official business; how could he dare to make things worse?"

He paused for a moment, then added another sentence.

"Furthermore, I would also like to say that your manuscript has been endorsed by two professors from Peking University. If he really wants to investigate, then he should ask both professors to come out and talk as well."

"What did that person say?"

Feeling embarrassed, he said "we'll talk again next time" and left.

Tan Xingguo clicked his tongue. "This kind of person is just following orders. He doesn't have the confidence to cause trouble. His superiors didn't give him the authority to make things a success, and he doesn't want to cause trouble himself."

"It's better to avoid trouble; that's an old rule in the office. What can he do?"

Outside the gatehouse, cicadas chirped in waves, and as the setting sun moved a little further west, the shadows grew longer.

Zhang Yong switched the receiver to his other hand and slowly exhaled.

"Director Tan, thank you."

"No need to thank me." Tan Xingguo's voice was somewhat indifferent. "Your manuscript is worth this much. Our weekly magazine went into reprint twice, and Lao Liao from the distribution department said that we can't hold all the reader letters anymore, they're all praising it."

"Headquarters has called me twice, saying they'll give our weekly magazine an award in the second half of the year. Now I have to thank you."

He paused for a moment, lowering his voice by two decibels.

"However, Zhang Yong, let me tell you something else, so you should be aware of it."

"you say."

"That Chen Ping, his father is the second-in-command of a large state-owned factory in Baoding. This factory has two old connections in the ministries, who are specifically there to help them with cultural matters."

"Chen Ping was able to get his article onto the front page of 'October' this time by following this route."

Zhang Yong's brows furrowed slightly.

"So the people who came this time weren't there for an official investigation by the cultural and sports department, but rather Chen Ping using his father's connections to secretly probe the situation?"

"It's pretty much true." Tan Xingguo's voice carried a hint of coldness. "Your article made him look so pathetic, with so many unsubscribe letters. He lost face, and his father lost face even more, so he just wanted to pick a fight with you."

"Baoding," Zhang Yong repeated the word in a low voice.

Two lines were running through his mind at the same time.

One of them was counterfeit engine oil from Tongxian County. Liu Decai said the supplier was a man surnamed Ma from Baoding who specialized in recycling and reprocessing waste oil and shipping it out.

The other one is Chen Ping, whose father is the second-in-command of a large state-owned factory in Baoding.

Is it possible that these two things are two knots in the same web?

A large factory supports a group of small workshops next door that recycle and reprocess waste engine oil. The cost is a little over two yuan, but they sell it for twelve yuan. The bulk of the difference flows back into the pockets of certain people in the large factory.

This is not unprecedented.

Zhang Yong suppressed this thought and didn't say it aloud.

"Director Tan, I have something to tell you."

"you say."

"Now that we've discussed this matter openly," Zhang Yong said calmly, "I can't sign an exclusive contribution agreement with you."

There was a two-second silence on the other end.

Zhang Yong continued.

"It's not for any other reason. It's because I'm afraid of causing you political trouble."

"One person came today, and there might be a second tomorrow. If I sign an exclusive contract with you, and something happens in the future, my name will be tied to your weekly magazine, which is unfair to you."

He paused for a moment.

"What I mean is that from now on, each article will be settled separately. There will be no exclusivity. You can publish it anytime, and I can submit it anytime. It's all clear and transparent, and neither of us will be held back."

There was another silence on the other end of the phone.

Tan Xingguo has been working in the system for twenty years, and he can clearly distinguish between what is said superficially and what is said sincerely.

Zhang Yong's words, ostensibly for the sake of the weekly magazine, were actually a way for him to leave himself an option to submit articles to other publications.

But Tan Xingguo knew in his heart that this was the way legitimate businessmen did it.

"Okay." Tan Xingguo answered readily. "You're a good writer, so I'll listen to you! I'll have Xiao Meng draft a single contract, and send it over in the next couple of days. You just need to sign it."

"Thank you for your trouble."

"No need for that, we're the ones who benefit." Tan Xingguo's voice rose again. "When will you finish this one and start writing the next one? Readers are writing to urge us, asking if Zhang Wengong has any new articles. The six of us are replying to letters every day, our hands are practically raw from writing."

Zhang Yong smiled.

"Almost there, I'm halfway through writing it. This time I'm writing about abnormal engine temperature and the cooling system, which will come in handy with the recent hot weather."

"Great! This is perfect for writing in the summer!"

Tan Xingguo clapped his hands and said, "Just send it over once you've finished writing it. I'll have Xiao Meng keep an eye on it."

"Okay, Director Tan, thank you for your help."

"What's the trouble! By the way, the fried noodles at that place near our door are the best in Beijing. Next time you come, I'll treat you!"

I hung up the phone.

Zhang Yong slowly walked home, letting the loose threads in his mind settle back into their places.

Chen Ping used his connections to try and find out more about "Zhang Wengong".

Director Tan shut the investigator up, and that was it for now.

Now only the exclusive contract with "October" remains, but the world of magazines is a murky place.

From now on, I'll just write one article a month as a minimum, and no matter how I use it in October, I won't offend anyone.

As for the relationship between Chen Ping's father's large factory in Baoding and the fake engine oil tycoon, Boss Ma—

No rush, take your time investigating.

Just as I closed the door, Grandpa Chen's loud voice rang out again from downstairs—

"Zhang Yong!"

"Bring a basin down! Your letter has arrived! I'm out of space on my desk!"