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

Zhang Yong's small bedroom only has a bed and a desk.

On the desk lay Fang Qiming's borrowed books, "Principles of Metal Cutting" and "Electrical Control of Machine Tools," with dozens of letters from readers pressed beside them. A fountain pen rested on the manuscript paper, its ink cap not tightened.

Wei Shuyun stood at the door and glanced around before her gaze fell on the note pasted on the wall.

The note contained only four words, from top to bottom: writing, driving, auto repair, and machinery manufacturing.

"Is this your plan?"

"Yes." Zhang Yong pulled up a chair for her to sit down, and sat on the edge of the bed himself.

"What do you want to tell me?"

"I...I have an idea, but I'm still undecided. I wanted to discuss it with you." Wei Shuyun was clearly hesitant.

"I've already applied to Tsinghua University for Economics and Management. But... I don't really like this major."

"How so?"

"My dad wants me to choose something easier so I can manage the family factory in the future. You know my dad's health, so I definitely have to think about his health."

"But I don't want to just put on a show; I want to get things done."

She looked up, her eyes still sparkling.

"I want to study another subject, architecture."

Zhang Yong was stunned. Although the real estate industry had its glory days, by 26, things weren't so good anymore. There was a lot of negative news about certain large-scale real estate projects, and housing prices were falling day by day without end.

Meanwhile, Tsinghua University's School of Economics and Management is thriving, and many entrepreneurs consider it an honor to enter Tsinghua's School of Economics and Management.

However, he suppressed his doubts and carefully spoke.

"Tsing Hua University offers many majors, including foreign trade, Chinese language and literature, law, and food engineering. Why did you choose architecture?"

Architecture students have a very heavy workload, and they also have to go out to sketch and record construction sites, which is not easy.

"Because of Lin Huiyin."

"What?" Zhang Yong was completely taken aback by the answer.

Wei Shuyun's tone suddenly changed, as if she had finally found an outlet for words she had been holding back for a long time.

Do you know Lin Huiyin? Not the Lin Huiyin who was written into a love story.

Zhang Yong didn't speak, waiting for her to continue.

"She was the first female architect in our country. In the 1920s, the architecture department at the University of Pennsylvania did not admit female students, so she registered in the fine arts department and audited architecture classes, completing them one by one."

Wei Shuyun's voice gradually faded into the distance.

"Later, she and Liang Sicheng traveled to fifteen provinces and more than 190 counties, climbing dilapidated temples and exploring barren mountains, surveying more than 2,000 ancient buildings. Without their records, many things would have been lost once the war was over."

"She also participated in the design of the national emblem and the monument."

"In the 1950s, when the ancient city walls of Beijing were to be demolished, she dragged her ailing body around trying to get help."

Her eyes reddened.

"She's really amazing."

"People used to tell me that girls should just learn something easy. But Lin Huiyin made me realize that a person's choice to do something shouldn't be based on what's easy, but on what's worthwhile."

"When I was a child, I went to see the ruins of that ancient city wall. At that time, I told myself, Wei Shuyun, you must become such an amazing person."

The room was silent for a few seconds.

Looking at the eighteen or nineteen-year-old girl in front of him, Zhang Yong suddenly felt that the four lines of planning on his wall were too cautious compared to the light in her eyes.

He didn't rush to speak.

In his past life, he had seen too many people who were dealt a winning hand, only to have it ruined by the word "should." They should have played it safe, they should have listened, they should have chosen the path that others had paved for them.

"You came to me for advice not because you couldn't make up your mind," Zhang Yong said, his voice low but his tone firm.

Wei Shuyun looked up at him.

"You already have the answer in your heart, you just haven't found someone to tell you yet—you're right."

Wei Shuyun's fingers gripped the hem of her skirt. She didn't speak, but her breathing was noticeably tense.

Zhang Yong stood up, walked to the desk, picked out a letter from the stack of readers' letters, and handed it to her.

"Take a look at this."

Wei Shuyun took it. It was a letter from the Northwest, the kraft paper envelope stained with oily fingerprints.

The letter was short. The writer said he was a drilling worker in an oil field. He said that the night he finished watching "The Ingenuity of Great Craftsmen," he sat on the drilling rig for a long time.

He was assigned to work in the oil field by his family when he was eighteen, and worked there for eleven years, always feeling like he was just wasting his time. But that article made him realize for the first time that his work still had meaning.

The last line of the letter was written neatly—

"Thank you for letting me know that the things ordinary people do also deserve to be seen."

Wei Shuyun remained silent for a long time after reading it.

"He was put in a position for eleven years before he found his meaning." Zhang Yong took the letter back and put it at the bottom of the stack of letters.

"But you're luckier than him."

"You haven't embarked on that preordained path yet; you still have a choice."

He leaned against the desk, his tone indifferent.

"Studying business management is how you answer to your father. Studying architecture is how you answer to yourself. Walking on two legs is more stable."

"But... it will be very tiring for both of them to study together." Wei Shuyun's voice softened.

"Then I'll just have to work hard."

Zhang Yong pointed to the note on the wall.

"Writing, driving, auto repair, mechanical manufacturing—which of these four do you find easiest?"

Wei Shuyun stared at the note for two seconds, then suddenly smiled.

"You're a complete lunatic."

"Same to you."

The atmosphere in the room relaxed.

Wei Shuyun mentally reviewed the contents of the letter, and suddenly remembered something.

"Are you writing something new? Is it a sequel to the 'Great Powers' series?"

"Yes, but I haven't figured out how to cut the second one yet."

Zhang Yong's eyes were fixed on the ceiling.

"The Spirit of Craftsmen in a Great Nation" is about engines and the legacy of the older generation of workers, and at its core, it is a tribute to the spirit of industry.

The article was so moving because it touched on a core issue—the technological gap.

The second article cannot repeat the approach of the first article.

Wei Shuyun carefully flipped through the readers' letters, and suddenly spoke.

"Have you ever thought about writing about car manufacturing?"

Zhang Yong turned his head to look at her.

"Your first article was about an engine, about parts, about processes, and about the process of a part going from defective to qualified."

Wei Shuyun's voice wasn't loud, but she spoke very clearly.

"But where is the engine installed? In the car. Who drives the car? A person."

"You've repaired three of my cars, so you should know better than anyone that the roads in Beijing are now full of imported and counterfeit vehicles. Jiefang, Dongfeng, and Huanghe—the engine technology was all learned from abroad in the past."

"We don't even own a single car that we manufactured ourselves."

Zhang Yong's eyes lit up.

Wei Shuyun continued.

"According to our factory's drivers, although those three vehicles all have domestically produced diesel engines, the oil pumps are imported, the differentials are copied from Japanese ones, and even the brake pads have to be imported from the south."

"I remember a sentence you wrote in your article very clearly. You said, 'The first CNC machine tool with completely independent technology completed its first part processing in a workshop in a remote mountain valley.'"

She looked at Zhang Yong.

"What about the first car made entirely with domestically developed technology?"

……