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

When Zhang Defa pushed open the door and entered the room, he was immediately attracted by the fruit on the table.

"Yo, Kyoto White Pear!"

He threw his work bag at the door, rushed to the coffee table, grabbed a piece of food, and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing it with a crunching sound.

"Sweet! Where did this pear come from?"

Li Guilan turned off the kitchen light, untied her apron, and walked into the living room with a disgruntled expression.

"It was sent by Editor Liu."

"Which one?"

"The one who came to our house last time, the one from the magazine, the one with the good temper."

Zhang Defa stuffed another piece into his mouth and mumbled, "Oh, that guy isn't bad. He even spoke up for Yongzi last time."

Li Guilan ignored the remark. She sat down opposite Zhang Defa, pushed her enamel mug forward, and glared at him.

"Honey! Your son has a huge bruise on his body!"

"With fists that big and purplish-black, he must have been beaten up."

Zhang Defa was a simpleton; he lay down on the sofa and waved his hand dismissively.

"What kind of man is an eighteen-year-old if he doesn't get into a fight? I noticed that Yongzi used to be so quiet and reserved, like a silent gourd, but he's been much better lately."

"When I was about my age, back in my hometown of Baoding, I mixed pig manure with mud and smashed all the windows of a whole street. Good heavens, half the people on the street chased after me with carrying poles and beat me up."

"If my sister-in-law hadn't gone door-to-door compensating for the broken windows, my legs would have been broken..."

When his sister-in-law was mentioned, Zhang Defa couldn't continue talking.

Seeing that he was subdued, Li Guilan stopped chasing after him.

She stood up to gather the pear peels from the coffee table, still muttering under her breath, "You deserved to be beaten back then, but your son got ambushed and beaten up. Is that the same thing?"

Zhang Defa did not answer.

Zhang Yong broke the deadlock by walking out of the bedroom at just the right moment, carrying an enamel mug.

"Dad, Mom, those thugs who blocked the road have all been handcuffed by the station. They only attacked me because I was alone. After that, I only stayed in crowded places. You two can rest assured."

Li Guilan glared at him: "Relax? How can I relax about that lump on your ribs?"

"It's just scary to look at." Zhang Yong also grabbed a piece of pear. "I applied safflower oil and sprayed Yunnan Baiyao, and it'll be fine in a couple of days. Mom, look, I can walk without limping anymore."

He deliberately took two steps in the living room.

Li Guilan snorted, said nothing more, and turned to go into the kitchen to wash the dishes.

Zhang Defa then lowered his voice and leaned closer: "Yongzi, who are they?"

"It's the same fake oil as before." Zhang Yong sat down on the sofa. "They're on the same line as Liu Gui who came to our house last time."

Zhang Defa's face darkened.

"Damn it, they really arrested them all?"

"They've all been caught, five in total." Zhang Yong held up five fingers. "I had already spoken to Xiao Li at the police station, and they met me halfway there. I just bumped into them by accident; you can see my skin wasn't even broken."

Zhang Defa sat up straight and rubbed his hands together.

Why didn't you tell me beforehand? I would have gone with you.

"If you go, they won't dare show their faces, making it even harder to catch them," Zhang Yong chuckled. "Besides, Wei Dabiao has sent people to meet me; we're all prepared."

Zhang Defa snorted, and after a while, he took out a box of chicken from his pocket, shook out a stick, and put it in his mouth.

"Fine. You don't treat me like family anymore, so being a father to you is meaningless! Sigh! It's so painful!"

"Okay, okay, I won't hide it from you anymore. Dad, please stop calling me, or Mom will hear me."

Back in the bedroom, Zhang Yong lay on the bed, his ribs hitting the bed frame, causing him to gasp in pain.

He stared blankly at the mottled roof.

The original owner of this body was indeed too dull; in his memory, all he did was go to school and go home.

Now that I've woken up and become Zhang Yong, what happened to the original body's soul? Could it have gone into my previous body?

"That guy is really unlucky..."

Zhang Yong chuckled self-deprecatingly.

He sat up, enduring the soreness, and grabbed the manuscript paper to start calculating.

The day after tomorrow, I'm going to the "October" magazine office to re-sign the contract with Zhou Deqing. In addition to thoroughly explaining the misunderstanding about the breach of contract, I also need to settle the royalties for my first article, "The Ingenuity of a Great Nation," and its sequel, "The Nation on Wheels."

These two articles together total nearly 70,000 words.

Based on the previous standard of 100 yuan per thousand words for feature articles, that would have been a full 7,000 yuan.

What was the concept of 7,000 yuan in 1990?

Even if an ordinary worker didn't eat or drink for three years, he couldn't save that much. Zhang Defa worked at the cotton mill, and his monthly salary plus long-distance allowance barely covered 350 yuan.

But Zhang Yong knew exactly what was going on.

Zhou Deqing is a very perceptive person. Although he treats me well, it doesn't mean he'll show favoritism when it comes to money.

Moreover, October is a state-run publication with strict financial discipline within the system.

At the time, the standard of 100 yuan per thousand words for a feature article was actually the price for a buyout. This meant that once you received the money, the article belonged to "October" magazine, and you would have no further income from it.

Now that he's made his hand out in the open, he not only refuses to sign exclusive contracts, but also writes popular science articles for the Workers' Life Weekly under the pen name "Zhang Wengong".

In this case, the payment for the manuscript will probably have to be settled according to the standard for high-quality works.

Currently, the standard payment for manuscripts in state-run journals is 20 to 40 per thousand words for ordinary authors, while well-known authors can earn up to 70 or 80 per thousand words.

But with Director Tao's influence and the letter of commendation from the trade union, Zhou Deqing would probably give him fifty.

Seventy thousand words, calculated at fifty per thousand words, that's three thousand five.

It's almost three thousand less than seven thousand.

Because the pen name "Zhang Wengong" was used to publish a book in the Workers' Life Weekly, the first print run was 10,000 copies, and the royalties amounted to 2,240 yuan. There will be additional money for subsequent reprints.

Adding it all up, it's over five thousand yuan.

It's not much less than 7,000, and there's no exclusive contract. I won't have to hide anything from you anymore. I can publish articles on both lines in the future. A steady stream of income is much more worthwhile than a one-off deal.

"Having surplus grain in hand gives you peace of mind."

Zhang Yong roughly listed the accounts on the back of the manuscript paper, and then looked at the numbers he had copied into the notebook during the day.

Tongxian Dongsheng Coal Plant.

He knew perfectly well that if he wanted to move towards car manufacturing, he needed to get involved in energy-related industries.

Improving the efficiency of car engines inevitably involves combustion efficiency.

Coal mines not only produce coal, but also possess large-scale thermal equipment, industrial boilers, and heavy-duty generator sets, which are fundamental to this era.

The stratified combustion in the furnace of an industrial boiler and the atomized combustion of the mixed gas in an engine cylinder are physically identical, both relying on the conversion of fuel chemical energy into heat energy.

At that time, coal combustion was extremely inefficient, with a large amount of heat being wasted, accompanied by severe carbon buildup and pollution.

"If I could access the theory of combustion and solve the energy efficiency losses from burning coal..."

Zhang Yong's breathing became rapid.

This not only earns him money, but more importantly, it allows him to use the largest industrial combustion chamber to conduct pressure tests on future engine combustion chambers.

The future engines that need to achieve precise fuel injection, lean air-fuel mixture combustion, and high-pressure combustion are essentially just miniaturizing the combustion control of large boilers.

When he went back to designing fuel efficiency systems for car engines, he was no longer completely inexperienced.

Behind the coal, Zhang Yong wrote two words heavily: Energy Efficiency.

Once the magazine business is settled, I'll contact Director Meng to see what it is. If it involves major technical improvements, I'll discuss it with Professor Fang and we can go together.

Take it one step at a time.

He turned off the table lamp.

In the darkness, the faint glow of the system panel floated at the edge of the field of vision:

[Fighting Lv.4: Progress 11% (AFK... 30x speed)]

When I wake up tomorrow, it will rise by at least 17%.

...