Courtyard House: I'm an engineer, and a fairy godmother transferred me to a different position.

"You're being too polite," Professor Lu waved his hand, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes smoothing out. "Last month, those engineers in the institute went back and passed your notes around like treasures." As he spoke, he carefully put the manuscript into a brown paper bag, his fingertips pausing for a moment at the seal before he suddenly looked up.

"Guangqi," his voice softened, "I suggest that this lecture note be published directly as a book, keeping its original form."

Liu Guangqi felt a sense of relief; the matter was finally settled. But Professor Lu's next words made his smile freeze in mid-air.

"The entire institute is currently focused on developing the second-generation fighter jet, and we simply don't have the manpower to compile teaching materials." The old professor picked up his long-cold enamel mug, his gaze drifting out the window. "So the writing work... really can only be entrusted to you."

Liu Guangqi was taken aback.

So the promise of "joint writing" has ended up like this. No wonder the Institute of Computing has been unusually quiet these days, even the routine phone calls to inquire about the progress have been skipped. He lowered his eyelids and looked at his fingertips, which were covered with thin calluses, and was speechless for a moment.

The only sound in the office was the ticking of the clock.

Professor Lu cleared his throat, the teacup clinking as he placed it back in its place. "Don't look at me like that." He smiled wryly, pointing to the neatly folded cot in the corner, then to the mountain of blueprints on the table. "The project is at a critical stage, and everyone has been working non-stop for half a month. It's really... impossible to be in two places at once."

Liu Guangqi followed his gaze and saw that the manuscript papers covered with calculation formulas still bore red and blue pencil annotations. The knot in his chest suddenly dissipated.

Seeing the young man's relaxed expression, Professor Lu leaned forward slightly, his voice low and solemn: "But don't worry, the Institute of Computing Technology will not let your hard work go to waste. This textbook—we've decided to put only your name on it."

He paused for a moment, letting each word sink into the air: "This will be the first systematic computer tutorial in China. In the future, all young people who enter this field will see the name 'Liu Guangqi' on the title page. This right of attribution is the institute's recognition of your work."

Silence spread throughout the room.

Liu Guangqi's fingertips unconsciously rubbed his cuff. He clearly understood the weight of this honor—it was burning hot, yet it shone with an inescapable luster. The conditions offered by the institute were sincere enough: **signature, nationwide distribution, tightly linking his name with the beginning of a new discipline.

He finally let out a soft breath, just as a sycamore leaf swirled down from the window.

Liu Guangqi's thoughts drifted back to his university days. Back then, in order to master the theoretical knowledge of the era, he buried himself in the old papers of the library, searching for every piece of information that might be useful. The faces of his predecessors and colleagues who had been groping in the dark in the field of computer science, experiencing countless trials and errors, also appeared before his eyes one by one.

If the text I'm currently compiling can help them avoid some pitfalls and lay a foundation for the nascent computer manufacturing industry in this land—

So even if you're "half-coaxed and half-persuaded" to take on this task, it's all worth it.

"Professor Lu, I understand." Liu Guangqi slowly exhaled, the lingering tension between his brows dissipating, replaced by a clear calm. "Contributing to education is my duty, and I have no objections."

Professor Lu Hai's stern face finally relaxed, and his eyes revealed undisguised approval: "Good! That's the right way to think!"

Thus, with a touch of drama, Liu Guangqi delivered his first professional textbook, written by a renowned author. This slim volume added a significant stroke to the unfolding tapestry of his life.

Now that the matter was settled, Professor Lu Hai glanced at the clock on the wall. Seeing that it was still early, he was unwilling to let them go so soon. The computer textbook was only one of the topics for today; he had something much deeper on his mind.

"Guangqi, no rush, sit down a bit more, the tea isn't cold yet." Professor Lu Hai said, personally taking the teapot and refilling Liu Guangqi's cup. His posture was extremely humble, as if he, the teacher, was the one humbly seeking knowledge, while the young man opposite him was the wise and insightful gentleman.

"Shall we... talk about the second-generation transistor computer again?" Professor Lu changed the subject, his gaze intense, his inquisitiveness almost written on his face—clearly wanting to extract some untold knowledge from this young man.

Liu Guangqi was perfectly clear-headed, yet he had no intention of keeping anything to himself. These past few days, in order to compile the textbook, he had practically sifted through all the computer science literature he could find, and then reorganized and reorganized it using a cognitive framework that was ahead of its time. His mind was overflowing with accumulated thoughts. So he spoke calmly, from time-sharing operations and multitasking to process scheduling and management. These concepts, almost common sense in later computer science, flowed into Professor Lu Hai's ears like a thunderclap, a sudden flash of inspiration. This was not simply a matter of knowledge gaps; it was more like someone suddenly holding up a lamp in the fog of a long journey.

Professor Lu listened intently, his pen flying across his notebook, leaving behind dense handwriting. He would occasionally look up, his eyes swirling with thoughts, alternating between layers of sudden realization and questioning.

As the conversation deepened, Professor Lu Hai abruptly shifted the topic, tentatively asking Liu Guangqi about the application challenges of large-scale general-purpose computers in a specific field (he vaguely referred to it as "that project"). While the question itself remained within the realm of computer technology, the direction it pointed to had already approached the edge of a highly confidential matter.

The air in the office seemed to freeze for a moment. Liu Guangqi knew perfectly well: this had gone beyond ordinary technical exchange and touched the boundaries of confidentiality. Although he was listed in the relevant working group for his contributions and knew about the great undertaking taking place in the Gobi Desert of Northwest China, he was ultimately not a core participant. According to the rules, Professor Lu shouldn't ask, and he shouldn't answer.

A moment of silence fell between them. Finally, Liu Guangqi spoke only briefly and with extreme restraint about the possibilities at the computer level, stopping short of escalation. Any further would have been a transgression.

Even these few words stirred Professor Lu Hai's emotions, making him eager to ask further questions. However, Liu Guangqi tucked the topic away at the opportune moment, turning to other aspects of computer science. Finally, Professor Lu brought up the old topic again, sincerely inviting him to dedicate himself to the research and development of the second-generation computer.

"Guangqi, think about it," Professor Lu said with a sigh, "that seven-axis, five-linkage control system we worked on last time already exhausted our institute's resources. The nine-axis linkage system, and even more complex systems you'll be tackling in the future, all require top-tier computing power. It's like building your own road; your own people always know the foundation better and are more dedicated, right?"

These words truly resonated with Liu Guangqi. Before the Lunar New Year, he was overwhelmed with numerous matters and unable to attend to everything, but now he was finally starting to get things sorted out.

"Professor Lu," he smiled wryly, pointing to the deepening winter chill outside the window, "you see, the New Year is just around the corner."

Liu Guangqi waved his hand, a gentle yet distant smile on his face: "Let me get through this year peacefully first. We can talk in detail after the New Year. Let's talk about it after the New Year."

This time, he didn't completely shut the door in his words.

The situation is very different from before the Lunar New Year. The thorny issues that had piled up at hand have been basically sorted out. The nine-axis project that needs to be promoted next, along with the layout of high-tech industries such as semiconductors in the future, are like mouths that are crying for food, yearning for more powerful computing capabilities to nourish them.

Even the most skilled craftsman can't accomplish much without the right tools. Without powerful enough computers, many subsequent ideas will remain just that—ideas on paper.

That's why, when the invitation was presented again, Liu Guangqi neither nodded nor shook his head, only saying that he needed time to consider it and that everything would be discussed after the Spring Festival.

Little did he know that this attitude of leaving room for maneuver was enough to make Professor Lu Hai overjoyed.

Finally, Professor Lu Hai, beaming with pride, personally escorted Liu Guangqi to the gate of the Institute of Computing Technology. His warm and attentive manner drew the attention of passing researchers, who secretly wondered: What kind of sweet talk did this excessively young Chief Engineer Liu give to the usually serious Professor Lu?

Little did they know that the moment Liu Guangqi disappeared from sight, Professor Lu Hai had already swept back to his office like a gust of wind.

"Connect me to the Chinese hotline!" His voice trembled slightly with excitement. "Connect me now!"

……

Research Department, First Ministry of Machine Building.

Outside the window, the sky was as heavy as lead, and the bare branches shivered in the north wind. The unique atmosphere of the approaching year-end, along with the increasingly biting cold, quietly permeated every corner of the ministry building.

At this point, there were only a few days left until the Spring Festival holiday.

Most people's minds were already a little unsettled. After all, government departments are not like production lines; there's no need to rush to finish work before the New Year. Normally, the annual tasks that need to be completed have mostly been finalized by now, and all that's left is to hold the final general meeting for all staff before they can relax and wait for the holiday to arrive.

However, in Liu Guangqi's office in the research department, the scratching sound of pen nibs across paper continued, clear and steady.

Mass production of seven-axis CNC machine tools is indeed a major challenge. At least with the current computing power of computers, the debugging and development of the control system for each machine tool requires a considerable amount of time. Furthermore, the Institute of Computing Technology cannot dedicate all its resources to a single project in the long term.

"Ring ring—"

The red telephone on the desk suddenly rang, breaking the focused silence of the research room.

Liu Guangqi picked up the receiver, and the voice of the assistant from the ministry's office came through, his tone revealing suppressed excitement: "Director Liu! The comrades from the Department of Technological Sciences of the Chinese Academy of Sciences have arrived and are in the minister's office. They say they have important documents that must be presented to you in person."

"A colleague from the Chinese Academy of Sciences?" Liu Guangqi was slightly taken aback, but then he remembered that the selection meeting for members of the Chinese Academy of Sciences had been held recently, and he understood what was going on.

He folded the report he was reviewing and put it in a drawer, then got up and quickly went downstairs.

As soon as I stepped into the minister's office, I saw two staff members dressed in Zhongshan suits with solemn expressions, one of whom was holding a dark brown kraft paper file bag.

"Is this Comrade Liu Guangqi?" The middle-aged man at the head of the group stepped forward first, his smile polite and formal. "We are from the Division of Technological Sciences of the Chinese Academy of Sciences, here to deliver your certificate of membership in the division. You received a unanimous vote in this selection process, and the internal announcement process has been completed. Here is your certificate and related announcement documents."

The atmosphere in the ministry's office was solemn. The certificate, representing the highest honor in the domestic academic community, was handed to Liu Guangqi by a staff member of the Chinese Academy of Sciences; it felt heavy and substantial.

"Committee Member Liu," the staff member said, his voice filled with undisguised emotion, before emphasizing, "you are the youngest academician of the Chinese Academy of Sciences since its establishment."

He paused briefly, as if to allow the weight of his words to fully settle: "The average age of the previous members of the Department of Technological Sciences was over forty. It is unprecedented for someone like you to be elected unanimously at the age of twenty-four."

This is not just polite flattery. Anyone who looks at Liu Guangqi's resume would likely subconsciously overlook the small number in the age column. The technological breakthroughs and major contributions listed there are dense and solid, unlike what a young man in his early twenties could have accumulated; rather, they are more like those of a veteran expert who has devoted his life to his work. Age, in the face of his vast achievements, becomes the most insignificant footnote.

And who can question the value of these achievements?

Everything is evident to all—the innovative products that earned the country valuable foreign exchange and helped repay debts; the CNC machine tools that broke through technological blockades and supported the backbone of the manufacturing industry; the computer science textbooks that filled domestic gaps and cultivated successors... Each and every one of these are impressive and hard-core achievements.

Even if an ordinary person only achieves one of these, it is enough to make a solid contribution.

But what about Liu Guangqi?

He has so many achievements on his shoulders.

If such a person were to step into the Chinese Academy of Sciences and be appointed as an academician, not only would there be no objection from all, but even if he were promoted exceptionally, others would only think it was a matter of course.

Needless to say.

Everything he studied was related to the lifeline of national defense.

Those who came and went were all high-ranking members of the council.

To put it bluntly, as long as Liu Guangqi acts uprightly and honestly, these substantial achievements alone will not shake him in the slightest.

With a solid foundation, the future is bright.

As dusk approached, outside the Ministry of Foreign Affairs building.