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

Although it was past the usual mealtime at the Institute of Computing Technology's canteen, many people who had just finished work were still sitting there. Some had even arrived later than Liu Guangqi. This might be considered a common occurrence throughout the Chinese Academy of Sciences—the schedules of researchers are always somewhat out of sync with those of ordinary people.

Of course, the state has always provided generous support for scientific researchers. Even during the most resource-scarce years, the supply of materials to technicians, scientists, and engineers engaged in intellectual work has always been given priority.

The institute's canteen has always been quiet, and the food there is also plain.

When Liu Guangqi stepped into the canteen, it was already the last shift, and the food he received had long since lost its heat. He didn't seem to mind. After delivering the last few sentences of his speech to the focused researchers at the table, he picked up his silver-gray aluminum lunchbox. The lunchbox contained a few thin slices of meat mixed with cabbage, lightly stir-fried shredded potatoes, and two hearty mixed-grain steamed buns. He ate the cold food with gusto, his expression unchanged.

After all, he had spent two months in the Gobi Desert in Northwest China. The food there was often mixed with sand, but he swallowed it all. This meal was just a little cold, so it was really nothing.

After lunch, on the way to the computing room, Professor Lu Hai walked briskly beside him. The conversation that had been left unfinished at noon was now resumed.

"Guangqi," the old professor said, his voice tinged with barely suppressed excitement, "the technical route you described this morning was very clear. If we proceed in this manner, we may be able to achieve our goals much earlier than originally planned."

He paused, then sighed, "If you hadn't come, we don't know how much longer we would have been lost in this maze."

"Professor Lu, you flatter me. I was merely relaying the wisdom of our predecessors." Liu Guangqi waved his hand, then quickly changed the subject, "Now that the direction is clear and the support from above is sufficient—do you think we could accelerate the progress again?"

He was thinking about the burning passion for science in the desolate northwest. If the second-generation fighter jet could be deployed sooner, it would give them a head start.

"Speed ​​up? Great!" Lu Hai slapped his thigh, almost immediately agreeing. "With your well-organized theoretical framework and roadmap, if we still dawdle, we'll be too ashamed to show our faces."

After saying that, he seemed to suddenly remember something, and glanced at Liu Guangqi carefully, a hint of disbelief appearing in his eyes.

"But speaking of which... Guangqi, how exactly is your brain structured? Computer science aside, your main profession is mechanics, and you're fluent in both Russian and American languages—even people from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs have praised you. You're only twenty-four, right? Do you really not need to sleep?"

It's rare for an ordinary person to master even one skill in their entire life. Yet this young man has excelled in several fields simultaneously, which is truly admirable.

"I wouldn't call myself an expert, I just read a lot of miscellaneous things on a daily basis, and my memory is pretty good, so I've dabbled in a bit of everything," Liu Guangqi replied with a smile, speaking casually.

This is no exaggeration. Having lived two lives, he has accumulated the equivalent of half a century's worth of time for most people; moreover, his mind and physique in this life have been subtly refined by the years. Although he doesn't memorize everything at a glance, his ability to remember and comprehend is far superior to his past selves. He never slacked off during his four years of university, integrating and reflecting on what he learned in his previous life with what he has learned in this one. From mechanical manufacturing to automatic control, from system design to engineering implementation, the knowledge in his mind has piled up into a dense tower. Now, calling him a mechanical whiz wouldn't be an exaggeration.

Hearing his humble words, Lu Hai shook his head and pointed at him with a smile: "We don't understand the principles of you geniuses."

At 2 p.m., in the research and development room of the Institute of Computing Technology, Liu Guangqi stood in front of the blackboard, his fingertips tracing the gray-green chalk surface.

"The key to index registers isn't memorizing addresses, but making them move like living pointers." His voice was steady, his pace unhurried. "Like a master craftsman in a workshop, he moves wherever the material is; why fill the entire factory with markings?"

The logic diagram on the blackboard was clearly laid out, and the edges of the calculation paper were densely covered with derivation formulas.

The entire project team gathered around Liu Guangqi, pens scratching on their notebooks, no one looking up. Whenever someone raised a hand to ask a question, Liu Guangqi could always respond immediately, not only providing a thorough explanation but also outlining algorithmic adjustments for different scenarios. His composed and analytical demeanor convinced anyone who saw him that he wasn't some industrial systems engineer, but a true expert deeply versed in the computer's core principles.

Liu Guangqi put down the chalk, gently patted the dust off his fingertips, and glanced at his watch.

"That's all for today." He said calmly. "When you get back, you can try to build a simple program model based on the framework we just discussed. We'll go into more details tomorrow."

Before the words were even finished, a researcher hurriedly spoke up: "Deputy Team Leader Liu, I still have some questions about floating-point arithmetic..."

Liu Guangqi smiled and waved his hand.

"No rush. We'll set aside half an hour for a Q&A session tomorrow. We won't extend the time today."

As he spoke, he deftly tidied up the scattered papers on the table.

Professor Lu Hai, who had been watching from the sidelines for a long time, was taken aback.

"Work should be efficient, not about how long you work, but about grasping the key points," Liu Guangqi's voice continued. "The human brain is like the stomach; if it's too full, it's hard to digest and it will delay your next meal."

These words, though blunt, made sense, causing the people around to fall into deep thought.

"That's all for today." He put away the last piece of paper. "I have to go back to the Ministry of Machine Building this afternoon to handle some business. We'll continue on time tomorrow."

After speaking, Liu Guangqi picked up his materials, turned and left amidst the various expressions on everyone's faces, his steps crisp and without the slightest hesitation.

Only after his figure disappeared outside the door did a sudden murmur of discussion erupt in the conference room.

"You're leaving already?"

"Otherwise what? Mr. Liu is a temporary secondment, not a permanent researcher in our institute."

"But I must admit, he explained it very clearly."

"Have you noticed? He never piles up jargon; every sentence is tied to the core logic, making it clear and enjoyable to listen to."

"Indeed."

"Usually, after attending seminars, I always feel dizzy and overwhelmed, like I've been bombarded with theory all day. But these few hours of his were more fruitful than two days of our own brainstorming!"

Everyone chimed in, their words brimming with barely suppressed excitement and admiration. Only then did they realize that Liu Guangqi's straightforward and to-the-point approach, while different from the institute's typically tense and meticulous academic atmosphere, possessed a unique and convincing power.

Perhaps—this is what true skill is.

After returning to the First Ministry of Machine Building from the Institute of Computing Technology, the work here became much easier.

The seven-axis CNC machine tool, which is crucial to the foundation of industry, was assembled and debugged step by step by his team of technicians, who would consult him whenever they encountered difficulties. Liu Guangqi himself continued to lead the creation of the "simplified" production drawings for export to the Soviet Union.

This job may seem like a technical downgrade, but it actually demands a much higher level of skill from the designer, requiring a great deal of effort to weigh every detail. He must handle every detail just right—especially the control of technical parameters. Too much and it will easily expose flaws; too little and it may not achieve the desired limiting effect. The balance must be struck with utmost care.

At 5:30 p.m., Liu Guangqi signed the last document awaiting approval, closed the folder, and the office fell silent instantly.

Soon after, he left work as usual.

The guards had started the car and it smoothly drove away from the Ministry of Machine Building. Liu Guangqi looked out the window, watching the red-brick buildings rush past, his thoughts quickly rewinding to the day: in the morning at the Institute of Computing Technology, the core algorithm was progressing exceptionally smoothly; in the afternoon at the Ministry of Machine Building, all the coordination was flawless. This temporary assignment hadn't caused him to neglect either task; on the contrary, the clear division of labor and efficient pace had allowed the work on both sides to be as well-coordinated as a single rope, progressing in tandem.

The weight that had been hanging over my heart finally lifted.

This is good.

When he stopped the car in front of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, he looked up and saw Zhao Mengyun walking out of the gate, chatting and laughing with her colleagues.

She spotted Liu Guangqi at a glance, then quickened her pace and walked over, a gentle smile spreading across her face: "So early today? I thought you were busy until late the first day at the Institute of Computing Technology."

As she spoke, she naturally reached out, her fingertips brushing across Liu Guangqi's shoulder, wiping away a few specks of chalk dust he hadn't noticed, and then gently smoothing his slightly wrinkled collar.

This little gesture is intimate and familiar, as if it has been done a thousand times before.

As the car drove home, Zhao Mengyun turned her head and looked gently at her husband in the driver's seat.

"When you get to a new place, don't just bury yourself in your work." Her voice was soft, but every word was clear. "I've heard that the researchers at the Institute of Computing Technology are all like souls that have grown out of piles of data. They can even daydream while holding their rice bowls. Don't become like that."

Liu Guangqi smiled slightly and casually turned the steering wheel half a turn.

"I won't go hungry," he said with a smile, briefly recounting his experience at the cafeteria at lunchtime. "But you're absolutely right—I witnessed firsthand what true obsession looks like. I thought I was late enough when I went to eat, but there were still people arriving late behind me."

Once the conversation started, the atmosphere in the carriage became relaxed.

The two chatted idly, but tacitly avoided anything related to work. Zhao Mengyun worked at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and her understanding of secrecy was sometimes even more profound than Liu Guangqi's. Therefore, she never inquired about his work unit, the First Ministry of Machine Building, or the Institute of Computing Technology; she only cared whether he was tired that day, whether he liked his lunch, and what kind of home-cooked food he wanted for dinner.

Liu Guangqi also enjoys this kind of time together. Whether he is an academician, the chief technology officer, or an industrial pioneer with heavy responsibilities on his shoulders, he is simply her husband when he returns to this small space.

"Ah, I almost forgot."

Zhao Mengyun suddenly remembered something and lightly tapped her knee with her fingertip.

"You weren't at work today, so Dad couldn't call you and transferred the call to me." She paused, a smile appearing in her eyes. "It seems he got promoted again—he's a workshop foreman now."

Liu Guangqi was clearly taken aback.

The news came somewhat suddenly. Almost immediately, his father's round face with bangs appeared before his eyes—always with his belly sticking out, hands behind his back, pacing slowly and deliberately in the workshop, with an air of importance.

He got promoted?

From deputy director to director, this is no ordinary job transfer. The deputy director of a steel rolling mill workshop mostly focuses on the production process and is a foreman who takes the lead; but the workshop director is different. It is a real management position, which requires coordinating all aspects and has already stepped into the threshold of "doing the job in lieu of a manager".

My father's education was limited... He only graduated from primary school and didn't know many characters; he could barely write a report. This was still 1962, far from the turbulent times that followed; cadre appointments were still governed by rules. How did the factory decide to put an old worker in this position?

It wasn't that Liu Guangqi doubted his father's abilities. On the contrary, for someone like Liu Haizhong, who had "being an official" ingrained in his very bones, a position was the best motivator. Give him a sesame seed, and he'd make a mountain out of a molehill. You could laugh at his arrogance, you could criticize his impure motives, but you couldn't deny his drive to scheme and climb the ladder.

Since becoming deputy director, Liu Haizhong has practically treated the workshop as his own kingdom. He oversees production, enforces discipline, and can spend entire nights pondering over a single target casually mentioned by a factory leader. He knows everything about the workshop, from quarterly plans and equipment maintenance to the few screws left in a corner of the warehouse. This dedication is something even the section chiefs in the factory office might not be able to match.

So Liu Guangqi wasn't surprised that his father got promoted; he was just curious how the factory leaders could entrust such a position, which required paperwork and coordination, to an old craftsman who couldn't even write a proper summary.

Seeing that he remained silent for a long time, Zhao Mengyun guessed what he was thinking.

"Dad didn't explain the reason in detail on the phone," she added with a smile, "but I overheard people in the factory chatting during the Spring Festival, mentioning that their workshop had outstanding efficiency last year, far surpassing other workshops, and their quality pass rate was consistently among the top three in the entire factory. At the year-end commendation meeting, Director Yang even specifically praised them by name."

As she spoke, the corners of her eyes curved slightly.

The moment the words were spoken in the car, Liu Guangqi was taken aback for a moment, then couldn't help but laugh out loud.

Yes, my father's promotion to workshop foreman this time was half due to his own decades of hard-earned experience in the workshop, and the other half was probably due to my connections. He understood all too well that personal relationships were always involved.