9: Father's Gift and the Support of "Home"

The progress of the new task felt like being stuck in thick, viscous mud. Every step forward took a huge toll on Excellence's mental strength, yet yielded little result, and sometimes even led to regression. The knowledge required for [The First Step of Stealth]—both in depth and breadth—was far beyond the cognitive boundaries of a physics slacker like Excellence, pinning him firmly to the pillar of shame labeled "no idea where to start."

The preparation of the core "adaptive control circuit board" and the mysterious "metamaterial unit" was especially maddening, making him want to pull out his already sparse hair.

The plan provided by the Main System had been simplified to the extreme, even offering a "paint-by-numbers" guide that was almost "one diagram per step." But even so, for Excellence, those dense circuit symbols, those obscure academic terms in materials science, and the requirements for micron-level precision remained like a heavenly book.

He tried to follow the Main System's prompts, running to the largest second-hand electronics market on the outskirts of the city. Among piles of "electronic trash" exuding the smell of aged dust and metallic rust, he scavenged several discarded smartphones and tablet touchscreens of different models. Then, on an afternoon when his roommates were out, he locked himself in the dormitory, wearing a magnifying glass and holding precision tweezers "borrowed" from the lab, attempting to carefully peel that layer of ITO (Indium Tin Oxide) transparent conductive film—thinner and more fragile than a cicada's wing—off the glass substrate, just as the guide said.

The result was a disaster scene. His fingers seemed to carry a destructive attribute; either he used too much force and poked through the film, or he couldn't control the angle of peeling, causing the film to wrinkle into an unusable lump under stress. The air was filled with the pungent smell of organic solvents (used to soften the adhesive layer), and the desktop was scattered with dismantled, completely ruined touchscreen fragments, like the wreckage of some modern art. Several hours of effort yielded only a few pieces of ITO film smaller than a fingernail, full of cracks and wrinkles at the edges, miles away from the area and integrity required by the task.

The process of etching the circuit board himself was even more disastrous. He secretly bought ferric chloride solution online and used a plastic lunch box as an etching tank. According to the thermal transfer method, he first needed to print the designed circuit diagram onto special glossy paper, then use an electric iron to heat-transfer it onto the copper-clad board, and finally put it into the ferric chloride solution to etch away the excess copper foil.

However, reality ruthlessly mocked his naivety. The first time, the iron's temperature was too high, causing the plastic copper-clad board to warp and the circuit diagram to blur into a mess. The second time, the temperature was right, but the pressure during transfer was uneven, leading to broken lines. The third time, it finally looked okay, but after putting it into the etching solution, because the shaking was uneven, some parts were over-etched, making the lines thin enough to break, while other parts were under-etched, leaving residual copper that caused short circuits. The table was a mess, green etching liquid splashed everywhere, the air was filled with the unpleasant smell of chemicals, and his "work"—the circuit board that was supposed to carry the adaptive control core—looked like it had been chewed on by a dog, full of flaws and defects.

[Operational Proficiency Assessment: F. Material loss rate: 89%. ITO film extraction failed. Circuit board etching failed. Please have the host systematically study the basic course "Electronic Technology Internship."] The Main System's assessment was like a cold whip, lashing at his already frustrated nerves.

Just as he was at his wit's end, staring blankly at the pile of expensive "electronic trash" on the table, feeling the progress crisis looming again, and the shadow of social death looming over him once more, the old phone on the corner of the table suddenly rang. The abrupt ringtone startled him. Looking at the caller ID, it was his father.

"Xiao Yue," his father's voice, carrying a hometown accent, slightly tired but full of care, came through the receiver like a ray of warm sunshine, temporarily dispersing the gloom in his heart. "Did I disturb your studies?"

"No, Dad, it's fine, go ahead." Excellence tried to make his voice sound normal.

"It's just those small parts you asked me to help process last time. Uncle Liu thought the drawings were quite interesting, so he went ahead and made a few extra as spares, saying you'd have replacements in case you broke them. I wrapped them in bubble wrap and mailed them to you; they should arrive tomorrow. Keep an eye out for them." His father's words were always so plain and direct.

Excellence felt a sudden warmth in his heart, his nose even felt a little sore. At a time when he was tearing his hair out over a nebulous, absurd Main System task, this kind of simple, unadorned care and support from his family felt particularly precious. "Thanks, Dad, and thank Uncle Liu for me too. It's really... too much trouble for you both."

"What are you being so polite with Dad for," Father Zhuo's voice carried a smile. "Oh, by the way, Uncle Liu told me to tell you that he looked at the drawings you drew. He felt a few places were particularly awkward to machine, and the high precision requirements were a bit unnecessary and easy to mess up. So, based on his experience, he casually modified the dimensions a bit and added two grooves, saying that not only would it be easier to machine, but it might assemble more smoothly, and perhaps the performance could even be better. He was just tinkering, not sure if it's right, so he said you should just use them as you see fit, as long as it doesn't delay your work."

Excellence froze, holding his phone, unable to react for a moment.

Uncle Liu... optimized the drawings provided by the Main System?

In his eyes, the drawings provided by the Main System were already perfect, unquestionable "oracles." Although he didn't understand those complex tolerance annotations and form and position requirements, he subconsciously believed that technology from a higher civilization could not possibly be improved by an old master from an ordinary processing factory.

He quickly thanked him and hung up the phone, and the next day he received the package sent by his father. Opening the layers of bubble wrap, inside were several new parts that had been machined to a high shine and high precision, with a surface finish even better than the last batch. And underneath the pile of parts, there were indeed several carefully folded, slightly yellowed sheets of drawing paper.

Those were Uncle Liu's hand-drawn sketches.

The paper was the most common blue grid process paper from the factory, on which the part drawings Excellence had previously provided were drawn with different colored pencils and very fine technical pens. But next to the original drawings, Uncle Liu had clearly marked several modifications with a red pencil. The lines might not have been as straight as those drawn on a computer, but they carried a fluidity and confidence unique to an old craftsman. Beside them were densely written processing notes, suggested tool angles, and feed rates—the handwriting was a bit messy but bore the weight of experience.

Excellence didn't understand those complex machining parameters and symbols, but he could feel the decades of experience and effort contained behind these drawings. With a feeling bordering on reverence, he carefully scanned these hand-drawn sketches and uploaded them to the Main System.

[Receiving external technical documentation, analyzing...] The progress bar on the Main System's light screen began to load.

Excellence held his breath and waited, feeling inexplicably nervous, as if waiting for a judgment.

[Analysis complete.]

[The target drawing has three structural fine-tunings to the original design:]

[1. Heat sink fin spacing and angle optimization, estimated to improve overall heat dissipation efficiency by about 5.2%;]

[2. Flange docking interface tolerance adjustment, estimated to reduce assembly difficulty and cumulative error rate by 17%;]

[3. Added stress relief grooves and process holes, estimated to improve structural stability under long-term use by about 10.5%, and reduce machining scrap rate.]

[Assessment: The modification plan is based on rich practical experience, reasonable, effective, and possesses significant practicality. Adoption is recommended.]

[Remark: This optimization reflects the practical wisdom and 'craftsman spirit' contained in the grassroots technical personnel of this plane. Its value lies in transforming theoretical design into manufacturable, maintainable entities. This behavior is highly consistent with the core principle of this Main System: 'Make full use of localized resources and wisdom.' Affirmation granted.]

Excellence opened his mouth wide, completely stunned.

Uncle Liu... an ordinary old master with only a high school education who had worked in a small factory in the suburban industrial park all his life, relying on his feel and experience, had actually optimized the drawings provided by a Main System from a civilization of an unknown, much higher technological level?!

Although it was only the most basic mechanical structure part, far from touching the core energy and optical principles, the significance of this impact on Excellence was subversive!

At this moment, he suddenly had a brand new and profound understanding of the two words "hand-crafted."

What the Main System provided might be high-level theory, directional guidance, and blueprints that transcended the era. But to truly transform these blueprints into reality, one could not do without countless frontline workers like his father and Uncle Liu, who were rooted in the soil of reality, possessed solid skills, rich experience, and a craftsman's heart. It was they who, with rough hands, precision machine tools, and "feel" accumulated over decades, turned cold drawings and data into parts that had warmth, life, and could actually function.

His home, that small "Excellence Precision Machining Factory" with roaring machines and the smell of machine oil, was never some inconspicuous family workshop. It was the most reliable, warmest, and most powerful backing and cornerstone on his path of "hand-crafted" black technology. It provided not only free parts processing but also a power derived from the real world, down-to-earth, and capable of pulling fantasies into the human realm.

He thought of his father's large hands, always stained with oil and covered in calluses yet exceptionally steady; he thought of Uncle Liu's hearty laughter and the solid, powerful touch when he patted him on the shoulder; he thought of the familiar smell in the factory, a mix of metal cutting fluid and faint rust...

An indescribable force, mixed with emotion, shame, and rekindled hope, quietly rose from the depths of his heart, flowing through his whole body, dispelling the fatigue and depression of the past few days.

Perhaps... this seemingly lonely, absurd, and thorn-filled path of "hand-crafted" was not as lonely as he had imagined. Behind him stood his family, stood craftsmen like Uncle Liu. They might never understand the full meaning of what he was doing, but they used the way they were best at to silently and firmly support his seemingly unrealistic madness.

He took a deep breath, feeling the scanned drawings in his hands become heavy. What they carried was not just a few optimized lines, but a heavy power called "practice."