Chapter 92 A scholar will die for one who understands him.

That evening, a heated family meeting erupted in Liu Xiaodong's home.

Originally, hearing that they were going to the Great Northwest to eat sand, Liu's mother was a hundred times unwilling.

But when she saw the salary and benefits listed on that document,

and saw her son's posture of throwing a tantrum and rolling on the floor, shouting "If I don't go, I'll go on a hunger strike," she fell silent for three minutes.

"Old Liu, let's go," Liu's mother said, her tone decisive.

"We're both contract workers now; if we go there, we'll be permanent staff."

"With such good salary and benefits, life will definitely be more comfortable than it is now."

"Besides..."

Liu's mother glanced at her son and said,

"Looking at our son like this, it won't do if we don't go!"

Liu Xiaodong held the envelope containing half the code, smiling like a total fool.

He seemed to already see a brand-new digital world beckoning to him from that distant Gobi Desert.

This was a long-premeditated "abduction."

And he was more than willing to take the bait.

...

Meanwhile.

Imperial Capital, Red Flag Machinery Plant, Workshop No. 3.

Machines roared, and oil stains covered the floor.

"Zhao Qiang! Are you a pig-brained idiot?!"

A thunderous roar drowned out the rumbling of the machine tools.

The workshop director waved a piece of scrapped bearing steel in his hand, spittle flying onto Zhao Qiang's face.

"This is special steel! Imported!"

"A single piece costs dozens of yuan!"

"You took off two extra threads of thickness with one cut, and now this thing is ruined!"

"Ruined, do you understand?"

The thirty-year-old Zhao Qiang lowered his head.

He wore a set of work overalls so covered in oil that their original color was long gone.

He was thin and withered, wearing glasses thick as bottle bottoms, his hands nervously rubbing the edge of his shirt.

"Director, there was originally a problem with the tolerances on the blueprint..."

Zhao Qiang defended himself in a low voice, "If we used the jig I designed..."

"Shut up!"

The director slammed the scrap metal down at his feet with a loud clang.

"A jig? With that trashy blueprint of yours?"

The director pointed at Zhao Qiang's nose, looking like he was frustrated that the man couldn't live up to expectations.

"Zhao Qiang, let me tell you, you're over thirty and you can't even pass the exam for a Level 4 technician."

"The whole factory knows you're 'Two-Thread Zhao'—everything you do is off by two threads!"

"If it weren't for the fact that your late father was an old worker in this factory, I would have kicked you out long ago!"

"You're here wasting the state's grain!"

"Hahahaha..."

The surrounding coworkers watching the scene broke into a burst of laughter.

The laughter was too piercing.

He bit his lip hard, tears welling in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

He knew he was clumsy, that his physical coordination was poor, and he could never precisely control that last bit of force.

But...

He had simulated it countless times in his mind.

Those exquisite structures, those perfect stress analyses, those designs that could change existing processes...

Why was no one willing to even take a look?

Just then—

Screech—!

The sudden sound of brakes rang out at the workshop entrance.

A jeep with military plates stopped, kicking up a cloud of dust.

The car door opened, and the factory director accompanied three people in wool coats as they got out.

The leader, carrying a briefcase, had a powerful presence, his gaze scanning the area like a searchlight.

The laughter in the workshop stopped abruptly.

The flesh on the workshop director's face twitched, and he instantly put on a smile.

"I am Workshop Director Old Wang. May I ask what brings you here?"

"We are looking for someone."

The lead official interrupted coldly.

"Looking for someone?"

The director was stunned. "Who?"

"The technical backbones of our workshop are all here. Is it Li Datou or Zhang Ermazi?"

"Zhao Qiang."

The official uttered the two words clearly and forcefully.

The air suddenly went still.

The workshop director blinked a few times, doubting his ears.

"Who? Zhao... Zhao Qiang?"

He turned around and pointed at Zhao Qiang, who was about to clean up the scrap metal, and laughed.

"Leader, you must have made a mistake, right?"

"That's our workshop's king of rejects, a famous klutz. Is it someone with the same name?"

"Red Flag Machinery Plant, Workshop No. 3, Level 3 Benchworker Zhao Qiang."

The official read out the information from the file, confirming it was correct.

He walked past the dumbstruck workshop director and went straight to Zhao Qiang.

Looking at this oil-stained, timid man,

the official's eyes held no trace of disdain; instead, they showed a hint of respect.

That was something Lin Xi had specifically instructed before they came.

"Comrade Zhao Qiang."

The official handed over a document with both hands.

"I am a representative of Red Star Technology from the Seventh Ministry of Machine Building Industry."

"Commissioned by Manager Lin Xi, I have come specifically to extend an invitation to you."

Zhao Qiang was completely stunned, his mind a total blank.

He looked at the outstretched hand; his oil-blackened hand wanted to reach out but didn't dare, so he could only wipe it desperately on his pants, making it dirtier and himself more panicked.

"Looking... looking for me?"

Zhao Qiang's voice was hoarse. "I... I'm very stupid. I can't even turn a bearing properly..."

"Manager Lin said,"

the official's voice rose a few notches.

It echoed in the empty workshop, every word like a nail driven into the floor.

"Zhao Qiang's hands might not be suited for tightening screws,"

"but his brain is meant for designing the soul of industry!"

"Manager Lin has seen the manuscript you designed earlier regarding the 'Flexible Adaptive Jig'."

"His evaluation is—that is the direction for domestic machine tool structural science for the next ten years!"

Boom!

Zhao Qiang felt something explode in his head.

Ten years?

The direction?

That discarded blueprint, those scribbles mocked by everyone...

Someone understood them?

They were even holding it up as a standard?

"Approved by the organization,"

the official stuffed the document into Zhao Qiang's trembling hands,

"Comrade Zhao Qiang is specially appointed to join Red Star Laboratory."

"To enjoy expert-level benefits."

"Additionally, Manager Lin asked me to pass a message to you."

The official paused, his gaze sweeping over the pale-faced workshop director.

"In this world, some birds are not meant to be caged."

"Because their feathers are all stained with the brilliance of the future."

Plip.

A tear hit the red-headed document, smudging a small patch of ink.

Zhao Qiang gripped the document tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Ten years of grievance, ten years of suppression, at this moment, the dam broke.

"Waaah—!"

This thirty-year-old man wailed like a child in front of the entire workshop.

While crying, he violently tore off the stiff, dirty work overalls from his body.

Rip!

Buttons flew, and fabric tore.

He slammed these clothes, which symbolized shame and shackles, hard onto the ground.

To hell with 'Two-Thread Zhao'!

To hell with being a Level 3 technician!

I'm not serving you anymore!

Zhao Qiang wiped the tears from his face, revealing eyes that shone with startling brightness.

He didn't even spare a glance at the already terrified director.

Straightening the back that had been hunched for thirty years, he bowed deeply to the official from the Seventh Ministry.

"Let's go!"

"Let's go to the Northwest!"

"I want to draw everything in my head! I want to build it all!"

...

Early spring of 1981, the chill was biting.

But on the map of China, dozens of invisible trajectories were converging toward that remote coordinate in the Great Northwest, like a hundred rivers returning to the sea.

The green-skinned train belched white smoke, its wheels clanging against the rails with a rhythmic roar, sounding like the war drums of an era.

The youth sitting by the window stroked the code in his arms, his eyes burning with a thirst for the unknown world.

The man standing at the carriage junction watched the poplars flying past the window, a crumpled blueprint tightly clutched in his hand.

The wind rose.

That young man named Lin Xi stood on the Gobi Desert of the Northwest and opened his arms.

He wasn't just going to build the best products.

He was also going to give the loneliest souls of this era a home that truly belonged to them.