Chapter 132: Patent Storm: Jia Dongxu's Counterattack

Zhao Jianguo's finger still hovered over the terminal screen, his breath catching. That prompt flashed, neither hurried nor slow, as if waiting for him to decide. He didn't tap confirm, nor close it, just slowly folded the cover on his wrist, setting the issue aside.

More important matters await.

Jia Dongxu had already put on a freshly washed blue cloth shirt, collar pressed neat, hair combed meticulously, holding a brown paper bag, pacing back and forth at the Siheyuan courtyard gate. Seeing Zhao Jianguo come out, he immediately stepped forward: "Can you really go? I've brought all the documents, photos attached."

"Of course." Zhao Jianguo smiled. "An invitation issued by the state—could it be fake?"

"But I…" Jia Dongxu rubbed his hands, "it's like holding a rabbit, jumping and making my head ache."

"Then don't think about it." Zhao Jianguo patted his shoulder, "Go up, accept the award, bow your head and read the script, finish with a bow, then leave. The procedure is simpler than steaming a bun."

Jia Dongxu cracked a smile, then instantly tensed his face: "You say, nothing will go wrong, right?"

"What's there to fear?" Zhao Jianguo raised an eyebrow, "Where did you get those machine drawings?"

"My father's manuscript, filed at the Steel Rolling Factory, stamped and certified three times at the Archive."

"Isn't that settled then?" Zhao Jianguo said, "Real gold fears no fire; only the fake dreads inspection."

The two rode into town, jostling so much the paper bag's corners flipped up. Outside the auditorium, the crowd already packed. Reporters stood guard at the steps with cameras, worker representatives in uniform marched in, and on the display platform covered with red cloth sat several small shelling machine models; the plaque below read: **Portable grain hulling machine—national utility model patent, inventor: Jia Dongxu**.

Zhao Jianguo glanced, nodded: "The occasion is set."

"I daren't even look." Jia Dongxu lowered his gaze to his shoes, "Ten years ago, who would have believed I could stand here?"

"Believing now is enough." Zhao Jianguo gave him a push, "Come on, it's your turn to go on stage."

The ceremony began, leaders spoke, thunderous applause. When it was Jia Dongxu's turn to go on stage, the hall fell silent for a moment. His steps were a bit unsteady, the hand holding the microphone trembled slightly, but as he recited the technical principle, every word was exact, the logic clear. Many in the audience nodded, a few veteran technicians even pulled out notebooks to jot down notes.

Just as the host was about to hand over the certificate, someone in the back of the crowd Standing Up, holding aloft a cardboard sign.

The sign read: **Plagiarizing Master Yi's lost technique, stealing traditional craft! **

The hall erupted in an uproar.

The man rushed up to the stage, stuck the sign into the ground, and pointed at Jia Dongxu: "Your machine is exactly the same as the 'double-roller grain mill' my master Yi Zhonghai made back then! On what grounds do you hold a patent?"

Zhao Jianguo frowned, recognizing him—he was a former disciple of Yi Zhonghai, surnamed Li, who had once worked on agricultural machinery improvements at the Steel Rolling Factory, then vanished without a trace, never expecting to show up here.

The host froze, looking toward the few judges below. Some whispered discussions, some shook their heads, and the atmosphere instantly froze.

Jia Dongxu stood on the stage, his face pale, yet he did not retreat a step.

Zhao Jianguo didn't move, only fixed his gaze on that Li. The man's eyes were excited but steady, his words firm—clearly not a spur-of-the-moment act.

"You say I copied?" Jia Dongxu finally spoke, his voice low but carried by the microphone, "Then tell me, when did Master Yi design that machine? Where are the drawings kept? Has it passed technical appraisal?"

That Li choked.

"My machine's source of inspiration is clearly written—1953, Jia Wu's manuscript fragment, number Hu Ji Yan-047, filed at the Steel Rolling Factory Technical Archives Room, jointly signed off by three engineers in 1954." Jia Dongxu pulled a document from his pocket, "This is the technical traceability report issued by the National Science and Technology Archive—do you want to take a look now?"

Having said that, he tore open the outer cover of the patent certificate in front of everyone.

Inside lay exactly that red‑stamped traceability document, accompanied by the original drawing photocopies and the participants' signature records from back then.

The hall fell silent for a few seconds.

An old expert took the document, examined it closely, and nodded: "That's right—this signature matches the handwriting of Wang Gong from the Steel Rolling Factory back then, and the archive's seam seal is genuine."

That Li stood where he was, lips moving, but said nothing.

"I'm not denying the elders' contributions." Jia Dongxu looked at him, "Master Yi did make similar attempts, but the structure differs, the transmission method is different, even the power source isn't from the same era. Your master was limited by the materials of his time and couldn't bring it to fruition, which I regret. But I won't let what my father left behind rot in a drawer."

He paused: "I can stand here today not because I snatch others' things, but because someone is willing to pass things down."

Some in the audience began to clap, at first scattered, then growing louder.

That Li lowered his gaze to his sign, suddenly grabbed it, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the nearby trash can. He said nothing, turned and walked away.

The host breathed a sigh of relief and quickly handed the certificate back. This time, Jia Dongxu took it steadily.

Zhao Jianguo stood in the back rows, watching silently. Only after the ceremony ended, the crowd dispersed, and reporters swarmed in for interviews did he walk over to Jia Dongxu's side.

"How was it?" he asked.

Jia Dongxu lowered his gaze to the certificate in his hand, his fingers rubbing the cover, and after a long while said, "My father never had a proper name his whole life—his household registration listed 'Jia Lao Er', and at the factory he just marked an X on forms. Now… his manuscript has become the basis for a patent."

He lifted his head, eyes red but not wet: "He wasn't mistaken—he was just someone the era overlooked."

Zhao Jianguo said nothing, only lightly patted his back.

Reporters rushed forward, thrusting a microphone at him: "Engineer Zhao! As the head of technology promotion, what's your take on this patent incident?"

"Technology fears no inspection." Zhao Jianguo said bluntly, "Real things stand firm no matter how long they're left."

"Then what do you think—will civilian inventors have more opportunities in the future?"

"Those with skill have always been around." He smiled, "What's lacking isn't talent, but the courage to bring it out and try."

A nearby staff member handed over a registration form, and Zhao Jianguo slipped a note across: "Help me look up the 1953 Shanghai Industrial Consultancy Team's archives, especially those related to Mechanical Lesson design."

The person blinked: "Check now?"

"The sooner the better." Zhao Jianguo nodded.

The interview continued, camera flashes popping. Zhao Jianguo stood on the steps, sunlight warm on his face. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, and the Terminal beneath his sleeve gave a faint tremor.

He lifted his sleeve without a change in expression and glanced at it.

The Screen lit up, a new prompt appearing: 【Historical Correction Force Intensity +90%】

He stared at those words, his gaze darkening, then lowered his sleeve and walked toward the microphone.

In the distance, a black car slowly drove out from the back of the auditorium, its window half‑lowered; That Li sat inside, gazing at the newly hung "national utility model patent" bronze plaque, his fingers unconsciously tapping his knee.

The car's radio played the news: "……Comrade Jia Dongxu's invented portable hulling machine will go into trial production, expected to process eighty catties of grain per hour, greatly easing the rural labor burden……

He listened, then suddenly reached out and switched the channel to the opera station.