Chapter 142

Zhao Jianguo's hand still rested on the terminal, his fingertip rubbing the metal edge, the warm sensation lingering. He lowered his head to glance at the twins in his arms; the two children had somehow quieted down, one hugging his neck, the other clutching his lapel, yet both eyes fixed ahead—on the bright big door of the east wing of the Science and Technology Building.

Two rows of people stood in the lobby—some in uniform, some wearing red flowers, some holding cameras, and a few youngsters lugging video cameras were adjusting their lenses. A black sedan pulled up slowly beneath the steps, its door opened, and someone stepped out cradling a red silk box.

He sighed, shoved the terminal a bit deeper into his embrace, and casually patted the twins' backs: "Don't worry, we're just going to receive an award—it's not like we're heading to the execution ground."

He said that, but his feet didn't move.

The courtyard behind him was already empty; the Special Forces personnel had withdrawn cleanly, leaving not a single footprint. Only the wind lightly lifted a few fallen leaves, swirling them on the brick ground. The gray mist that had been churning just moments before had also dispersed, and the northern sky was bright, as if nothing had happened.

But he knew, things had only just begun.

Zhao Gong! someone shouted at the entrance, "The ceremony is about to start—please come this way!"

He answered with a sound, carrying the children as he stepped forward. The steps weren't high, but he walked slowly, each step feeling like treading on cotton. His mind still replayed that recording—Old Chen's voice, October 21, 1978, altering the timeline… those words bounced back and forth in his heart, making his temples throb.

But he couldn't let it show on his face.

Just as he reached the doorway, a figure emerged from the side corridor—steady steps, straight back, a faint blue pattern flickering behind the ear.

It was the Special Forces Captain.

The two locked eyes, neither speaking. The man merely gave a slight nod, his gaze sweeping over the children in Zhao Jianguo's arms before returning to his face, as if confirming something.

Zhao Jianguo cracked a smile: "Hey, you're here to join the fun too?"

"I'm here for the handover," the other said, voice flat as a ruler, "'Civilization Achievements Exhibition Hall' is ready, system authorization synchronized."

"Oh," Zhao Jianguo nodded, "so that means I not only have to be a model today, but also an exhibit?"

"You already are."

Those words sounded less like praise and more like a reminder.

He didn't respond, carrying the children into the hall.

Inside was livelier than outside. Crystal chandeliers swayed, making eyes dizzy; the walls hung large photos—all of the technical projects he'd undertaken over the years: the first lesson at the Siheyuan Night School, the trial run of the grain sorting machine, the provincial CNC machine tool promotion conference… Flipping through them page by page felt like browsing an old album.

In the center stood an electronic screen, dark, with a line of small text beside it: **Pending Authorization Activation**.

"Comrade Zhao Jianguo!" a voice came from the podium, "Please come up to receive the award!"

Applause erupted, a wave of clapping.

He handed the twins to the waiting nursery staff nearby, took a deep breath, and walked onto the stage.

The leader gave a speech; he caught the gist. Phrases like "folk wisdom driving industrial progress," "new-era technology pioneer," "model for building the republic"—they came one after another, delivered smoothly. Finally, a medal was pressed into his hand, heavy, engraved with a gear set and a wheat ear; the certificate bore gilt‑stamped large characters spelling his name.

He took it, nodded in acknowledgment, and didn't utter a word the whole time.

Down below, many photos were taken, flashbulbs popping. A reporter tried to interview him, but as soon as he raised his hand, staff stopped him.

After the awards were presented, the host announced, "Now, please Comrade Zhao Jianguo open the dedicated exhibition hall—the Civilization Achievements Exhibition Hall."

He stepped down from the stage and walked toward the black screen.

As his finger touched it, the screen suddenly brightened, a wave of light rippling outward from the center like a stone tossed on water. Immediately, the lights in the whole hall dimmed, and holographic images appeared on the surrounding walls.

The image moved.

The first scene showed the Siheyuan at night, under an oil lamp, him holding chalk and drawing a machine‑tool structure diagram on the blackboard, while seven or eight neighbors sat below—men and women, old and young—all staring intently, listening.

Next was him in the factory debugging the first automatic sorting machine, frantically connecting wires, almost getting shocked, which drew laughter from the watching workers.

After that, he took his apprentices to the patent office, held technical exchange meetings, went to the countryside to teach farmers how to repair tractors… The clips flowed smoothly, making viewers' eyes glow with enthusiasm.

Zhao Jianguo stood in place, watching his younger self bustle about in the light and shadow, the corner of his mouth involuntarily twitching upward.

But just as the image was about to switch to the incident before the Science and Technology Building, the picture suddenly froze.

On the screen a line of red text popped up: 【Suggest skipping unauthorized historical node】.

He furrowed his brow, then pressed the terminal on his chest without changing his expression.

The next second, the image jumped, cutting straight to the provincial CNC machine tool promotion conference. He stood on stage speaking, the background banner reading "Reform and Opening‑Up Technology Demonstration Point."

The crowd burst into applause.

He gave a slight nod, but his eyes never left the screen.

After the video finished, the hall lights brightened again. The main screen lowered slowly, replaced by a virtual timeline that started in 1970 and stretched to the present, each node marked with the projects he'd participated in.

His gaze settled on the blinking red dot at the very end—1978.

Before he could approach, the Special Forces Captain came over.

"Chief," the person lowered his voice, "the preparations for 1978 require national coordination; you can't bear it alone."

Zhao Jianguo stood still, not moving, and didn't turn around.

"I know what to do."

His tone was flat, without anger, without retreat.

The man paused, then said nothing else, only: "Resources can be allocated at any time, but the action must be reported."

"Fine." He finally turned, facing the other, "but how I proceed is up to me."

The Special Forces Captain stared at him for a few seconds, then finally nodded, turned and walked toward the exhibition hall entrance, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the corner.

Zhao Jianguo ignored him and walked slowly toward the timeline.

The closer he got, the heavier his heartbeat became.

The 1978 red dot pulsed like a breathing thing, flickering on and off, as if waiting for him to reach out and touch it.

Just then, a light running sound came from behind.

"Dad! Daddy!"

The twins broke free of the nursery staff's hands and pattered over, each grabbing one of his legs, tilting their little faces up to shout: "We want to see the airplane! Just now that circle in the sky flew right in!"

He lowered his head to look at the two children, then lifted his gaze to the red dot.

His finger slowly rose, and when it was still half an inch from the screen, the main panel suddenly activated on its own.

A line of new characters appeared:

【Civilization Witness Permission·Stage Update】

【Available: Partial timeline preview (limited to once)】

【Condition: Anchor point present, mental load controllable】

He stared at that line of text, not moving.

Shuang Baotai still tugged at his pant leg: "Dad, look quick!"

He slowly raised his hand, his fingertip about to touch the screen——

The exhibition hall's ceiling light flashed briefly.