Chapter 145: Demo Plaque Hanging – A New Siheyuan Chapter

Zhao Jianguo stood at the Siheyuan gate, his hand still resting on the doorframe, his fingertips feeling the wood chilled a bit by the morning wind. He had just returned from the Tech Building not long ago, and the Terminal in his pocket was pressed against his chest, warm, like a stone that had been sun‑baked.

Su Qing, cradling the Shuang Baotai behind him, walked with light steps: "You really plan to hang it today? The plaque hasn't been delivered yet."

"If they don't show up, we'll hang it ourselves," he said, pushing the door open. "Anyway the approval system already has it on record; if the Street Office still wants someone to cut the ribbon, let them bring their own scissors."

The courtyard fell silent for a moment, then the East Room window swung open with a whoosh, and a disciple of Jia Dongxu stuck his head out: "Master! Is the plaque being hung today? The few of us are ready!"

"Prepare what?" Zhao Jianguo laughed, "Stand here and applaud?"

"No!" the young man sat upright, "We wrote a technical promotion summary report, one per person, and will hand them out shortly! Also the Night School new Lesson Plan; you said last time to add Mechanical Drawing and Basic Circuits, we've scheduled them."

Zhao Jianguo was momentarily stunned, then smiled: "Alright, you're more eager than I am."

Before the words finished, the West Room door opened as well, and five more young people streamed out, wearing work clothes, each holding a cardboard box full of oil‑printed pamphlets. The one at the front shyly scratched his head: "Teacher Zhao, we worked through the night; the characters may be a bit crooked, but the content follows everything you said."

Su Qing couldn't help laughing out loud: "You're turning the Siheyuan into a university hall?"

"It already is," Zhao Jianguo took a pamphlet and flipped through it; the paper was coarse, the ink not yet dry, yet each stroke was written earnestly. "This place used to be a big mixed courtyard, now it's the old nest of the Technical Mutual‑Aid Association, and later—" he looked up at the old locust tree in the courtyard's center, "it should become a proper knowledge dock."

Just then, a bicycle bell rang from afar. Xiao Li from the Street Office pedaled over quickly, a hint of embarrassment on his face: "Engineer Zhao, sorry, the leaders called an impromptu meeting… they said you should wait a bit."

"Can't wait," Zhao Jianguo handed the pamphlet back to the disciple, "Three years ago when we held the first Night School here, we didn't wait for anyone's approval. Two thousand seven hundred workers completed training, eleven patents went into production, the Municipal Science Committee's filing number entered the system last night. Today's plaque isn't granted by anyone; we earned it ourselves."

Xiao Li opened his mouth, but said nothing.

Zhao Jianguo turned and clapped his hands: "Everyone's here, right?"

"All here!" six disciples stood in a line, all at once.

"Then let's begin."

There was no red carpet, no podium, even the banner was written on a bedsheet and propped up with a bamboo pole on the locust tree. The plaque was rushed overnight, two wooden boards nailed together, the paint not fully dry, the nine golden characters "National Technological Innovation Advanced Unit" glittered, dazzling the eyes under the rising sun.

"Who will unveil it?" someone asked.

No one moved. Everyone looked at each other, and finally all eyes fell on Zhao Jianguo.

He said nothing, bent down and set the Shuang Baotai down, taking their small hands: "Come, help dad pull a bit."

The two children giggled, tiptoeing to reach the rope. The older one, strong, gave a sudden yank, and the red cloth swished down.

Sunlight fell perfectly on the plaque; the golden paint reflected onto the wall, and the whole courtyard seemed to brighten an extra degree. For a brief instant, no one spoke.

Then a roar rang out: "Long live the Master!"

It was Jia Dongxu's senior disciple, his face flushed bright red. Others joined in, shout after shout, shaking the eaves until the dust fell in a flurry.

Zhao Jianguo didn't release the children's hands, just looked up at the plaque. The wind made it sway gently, its shadow slanting across his feet.

He knew that hanging this plaque was not just a title, but a road—a road that could bring knowledge to the doorstep of the most ordinary families.

The crowd gradually quieted, applause still echoing intermittently. Su Qing walked to his side, tied the scarf around the child, and asked softly: "What's next?"

Zhao Jianguo patted his pocket; the Terminal warmed slightly. Before he could speak, the screen lit up automatically, a line of text appearing: 【Temporal anchor point from 1978 detected stable, recommend immediate activation of 'Knowledge Reserve Plan', prioritize collecting university textbooks】.

He stared at the sentence for two seconds, then lowered his head toward the Shuang Baotai. The older one lifted his face, pointing at the characters on the plaque, reciting one by one: "Quan—Min—Ji—Shu—"

Although he mispronounced the tones, he missed no character.

The younger one, not to be outdone, tugged his sleeve: "Dad, I want to learn too! I want to be an engineer!"

Zhao Jianguo squatted down, his palm on their shoulders: "Alright, to be an engineer you must study. But we have too few books here; we'll have to find a way to bring a batch of real textbooks back."

"What textbooks?" Su Qing asked.

"University ones," he said. "Physics, Mathematics, Mechanical Principle Lesson, and basic Electronics. The older the better, preferably editions from the 1950s to early 1970s; those textbooks were solid."

Su Qing blinked: "You're crazy? Where can you even find such books now? Bookstores stopped selling them long ago."

"Old book stalls, Scrap Yard, unit archives, even private homes," he said calmly. "As long as someone has hidden them, we can retrieve them. We can't wait until the college entrance exam is reinstated to start preparing; we must pile the books now so that when the kids grow up, they can reach for them."

She looked at him, then laughed: "You really are… leaving no room for compromise."

"Leave room?" he stood, dusted his pants. "The setbacks our generation suffered must not befall the next. Not being able to write, fearing exams, even daring not to fill out registration forms—these things end here."

Just then, a disciple ran over: "Teacher Zhao! The district library called, saying a retired teacher wants to dispose of a batch of old books, including several Soviet‑translated advanced mathematics volumes, asking if we want them."

"We need them," Zhao Jianguo replied immediately. "Ride your bike there now; don't let them sell them to the Scrap Yard. If the money's short, I'll cover it."

"But… they said the minimum is fifty yuan."

"Give them a hundred," he pulled out his wallet. "Also ask if there's anything else, especially engineering books, even if some pages are missing, we'll take them."

The disciple froze for a moment, then nodded vigorously and ran off.

Su Qing watched his back, whispering: "You're trying to collect all the city's old books?"

"Not enough," he said. "Far from enough. A Siheyuan‑size technical station can't produce ten engineers. But if we have a thousand books, ten thousand books, spread through every street, perhaps a hundred or a thousand people will be willing to learn."

She said nothing further, just lightly placed her hand on his arm.

The sun had risen high, warming the courtyard. The children ran and jumped beneath the plaque, shouting "Technological Innovation," not yet knowing its meaning, but their voices were bright, like the first spring buds leaping upward.

Jia Dongxu's disciples began handing out oil‑printed materials; some squatted to read, others formed a circle to discuss schematics. A little girl, flipping through a "Basic Electrical Handbook" for a while, looked up and asked: "Teacher Zhao, the 'AC frequency' mentioned here—does it relate to our factory's motor speed?"

"It's related." He walked over, squatted, and explained, "The humming you hear from the machine is the frequency fighting. When tuned right, it runs smoothly; if not, the fuse burns out or the machine stalls."

Her eyes lit up: "Then can I try rewiring?"

"Of course." he said. "Next week's first Night School practical class, we'll use the workshop's old lathe for practice. Whoever figures it out will get to operate the console."

Around them, cheers erupted instantly.

Su Qing, holding a child at the edge, watched the young people crowd around Zhao Jianguo with questions, her mouth never ceasing to smile. She whispered: "I used to think you were just a troublemaker, but now I see you really…"

"I don't have that much skill," he smiled, "I just want my son and daughter, when they take exams in the future, not to fear the test hall, nor have to give up because the family is poor."

She nodded, about to speak, when the Terminal chimed again.

Zhao Jianguo took it out and saw a new prompt: 【Knowledge Reserve Plan activated, primary objective: collect a complete set of foundational engineering textbooks (ten core courses)】.

A list of titles followed, some of which he hadn't heard of for years.

He stared at the screen, slowly slipping the Terminal back into his pocket.

Looking up, he saw the Shuang Baotai climbing onto the stone bench beneath the locust tree, pointing at the plaque, and loudly proclaiming: "This is our family's new school!"

The crowd burst into laughter.

Zhao Jianguo also laughed, but he knew clearly in his heart that this was no joke.

This is a battle without visible gunpowder smoke, and the siheyuan is the first stronghold.

He patted his clothing pocket, confirming the terminal was still there.

The next second, the screen faintly lit up through the fabric, displaying two words: 【Progress: 0.3%】