Chapter 304: International Delegation: Surprise of the Cultural Gift Pack

At daybreak, Zhao Jianguo rubbed his eyes and set the chilled teacup aside. He had spent the night in the control room; the warm current in his ears was long gone, but when listening to people speak he could instinctively discern their tone—who was truly urgent, who was merely feigning annoyance, and he could tell each one at a glance.

He stood up, flexed his wrist, and casually tapped Check-in on the system interface.

【Today's Check-in Successful, you have received a "Cultural Export Gift Pack," open it?】

He blinked, "It even comes with culture?"

He clicked "Yes."

A translucent prompt appeared: 【Item Unlocked—Beijing Opera Portable Holographic Projection Device, supports outdoor deployment, comes with 12 classic operas including "Farewell My Concubine," "Empty City Strategy," "The Drunken Concubine," etc. The accompanying cultural commentary module awaits activation.】

Zhao Jianguo lifted the corner of his mouth: "Perfect timing."

Half an hour later, the Siheyuan entrance buzzed with activity. An international delegation of a dozen or so, neatly dressed, tall and short, chattered in a hum. Leading them was a German wearing gold‑rimmed glasses, named Hans; as soon as he entered he looked around, muttering something, while translator Xiao Li hurriedly relayed his words.

"He says this courtyard looks ordinary, not a place for high‑tech," Xiao Li added, then laughed.

Zhao Jianguo stepped forward, waving a smile: "Ordinary may be ordinary, but the hospitality is not. Everyone, having traveled far, please have some hot water; we'll walk and talk."

He led the way while quietly listening with his ears. Their speech tones were varied—some emphasized the front, some elongated the endings, a few nasal as if speaking with a candy in their mouths. Yet he found it effortless and amusing, like hearing a flock of birds chirping from different branches.

Reaching the central courtyard, the group stopped. Sunlight spilled onto the blue‑brick floor, and a few sparrows hopped and swooped over the eaves.

"Next, please take a look at something fresh," Zhao Jianguo said, standing in the courtyard's center. He pulled a palm‑sized metal box from his bag, set it on the ground, and added, "This is a bit of our old‑school culture—not as flashy as data charts, but it'll definitely stick with you."

The box clicked open, a thin ring rose from the floor, a flash of light and shadow in the air, and a water‑ripple‑like Light Screen unfurled slowly.

The crowd let out an "Ouch" and stepped back half a step.

Immediately, a drumbeat sounded, a large gong banged, shaking chests. From the light and shadow emerged a figure in phoenix crown and rosy veil, sorrowful eyes—Yu Ji stepping onto the stage. She lifted her sleeves, turned, gazed, moving like flowing clouds; even the curve of her drifting robe was crystal clear.

"Is this… a real person?" a French representative asked, eyes wide.

"No," Zhao Jianguo smiled, "It's made of light, a holographic projection."

Before his words finished, Yu Ji was already brandishing a sword. Sword light flashed, silhouettes interlaced, and the mournful Chu song echoed in the background, as if pulling the audience back to the night of Gaixia two thousand years ago.

German Hans had initially stood with arms crossed, a skeptical look, but as he watched his brow relaxed, his back could no longer stay straight; finally he stepped forward two paces, tilted his head back, and watched intently.

Zhao Jianguo timed it, turned back and whispered, "Go ahead."

The Triplets ran out from the side room, neatly dressed, each holding a small microphone.

Zhao Xing spoke first, French flowing like a river down a slope: "The phoenix on this costume symbolizes women's dignity and sacrifice. She is not a defeated one, but one who chooses to end tragedy with beauty."

Zhao Chen followed in English: "The facial mask colors have meaning. Red stands for loyalty and bravery, white for treachery, black for uprightness. Yu Ji's pale pink indicates she is gentle yet not weak."

Zhao Yang stood in the middle, explaining in Mandarin: "The gongs and drums aren't random. Fast beats signal tension, slow beats reflect contemplation. The sword dance just now was set to 'Rapid Wind,' showing she had already made up her mind."

The three took turns, their rhythm fitting tightly as if rehearsed a thousand times. In truth they hadn't practiced much; they simply heard Zhao Jianguo speak often, loved to ponder, and their linguistic talent flowed as soon as they opened their mouths.

The climax came when, at the end, the three paused simultaneously, exchanged a glance, and in unison said, "Beauty, no translation needed."

The hall fell silent for two seconds.

Then Hans clapped vigorously, his hands turning red, shouting, **Dasistunglaublich! **

Xiao Li quickly translated, "He says it's incredibly moving, more powerful than a performance at the Berlin Opera House!"

Others also stood, clap‑clap filling the air. A Japanese representative's eyes were red; he lowered his head to wipe them, then pretended to adjust his tie lest anyone notice.

Zhao Jianguo stood at the side, hands in his pockets, grinning with a flash of white teeth. He hadn't expected the gift pack to be so solid, nor that the three kids could handle it so steadily. Though only ten, they stood unflinching, spoke without grabbing the floor or shying away, as if born for such moments.

Hans came over, extending his hand to shake: "Mr. Zhao, your technology amazes me, but today's performance struck my heart."

"There's a saying back home," Zhao Jianguo said plainly, "No matter how solid a theory, it needs a human touch to carry it. Otherwise it won't spread far."

Hans understood, nodded, then turned back to watch the Light Screen still dimming. Yu Ji's silhouette faded gradually, the last strand of her flowing sleeves vanished in the sunlight like a wisp of smoke.

Delegation members gradually sat down; some pulled out notebooks to take notes, others readied cameras to photograph the remaining devices in the courtyard. Xiao Li crouched, examining the metal box, looking around puzzled: "It has no plug or battery—how does it get power?"

"It's self‑contained," Zhao Jianguo said, "like a thermos lunchbox, it retains heat."

"Hey, then your cultural gift pack is even more mysterious than a tech product."

Just then, the Triplets gathered around; Zhao Xing looked up and asked, "Dad, are they clapping because they understood?"

"More than understanding," Zhao Jianguo rubbed her head, "They felt it."

Zhao Chen tugged his sleeve: "Can we keep telling stories later? I want to narrate 'Empty City Strategy'; Zhuge Liang alone scared away a hundred thousand troops—so impressive."

"Of course we can," Zhao Jianguo laughed, "If each of you takes a day, tell enough, foreigners will become fans too."

Zhao Yang said nothing, merely clutching his other hand; his fingers were warm.

At that moment, Hans came again, this time holding a folder whose cover bore a German‑English bilingual title. He opened to a page, pointing at a diagram—the same projection Zhao Jianguo had shown at yesterday's international forum of Africa's water source distribution.

"I went back last night to research," he said, "Can your positioning system be used for melt‑water monitoring in the Alps? Our glaciers are receding fast."

Zhao Jianguo was startled: "You still remember that?"

"I can't forget it," Hans said seriously, "That day you claimed data could save lives; I was skeptical. Today you used a performance to make me sit and watch, and I realized—you're not just skilled in tech, you know how to make people want to listen."

His words felt good, and Zhao Jianguo didn't modestly reply: "People listen because it's genuine. If it's fake, even ten years of performance is useless."

The two exchanged a smile.

The sun rose overhead, the courtyard warm. A cleaning lady pushed a broom past from the next house, glanced at the foreigners and muttered, "Why so many overseas students came to visit today?"

No one answered, but she didn't mind, humming a tune as she kept sweeping.

The Triplets perched on a stone mound, chattering about which story to present next. Zhao Xing wanted to tell "Mu Guiying Leads the Army," Zhao Chen insisted on "Wild Boar Forest," and Zhao Yang raised his hand: "I'll tell 'Three Forks,' a chaotic night‑fight in darkness—most interesting!"

Zhao Jianguo listened, leaning against the doorway, squinting in the sun. The fatigue from a sleepless night finally rose, yet he was reluctant to leave. The courtyard, usually noisy, today felt an indescribable steadiness.

Xiao Li came over with a cup of hot water: "Brother Zhao, the delegation wants to see where the kids live daily; may we go inside?"

"Feel free to look," Zhao Jianguo waved, "The house is small, don't mind the crowding."

"They don't mind," Xiao Li laughed, "Hans just told me this is real life, more interesting than skyscrapers."

As they spoke, a pigeon coo rang out. A flock of white doves swept over the roof, wings flashing in the sun, heading toward the distant Bell Tower.

The Triplets looked up and burst into simultaneous smiles.

Zhao Jianguo also looked up, suddenly feeling that, though each day brings tasks, as long as he stands in this courtyard with these chattering voices nearby, even the toughest challenges seem bearable.

He brushed the check‑in device in his pocket, thinking: Should I check in tomorrow?

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