Chapter 320: Special Forces Director Promotion: Co‑building the International Laboratory

Zhao Jianguo stepped out of the research institute's main gate as night had already fallen. The Hutongkou streetlamp had just lit, casting a yellowish hue in concentric circles on the cement ground. He hopped onto his 28‑inch bicycle; the handlebars wobbled a bit, and the wind slipped in through his collar. In his mind the draft paper covered with formulas that Jia Dongxu had scribbled kept turning, along with the purple starry sky that flashed briefly in the System Prompt.

He didn't Go Home, turned a corner and headed straight for the Special Forces Bureau compound in the western part of the city. The gate guard Lao Li Tou was cracking sunflower seeds; seeing him arrive didn't surprise him, he waved his hand and let him pass: "The upstairs is waiting for you; the new director just finished the oath."

Zhao Jianguo locked his bike and walked in, muttering to himself: "New director? Isn't that just the former Special Forces Captain? A couple of days ago we were gnawing mantou together in the cafeteria. Why the sudden change today?"

Inside the building the lights were bright, the corridor was paved with gray‑green tiles, and Footsteps echoed in strings. He pushed open the large conference room door on the east side of the third floor; the applause inside had not yet died down. On the stage stood the director who had just changed into a new uniform, his shoulder insignia gleaming, his tie tied impeccably, receiving the appointment letter from a senior representative.

"I swear," his voice was not loud but steady, "we will guard human civilization."

A circle of people sat below, some in military uniform, others in civilian clothes, all clapping. Zhao Jianguo stood in the back row unmoving, his two hands in his pockets, thinking that this phrasing sounded fresh, several steps higher than the old "protect the safety of the people."

When the ceremony ended, the crowd filtered out. The new director, after shaking hands with several leaders on the stage, scanned the room with his gaze, finally landing on Zhao Jianguo and nodding at him: "Comrade Jianguo, stay a moment."

The others had mostly dispersed, leaving only the two of them inside. The director unbuttoned two buttons, loosened his tie, and laughed: "Sit, don't just stand there."

Zhao Jianguo pulled a Chair over and sat down: "Congratulations, getting promoted and still adding a line."

"It's not theatrical, it's the truth." The director walked to the window, hands behind his back, watching the Courtyard outside for a while, "These days, the matters are no longer something a simple thief‑catching or case‑solving can explain. We have to keep an eye on something bigger."

"For example?"

"Like the things you've been working on lately." The director turned around, tone even, "vaccines, water purifiers, accessibility technologies… none of those are the pace ordinary research can muster."

Zhao Jianguo remained expressionless: "State support, team effort."

"Cut the act." The director smiled, took two steps closer, "Actually I'm a student of Chen Jianguo."

Zhao Jianguo's eyebrows twitched.

"Never heard that name?" the director looked at him, "That's normal; he never stayed within the system, never led any project. But what he taught got me into the Special Forces, and kept me alive until now."

Zhao Jianguo gave no reply, his fingers lightly tapping twice inside his pocket.

"I know what you're thinking," the director said, "you wonder if I'm here to get something from you? you think the three characters 'Chen Jianguo' sound fabricated?"

"I don't think that way," Zhao Jianguo finally spoke, "but I truly don't know who he is, nor why you bring him up now."

"Because he said long ago that you would appear." The director's voice lowered, "He said there would be someone coming from elsewhere, bearing something they shouldn't have, doing something they shouldn't do. But it's not a threat, it's an opportunity."

Zhao Jianguo stared at him for a few seconds: "So you came here for this? To recruit me?"

"It's not to find you, it's to invite you." The director walked back to his desk, pulled out a folder and pushed it over, "International Laboratory Construction Plan. Chinese chief representative—Zhao Jianguo. Three American agencies jointly lead, two European institutes follow, filed with the UN Science and Technology Department."

Zhao Jianguo flipped it open; the paper bore the heading "Cross‑border, Cross‑disciplinary, Shared Responsibility," followed by several principles, all empty shells, no specific research directions, nor any funding sources.

"Sounds lively," he closed the file, "but what will this thing be built with? Rely on slogans?"

"On trust." The director said, "Step one is your nod. Step two we gather the people together. Step three, when it's done, you'll naturally see whether it's worth it."

Zhao Jianguo placed the folder on the desk and didn't touch it again.

"You don't trust me." The director wasn't in a hurry, "That's normal. If I were in your shoes, I'd be cautious too. But there's one thing you must understand—my sitting here isn't to investigate you, it's to protect what you can do."

"So you're going to manage it?"

"It's coordination." The director corrected, "Not management. You keep doing yours, we'll clear obstacles, block trouble that shouldn't come. For example, technical blockades from certain foreign forces, or the sluggish internal approval process."

Zhao Jianguo lowered his head, pondered for a moment, then asked, "You said you're a student of Chen Jianguo… have you ever met him in person?"

"Once." the director nodded, "Ten years ago, at an abandoned radar station in the northwest. He gave me a notebook, its pages filled with incomprehensible schematics and a slew of counter‑intuitive physical hypotheses. I didn't believe it then; later I verified them one by one and found at least seven have been indirectly confirmed by modern science."

"What about that notebook?"

"Burned it," the director said, "as per his request. Only a sentence remained: 'When Zhao Jianguo appears, restart the plan.'"

The room fell silent. The wall clock ticked away, and outside the window the wind rustled the leaves.

Zhao Jianguo stood up, flexed his wrist: "I need time to think."

"Sure." the director also rose, "You have three days. However, the Laboratory's site has already been decided: in the suburban Beijing No. 13 Science Park, Zone B, construction starts next week."

"I can't guarantee I'll go."

"You will definitely go." the director's mouth twitched upward, "Because you need resources, and I can provide them. You also know, one person working alone can at most change a single courtyard's life; but if you set up a platform, you can alter the course of an entire era."

Zhao Jianguo offered no rebuttal, merely picking up the contact card on the desk, a white hard‑cover with black lettering: 【International Laboratory·Preparation Office·Direct Hotline】.

He squeezed it and slipped it into his coat pocket.

"You're leaving tonight?" the director asked.

"Yeah." Zhao Jianguo walked toward the door, "Go Home, sleep."

The director stayed where he was, didn't see him off, and only said, "The card has an encrypted channel; once you're in touch, contact anytime."

Zhao Jianguo opened the door, night wind slapping his face. The hallway light was dim yellow, casting long shadows at the stairwell. He descended step by step, Footsteps clearly audible.

He stepped out of the building; the Courtyard was very quiet. The guardroom was lit, Old Li was dozing on the table, sunflower‑seed shells scattered across it. Zhao Jianguo passed by and gave a soft cough; Old Li jerked upright, rubbing his eyes as he looked at him.

"Leaving?"

"Leaving."

"Did the new director finish talking with you?"

"We talked."

"What did he say?"

Zhao Jianguo didn't look back, only slipped his hand into his coat pocket, feeling the edge of the card.

"He said they'll build a Laboratory."

He mounted his bike, pedaled twice, and the bike rolled forward. The night wind tangled his hair, his coat's hem slapped his thigh. In the distance the city lights merged into a sheet, like stars scattered on the ground.

He turned out of the compound's gate, paused, glanced back at the office building. The third‑floor window was still lit, the curtain half‑drawn, a slanted beam of light casting on the wall.

He didn't linger, turned the bike around, and rode toward the depths of the Hutong.

The wheels rolled over the road's small stones, producing a faint "click‑clack" sound.

The keychain swung in his coat pocket, occasionally bumping against the card.