Chapter 334: Fifteenth Birthday Banquet — The Bombardment of Elite School Admissions

When the elevator doors closed, Zhao Jianguo glanced at the red monitoring dot above his head, like an eye that hadn't woken up. He didn't move, nor look up again. The descent was very steady, not even a sway. Twenty seconds later, a "Ding—" sounded, and the doors opened.

Outside was the Siheyuan's back alley, just past six in the evening, the sky still tinged orange‑red, warming the brick walls. He stepped out, his shoe soles on the bluestone slabs making a light "tap tap" sound. Turning a corner, he pushed open the familiar wooden door, and the Courtyard was already lit.

At the main hall entrance hung two strings of small paper lanterns, bright red, swaying lightly in the wind. On the table stood a three‑tier cake, the frosting a bit lopsided, with chocolate writing on top that read "Happy Fifteenth to the Three Kids", the crooked handwriting unmistakably Su Qing's. The candles were unlit; the Triplets sat on a long bench, each cradling a bottle of soda. Zhao Xing was tapping a bowl rim with a bottle cap to keep the beat, Zhao Chen lowered his head to twist a component, and Zhao Yang held up his phone to record them.

"Dad's back!" Zhao Yang shouted first, his voice rising.

Zhao Jianguo replied, hanging his Coat on the old elm wood rack by the door—a rack he had once sanded down, now smooth to the touch and not splintery. He walked over and sat down, still in the same spot, the third brick seam of the lower row level with his knees; after sitting there so long it had become a habit.

"We've been waiting for you," Su Qing said, bringing out a plate of sweet‑and‑sour spare ribs from the Kitchen, glossy and fragrant, "We won't light the candles; the birthday star said we have to wait for the parents to return to their places."

"Who's the birthday star? The three of us are together," Zhao Xing grinned, "We've decided to unify our status today—Collective adulthood preparatory role."

"Not so poor," Zhao Jianguo said with a laugh, shaking his head, "Did you finish the assignment?"

"Finished, and even attached an essay 'On the Application of Quantum Entanglement in Family Relationships'; the teacher's comment was 'Couldn't understand it but was deeply shocked,'" Zhao Chen looked up, pushing his glasses.

Su Qing laughed out loud, casually lighting the candles. The flames leapt, illuminating the three faces brightly. They stood shoulder to shoulder, heights close, features similar yet each distinct on closer look: Zhao Xing's gaze was sharp, as if ready to defy heaven and earth; Zhao Chen was calm, speaking little but every word on point; Zhao Yang was the most lively, his smile curving his eyes into a seam.

"Make a wish," Zhao Jianguo said.

The three closed their eyes and bowed their heads. The wind swept through the Courtyard, the lanterns spinning a bit faster. Zhao Jianguo watched them, and his heart suddenly felt steady. The battle in the underground hall had been fierce, but back here it felt like stepping into soft cotton, catching his breath.

After making their wishes, they blew the candles; Zhao Xing deliberately puffed his cheeks and blew out all of them in one breath, prompting Zhao Yang to tap his forehead with a spoon. While they were goofing, two "thump thump" knocks came from outside.

"Delivery!" called a young man's voice.

Su Qing went to open the door; the person handed over three letters in a kraft paper bag, the seal hot‑stamped with a foreign university emblem. She took them, stared, and was stunned: "This… this is…"

"Harvard, Tsinghua, MIT," Zhao Jianguo took them, scanned them, a slight smile curling his mouth, "Alright, you three are treating world‑renowned schools as a return gift?"

"Really admitted?" Zhao Yang leaned in, "I submitted my materials not long ago, didn't expect it to actually happen."

"My MIT one was aimed at energy system design," Zhao Chen said evenly, "The simulation data ran for three months, should be qualified."

"I applied for the Tsinghua one," Zhao Xing shrugged, "Mainly want to see what top domestic laboratories are like."

Su Qing's eyes lit up, flipping through them, her hand trembling, "My god, all three at once? Should we raise our family's threshold a bit to guard against lightning strikes?"

Zhao Jianguo gave no reply, just watching the children. Their faces showed little surprise, more like receiving an ordinary report card. His heart stirred, vaguely feeling this wasn't over.

Sure enough, Zhao Xing took his own letter, opened it, skimmed quickly, then let out a cold laugh, raised his hand and "snip—" tore the notice in two, flinging it aside.

The paper fragments drifted into the wind, spiraling down toward the locust tree in the Courtyard corner.

The whole place fell silent.

Su Qing's mouth hung open, unclosed. Zhao Yang blinked, and Zhao Chen's hand that was adjusting his glasses froze mid‑air.

"Harvard?" Zhao Xing hummed, "The experiments I did they still aren't qualified to review."

Zhao Jianguo's eyebrows twitched slightly, but he said nothing.

Zhao Chen placed the letter on the table, calmly saying, "The quantum simulation model I built in the Siheyuan has already completed its seventh run." He paused, "The mentor group emailed last week, saying I could go straight to a PhD, but I replied, 'I'm doing more urgent things at home.'"

Zhao Yang pushed his letter aside, "The national laboratory wrote last week, wanting to transfer me to a low‑temperature superconductivity project." He smiled, "I didn't reply, not out of disrespect, but… I think the tool room in our Courtyard could be dug another two meters deeper."

The three brothers stood together, shoulder to shoulder, just as when they made wishes earlier, only this time no one smiled.

Zhao Chen looked at Zhao Xing, "You tore it well."

Zhao Yang nodded, "I've been meaning to say that too."

Zhao Xing grinned, "Then let's not go."

The three exchanged a smile, as tacit as when they shared watermelon as kids.

Su Qing's eyes reddened instantly. She wiped the corner of her eye, then looked up at Zhao Jianguo, "Back then… were you the same way?"

Zhao Jianguo smiled slightly, not denying.

That was thirty years ago. He had just crossed over, the sign‑in system not yet activated, and already knew one thing: this Courtyard could not be dispersed. He taught the children to read circuit diagrams here, built the first signal receiver here, later led them to dismantle old radios, solder circuit boards, and craft makeshift thermometers—all within these few square meters. He never forced them to apply to prestigious schools, only asked, "What do you want to understand?"

Now, they have given the answer.

He stood up, walked to the Triplets, patting each on the shoulder.

"Fine," he said, "The tool room is yours."

The three's eyes lit up.

"Tell me how much power you need," he continued, "I'll have the Electric Wire replanted by the power bureau, a dedicated line."

"Really?" Zhao Yang blurted.

"Could I still be lying to you?" Zhao Jianguo glared, "Construction starts tomorrow. If it's not enough, we'll also clear out the East Wing Room."

Su Qing inhaled, finally laughing, "We'll need to add an exhaust fan; last time they burned a circuit board, it almost blackened the roof."

"This time we'll use lead‑free solder," Zhao Chen said seriously.

"I also did thermal optimization," Zhao Yang added.

"I'll handle the kitchen explosion," Zhao Xing chuckled, "After researching technology, we still have to fill our stomachs."

Zhao Jianguo shook his head, turned back to the table and sat down. He grabbed a soda, unscrewed it, and took a sip. Sweetness melted in his mouth, the bubbles hit his nose, pleasant.

The Courtyard quieted, only the rustle of wind through leaves audible. The locust tree's shadow lay slanted on the ground like an old carpet. The lanterns still turned, halos rippling outward in circles.

He looked up at the sky; stars began to appear, one, two, clearly visible.

Su Qing came over, sat beside him, said nothing, just leaned against him.

He turned his head to glance at her, then turned back, watching the three children gathered around the table, murmuring about something, fingers drawing circuit diagrams on paper. Zhao Yang poked Zhao Xing's arm with a pencil, Zhao Chen, while adjusting his glasses, knocked over a soda bottle, which Zhao Xing quickly caught.

The night breeze brushed by, carrying the gentle warmth of early summer.

Zhao Jianguo slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the entrance badge. Its corners were already frayed; he had gripped it too tightly in the elevator, and now half of it was torn. He took it out, looked at it, didn't discard it, and slipped it back in.

Some things, even when broken, don't matter.

He sat, unmoving, listening to the children's voices, like hearing a familiar rain.