Chapter 339: then translation of title

At 8:20 a. m., Zhao Jianguo pushed open the laboratory door and walked out, still clutching half an uneaten steamed bun in his hand. He walked and stuffed the last bite into his mouth, his cheeks puffed like a hamster's, and casually patted his pockets to make sure his phone and keys were there.

He had been debugging the Neural Repair Instrument until three a. m. the night before, and at seven a. m. he was awakened again by a series of calls from the rehab center's doctors, who said the patient's condition was good enough to try walking. He didn't even have time to wash his face before hopping onto that old 28‑inch bicycle that rattles everywhere except the bell, and pedaled off toward the west side of town. On the way he stopped at a stall and bought a steamed bun stuffed with pickled vegetables, eating it as he rode, nearly crashing into a cart selling tofu pudding at the morning market.

Outside the clinical demonstration hall of the rehab center, a crowd had already gathered. Doctors in white coats stood in small groups, speaking softly, while several family members sat on the hallway benches, palms sweating. An elderly lady clutched her prayer beads, her lips moving nonstop.

Zhao Jianguo pushed through the crowd and walked in, immediately spotting the young man leaning against the wall—Li Qiang, paralyzed for three years in a car accident, his legs numb but his eyes bright. He was bent over, repeatedly checking the equipment strap fastened around his waist, his fingers trembling a little.

"Don't be nervous." Zhao Jianguo walked over, crumpled the empty plastic bag in his hand into a ball, and accurately tossed it into the trash can two meters away, saying, "This thing is more reliable than your old radio."

Li Qiang lifted his head, glanced at him, and gave a sideways grin: "Engineer Zhao, do you think I can stand up?"

"Not 'can,' but 'right now.'" Zhao Jianguo squatted down, tightened the sensor at his ankle another notch, and said, "Your legs have been asleep too long; they need to be woken up."

The doctor approached, tablet in hand, brow furrowed: "The signal connection is still unstable; it cut out twice during the earlier test."

"Normal." Zhao Jianguo stood up, pulled out his phone, opened a screen, and said, "I just finished checking in and unlocked a new feature called the Neural Pathway Enhancement Protocol—it's specially designed to deal with those lazy brain signals that won't cooperate."

The doctor blinked: "What? Check‑in?"

"Just like clocking in for work." Zhao Jianguo blinked, adding, "Whether you believe it or not, you have to—because it works."

He connected his phone to the main unit, hit start, and a line appeared on the screen: 【Auxiliary protocol loading… sensitivity increased to 97.6%】.

"Done." he said.

Li Qiang was helped to the standing frame; the exoskeleton powered up slowly, its metal joints emitting a faint hum. His breathing grew noticeably heavier, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

"Take three deep breaths." Zhao Jianguo stood directly in front of him, hands hovering ready to support but not actually touching, and said, "To lift your leg, just focus on the intention. It's not about force; it's about thought."

Li Qiang closed his eyes and pressed his lips into a thin line.

First attempt—no response.

Second attempt—his left toe twitched half a centimeter.

Third attempt— a soft system prompt sounded: 【Movement intention captured, power unit activated】.

With two clicks, the brace lock released. Li Qiang's body gradually straightened, moving from a bent‑over, leaning posture to an upright spine, little by little.

"He's standing!" a nurse exclaimed softly.

The whole room fell silent enough to hear the machine's cooling fan. Li Qiang stood there, his legs supporting his weight; although the brace still assisted him, he was truly standing on his own.

"One more step." Zhao Jianguo spoke low but clearly, "Lift your left foot, just ten centimeters—think of it as dragging your foot lightly across the floor."

Li Qiang gritted his teeth, a vein jumping on his forehead. Suddenly he opened his eyes: "I'm scared… what if I fall?"

No one laughed at him. Everyone knew how he'd spent the past three years—lying in bed staring at the ceiling, needing help just to turn over, and dreading nothing more than hearing the words "walk" spoken.

Zhao Jianguo didn't rush to speak; instead he squatted down to meet his eyes and said, "You're not walking alone. It's that urge to move in your brain, plus over three million training data points, plus this machine—we three are lifting you together. Just keep thinking forward; we'll handle the rest."

Li Qiang stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly drew a breath and nodded.

His left foot left the ground and slid forward.

It landed steadily.

His right foot followed, shifting a step.

After two steps, he didn't stop and took a third.

"Wow—!" somebody shouted, and then applause exploded. The doctors in the front row jumped to their feet, the family members in the back wiped their eyes, and even the orderlies outside who'd heard the commotion rushed in to clap.

Li Qiang stood in the center of the floor, panting, tears streaming down his face, yet he grinned wide: "I can walk! I really can walk!"

Zhao Jianguo stepped to the side, pulled out the crumbs of steamed bun from his pocket, blew on them, popped them into his mouth to chew, and grinned like a kid who'd successfully snuck a snack.

Over at the press area, the doctor held a microphone, his hand still shaking. The camera focused on him as the flashbulbs popped.

He gazed at the swaying yet determined figure in the training hall, opened his mouth but said nothing. After a few seconds he spoke again: "We… we used to say paralysis was the end. Today I realize it's merely… a pause."

He paused again, his voice hoarse: "This isn't anyone's individual credit. It's science having come this far, finally able to tell a patient, 'Don't be afraid—we can still try.' I dare say—this is a miracle in medical history."

Reporters downstairs scribbled notes, someone asking about follow‑up promotion plans. The doctor was about to answer when Zhao Jianguo slipped out quietly.

At the end of the hallway, sunlight pooled just right; he leaned against the wall, pulled out his phone, and glanced at it. The screen lit up, showing an incoming call from "Coastal Agricultural Cooperation Consultation."

He pressed the answer button, grunted twice, and nodded: "Sure, I'll go look at the land after I finish here."

From down the corridor came footsteps—the attending physician rushing out, clutching a stack of documents: "Engineer Zhao! The Health Commission says they want to launch the project ASAP—could we do another demo next week?"

"Next week?" Zhao Jianguo slipped his phone into his pocket, "Sure, but I'll have to shift it to the afternoon—I promised the technical department of Sha Zhu Company that I'd give them a talk on equipment compatibility."

"You'd better take it easy," the doctor said with a smile. "Running three places in a day would wear anyone out."

"Tiring, yes." Zhao Jianguo flexed his wrist; the golden line had already faded, known only to him to still be there, "but seeing how that person just walked makes it worthwhile."

He turned and walked toward the elevator, his leather shoes clicking on the tile floor. Around the corner, a wheelchair stood idle against the wall, its cushion still bearing the imprint of someone's weight.