Chapter 9

Zhao Jianguo flipped over that physics book, slipped it between his old textbooks, shoved it into his schoolbag, the corner of the book rubbing against the pencil case made a rustling sound. Dawn was just breaking, he stood at the Courtyard Gate tying his shoelaces, the iron keys in his pocket jingled twice, as if urging him to hurry out.

This schoolbag was altered by Li Xiaohua overnight, made from the cloth of his childhood cotton jacket that had been torn apart, the stitching crooked, and a patch sewn onto the strap. Yet Zhao Jianguo, when he wore it, straightened his back and stepped over the threshold. Yesterday he had brought his textbooks home; his mother no longer mentioned throwing them away, instead she took out an enamel basin, put the pencils and erasers inside, and muttered: "Going to school, you gotta look the part."

Red Star Steel Rolling Factory affiliated middle school is not far from the Siheyuan, a twenty‑minute walk away. When he reached the school gate, the morning self‑study bell hadn't rung yet; a few students squatted at the Wall Base eating steamed buns, glanced at his outfit, then quickly lowered their heads. Zhao Jianguo didn't mind, he looked down at himself—his blue cloth jacket washed pale, his patched knees with a piece of dark blue cloth, his feet in double‑layer‑soled cloth shoes, the toes slightly upturned.

The Classroom was at the corner of the second floor, the door open, the homeroom teacher Mr. Wang was writing "Class 3, Grade 8" on the Blackboard. He walked in, Mr. Wang glanced back at him, and the Chalk snapped in two with a "pop".

"Classmates, this is the new transfer student Zhao Jianguo, coming from a worker's family at our factory, please give him a welcome."

"In the sparse applause, someone muttered quietly: "Transferred from the factory? He looks like a country bumpkin transfer student.""

Zhao Jianguo didn't respond, walked to an empty seat in the back and sat down. The desk surface was carved with "Liu Guangqi was here", the characters deep enough to hold dust. He wiped it with his sleeve, placed his schoolbag on it, moving unhurriedly.

The first period was physics. Mr. Wang explained the lever principle, drew a seesaw‑like diagram, and asked: "If the Fulcrum is offset to the left and the two arms are unequal, how do you calculate balance?"

The class fell silent. Some picked at their erasers with their heads down, others pretended to flip pages.

Zhao Jianguo raised his hand.

Mr. Wang was a bit surprised: "Zhao Jianguo, you speak."

"Torque equals." Standing Up, voice not loud: "Force times lever arm; if the left side has greater force, its lever arm must be shorter, and vice versa on the right. The formula is F₁×L₁ = F₂×L₂."

The whole class fell silent. Mr. Wang's eyes lit up: "Excellent! Standard terminology, clear thinking. Please sit down; we can discuss more of this type of problem later."

A bespectacled boy in the front row turned his head and gave him a cold glance. That was Liu Guangqi, the physics Class Representative, who never missed a question in class, yet today had his spotlight stolen by a transfer student.

During break, Zhao Jianguo was lowering his head to copy notes when his schoolbag was bumped from behind, his textbook slapped to the floor. He looked down and saw Liu Guangqi's foot resting on the cover of his Mathematics Corner book, the sole smeared with mud.

"Newcomer," Liu Guangqi said slowly, "don't jump in to answer right away, making it seem like others can't."

Zhao Jianguo bent to pick up the book, brushed off the dust, lifted his head and smiled: "I can solve the problem, I'm not here to cause trouble."

Liu Guangqi snorted, turned and walked away.

His desk mate, a round‑faced boy, whispered: "Ignore him, his father is a senior elder, the family has many Rules Sign, and he himself likes to put on airs."

Zhao Jianguo nodded, then pushed over the notes he had just copied: "Take a look, see if anything's missing?"

He stared for a moment, then hurriedly took it to look. After this exchange, a few casual words, the atmosphere around the seats loosened a bit.

On the way Go Home from school, Zhao Jianguo deliberately took a detour, turned into the Alley, and stopped at the wall corner. The ring warmed slightly, a prompt sounded in his mind: "Today's check‑in complete, received one catty of white rice, five eggs."

He looked left and right, made sure no one was around, shook his sleeve, and the rice bag and eggs slipped into the interlayer of his schoolbag. The eggshells were cool against his arm, making him feel reassured.

When he arrived home, Li Xiaohua was squatting by the well platform washing clothes. Zhao Jianguo set down his schoolbag and volunteered to help wring out the water.

"How did class go today?" she asked, wringing a wet towel.

"Not bad, physics covered levers." He took the towel, hung it on the drying line, "The teacher let me answer a question and praised my clear thinking."

Li Xiaohua glanced at him: "You really understood? Not just guessing?"

"I got lucky on one question, can't fluke a second." He smiled, "If you don't believe me, I'll explain why a small counterweight can weigh a heavy object."

Li Xiaohua waved her hand: "Never mind, never mind, listening to you talk about this gives me a headache." Yet the corner of her mouth twitched up.

At dinner, a long‑absent rice aroma rose from the pot. Zhao Erniu lifted the lid, stunned: "Today… we're eating white rice?"

"Sent by the families of the factory's technical staff." Zhao Jianguo picked up a bite of vegetables, his tone natural, "That pump‑repair household insists on giving something; you can't turn them down."

Li Xiaohua stared at the pot of rice, brows furrowed: "They sent rice? Why not send grain coupons?"

"They said the grain coupons aren't enough, the rice is what they saved themselves." Zhao Jianguo lowered his head to eat, "I've also promised to accept goods in return for future repairs, not just money—this way everyone's happy."

Li Xiaohua didn't ask further. She served herself a small half‑bowl, the rice soft and fragrant; a bite took her back to the days when fine grains were still on the table. Zhao Erniu polished off two bowls, then licked the rim: "This rice aroma—when you're full, your mind works faster."

Zhao Jianguo ate in silence, not responding. He knew this meal was worth it. The supplies from the system mustn't be squandered, but improving the family's diet is the most urgent thing to do right now.

The next day at school, Liu Guangqi "bumped into" him again at the stairwell.

"Heard your dad is a seventh‑grade worker?" he leaned against the railing, turning a steel pen in his hand, "The factory is recently evaluating for eighth grade, competition is fierce—does your family have a chance?"

Zhao Jianguo stopped, smiled: "Your family cares about this too? Later I'll have my dad explain the rating standards; if you're interested, I'll copy you a sheet."

Liu Guangqi's pen tip stalled, his face a little embarrassed, he gave a dry laugh: "Just joking, why take it seriously?"

Zhao Jianguo didn't respond, lifted his foot and went upstairs.

At noon after school, he wasn't in a hurry to leave; he sat at his desk flipping through his physics textbook. Halfway through the pages, he suddenly noticed a slip of paper tucked in the interlayer, the handwriting crooked: "Don't forget about the radio."

He startled, then realized—this was the plan he'd written on paper yesterday, but that paper had clearly been stored in the ring. How did it end up in the book?

His fingertip rubbed the edge of the slip, his heart gave a jolt. Are the system's items starting to spill out on their own?

The last period of the afternoon was self‑study. He lowered his head to take notes, the pen tip slipped and a blot of ink spread on the paper. Just as he was about to grab a sheet to wipe it, out of the corner of his eye he saw Liu Guangqi looking back at him again—not as if checking notes, but as if counting how many pages he'd written.

Zhao Jianguo closed his notebook, lifted his gaze to the window. Sunlight slanted in, falling on the scratch at the desk corner—the final stroke of the "you" in "Liu Guangqi was here" had been gouged deep with a knife tip, as if someone had forcibly cut it off.

He lowered his head, opened his diary, and wrote one line: "Liu Guangqi, son of the second elder, physics Class Representative, strong jealousy, constantly probing. The radio matter—let's put it on hold for now."

The pen tip paused, then he added: "The stuff in the ring has been a bit disobedient lately."

He had just closed his notebook when his schoolbag suddenly felt heavier. He reached in, his fingertips touching a cold metal object—a small screwdriver, its handle engraved with "Red Star Factory Repair Unit".

He hadn't taken this out at all yesterday.