Chapter 394: Confess Honestly, Or I

After I sent that Ai guy away, I've been waiting for word from him, but never got any. Heh, I was already onto this move—I just need to keep an eye on that Guan guy. They think they can shake me off? Not a chance.

When I followed the Guan family's eldest son southward, I kept praying to the gods and Buddhas: please, Qi Ming, don't you dare die—otherwise, killing even his son or grandson wouldn't cover the interest.

But after all these years apart, he's grown even more timid—he dares not set foot on this land again. What a pity.

After Old Song calmed down, he told Li Ye why he'd come to Guangdong. When he finished, he bared his yellow teeth and let out a series of heh-heh-heh laughs.

At this moment, Old Song had returned to his usual slick, cunning, slightly lewd demeanor—no one could tell that just minutes earlier, this frail, crippled old man, weighing less than a hundred jin altogether, had been ready to trade his life for another's.

After listening quietly to Old Song's story, Li Ye asked softly: "So what are you planning to do now? Go to Hong Kong to find him? It's like searching for a needle in a ocean—hard to sneakily track someone down."

"No need to search—he'll show himself."

Old Song bared his yellow teeth in a strange grin: "I've figured it out these past few days. That Ai guy suffered overseas, realized foreigners look down on him—he's coming back to make money. So later on… I'll have more than enough chances."

Li Ye looked at Old Song before silently sighing inside: "A real talent."

Right now, everyone thinks escaping overseas is the right path—but no one sees that returning from abroad to make money is even easier.

But this talent was now dead-set on revenge, so Li Ye could only ask: "What do you need me to help with?"

"No, no—Your Excellency, don't get involved in this mess. It's not worth staining your clothes. But…"

Old Song hesitated, then spoke earnestly: "I have a little grandson back in my hometown. If anything happens to me, please make sure he stays in Qingshui County—don't let him leave. Let him live a quiet, peaceful life."

"I've got enough of my own messes to deal with! You take care of your own grandson—you're a curse, and you've got a hard life!"

Li Ye cursed under his breath and turned to leave.

"I'll take that as a yes! Thank you so much!"

Old Song watched Li Ye's back, grinned, and murmured in a voice only he could hear: "You're right—let's see whose life is harder."

"Tap-tap-tap"

In Beijing, at a certain research compound, Tang Mingtai knocked on a door carrying gifts.

The door opened, and a thin old man blocked the entrance, sizing Tang Mingtai up with a cold stare.

Tang Mingtai awkwardly said: "Oh, Teacher's home! I'm Tang Mingtai."

"I know you're Tang Mingtai—even if you turned into a monkey, I'd recognize you. But I'm not your teacher. Who are you trying to cozy up to?"

The old man spat sharply at Tang Mingtai, then sneered at the gifts in his hands: "And what are you here for today? Regretting it? Having a change of heart? My daughter's already married."

Tang Mingtai's face flushed slightly as he stammered: "Professor Zhao, I've come because I have some technical problems that need your help."

The old man snorted: "What a joke. You, Tang Mingtai, a genius born with talent—do you really need my help? I, Zhao Xiangchu, am old, blind, and feeble—I can't see through your tricks. Besides, I've retired. Go take your gifts to someone else."

Seeing Professor Zhao about to shut the door, Tang Mingtai quickly pulled out a stack of documents and handed them over: "Professor, we're competing with the Japanese—please take a look!"

"Competing with the Japanese?"

Professor Zhao, still full of resentment, didn't close the door fully. He glanced at Tang Mingtai, then at the documents.

"You come to me for help—and bring only this little pile?"

Tang Mingtai eventually stepped inside, but Professor Zhao only glanced at the documents for a moment before slamming them onto the coffee table, his expression dark.

"You need me to solve something like this? Be honest—what are you really here for?"

"Teacher, sewing equipment is obviously too simple for you—but we need solid technical reserves to compete with the Japanese."

Tang Mingtai pulled out two documents and showed them to Professor Zhao: "This is our preliminary success—the Changbei-2 sewing machine. This is the improvement plan and technical data from Zhongai Machinery Company."

"Our sewing machine's performance isn't worse than Zhongai's—but it's still not world-class."

"The Japanese surely don't have only this generation of tech—they must have something even more advanced. By their nature, they only introduce tech slightly ahead of their rivals."

"Once the rival develops a new product, they immediately roll out something even more advanced, making the rival's R&D, production, and labor costs all worthless. That's their standard tactic."

Professor Zhao's expression turned serious. He nodded: "That does sound like the Japanese way. So what level of technical reserve are you aiming for?"

Tang Mingtai replied clearly: "Produce one generation, standardize one generation, pre-research one generation. Never fall behind them."

Professor Zhao frowned, picked up the two documents again, then shook his head: "You're being too idealistic. First, technical breakthroughs aren't something one person can handle. Even if we had a solution, how do you compete with them on machining precision?"

"... igh."

Professor Zhao's sigh carried the helplessness and shame of mainland China's mechanical industry in the 1980s.

Ordinary machine tools already had huge precision differences—let alone high-precision machining equipment.

High-precision machining equipment had always been one of the crown jewels at the top of the industrial pyramid—and one of the deepest pains in the hearts of mainland engineers.

Even decades later, after decades of desperate catch-up, the mainland had slashed the price of multi-axis machining centers—from $4 million per unit quoted by foreign firms—to just tens of thousands.

But still… there was a gap. Anyone who used it knew.

"Teacher, we're working hard on the machine tool issue. Right now, we just hope you can ask if anyone has time and interest to collaborate with us on continuous technical research."

"Collaborate? Continuous research?"

Professor Zhao frowned: "Aren't you just here to solve a few technical problems? Why do you need continuous collaboration?"

Tang Mingtai explained: "Teacher, because we know future tech competition is inevitable. We want to form a team always ready to fight."

"We don't reject short-term help—but long-term collaboration, or even hiring people to join our company, would be better."

"You didn't come to ask me for technical help—you came to poach my people!"

Professor Zhao glanced at Tang Mingtai, sneered, and crossed his legs: "What kind of company is this Changbei Machinery? How big is it? How much travel money can you offer? What salary?"

Facing Professor Zhao's blunt realism, Tang Mingtai seemed unsurprised, calm and confident: "Changbei Machinery is a Hong Kong-mainland joint venture. Small in scale, but we have our own sales channels—we sell tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of units annually."

"As for travel money and salary… this is a deposit. If you join us or commit to long-term cooperation, we can discuss further."

Tang Mingtai opened his briefcase and placed a thick envelope on the table before Professor Zhao.

Professor Zhao glanced at the envelope's thickness—it looked like two or three thousand yuan.

Although the fourth series of RMB bore the year 1980, it wasn't actually issued until later. At this time, the highest denomination was the "Big Unity" note.

Two or three thousand yuan was no small sum in this era—and Tang Mingtai called it a deposit. Professor Zhao thought the price was acceptable for a weekend engineer.

But Professor Zhao was a man of experience—he didn't get dazzled by money.

"Take this money back. I'll ask your senior classmates if they have time or interest."

"This research is time-consuming and pointless—I can't guarantee anyone will work for you."

Tang Mingtai blinked, then awkwardly said: "Teacher, I thought you'd lead it. I don't know who else is as practical as you. If I ran into someone like Qi Fan, obsessed with rank, I'd be laughed at."

"You think Qi Fan will work for you for this little money? He's got his own research team now—annual funding over ten thousand yuan, even rides a motorcycle."

Professor Zhao snapped: "And just for a sewing machine project—can't any of your senior classmates handle it? Do you need me to stand on the podium for you?"

"By the way—why don't you do it yourself? Did you get promoted and become a full-time cadre?"

Tang Mingtai wiped the spit from his face and didn't argue.

People like Professor Zhao rarely found interest in projects of this difficulty. Even his top senior classmates were focused on cutting-edge topics to boost their titles and positions.

Asking them to tinker with this felt like an insult.

So compensation had to come from another direction.

Tang Mingtai pointed at the envelope on the coffee table and whispered: "Teacher, this is U. . dollars."

Professor Zhao stared at Tang Mingtai, expression unreadable.

Seeing no reaction, Tang Mingtai added: "All hundred-dollar bills."

After Tang Mingtai added two more sentences, Professor Zhao still said nothing—just stared straight at him.

Tang Mingtai was puzzled. In this era, who didn't crave U. . dollars?

Just say this: over the past two years, if anyone let slip they had U. . dollars at home, friends would show up within days—friends of friends, relatives of relatives—everyone had some use for them.

But what was wrong with Professor Zhao?

"Slap!"

Professor Zhao suddenly slammed the table, drawing an old woman from the next room.

"Tell me—what technology are you asking me to research? Or what are you trying to steal from me?"

"If you don't confess honestly, I'll call the police right now and have you arrested."

(End of Chapter)