Chapter 9#

12:00 AM.

Data refreshed across major novel websites.

Qiao Jing lay in bed, turning over in a sweet dream. By his pillow was 008, sleeping with its four paws in the air.

But many more people were sleepless tonight.

On its first day of listing, “Song of the Earth” rushed into the top ranks of the all-network new book charts!

The first place was naturally Sa’en’s new book, “Legend of the Qilin,” which Xingchen Web had spent heavily on marketing. After all, with the veteran big shot Jing Hua Shui Yue gone, Sa’en’s ascent to the top was almost without suspense.

In fact, besides Sa’en, the top seven spots on the chart were all occupied by authors under Xingchen Web.

In this situation, Qiao Jing, standing out alone, was extremely eye-catching.

Especially when everyone discovered that this was his first book on Liuliu Web, they felt even more that this person’s strength was terrifying and his future was limitless—to know that even Sa’en, when he was spotted by Xingchen Web for his potential and poached from his old employer, didn’t have such good results!

This chart was updated every three days, selecting the top ten from tens of thousands of new books listed across the network, and ranking them based on subscription data from various channels. It was jointly operated and maintained by a dozen novel websites, and even Xingchen Web could not shake its authority.

A new book appearing on this chart, if for nothing else, was definitely one in a thousand in terms of potential.

However, this achievement wasn’t exactly unprecedented.

“Old white” readers who had been immersed in web novels for years knew that seven years ago, another newcomer became famous overnight.

In fact, that book’s position on the chart was even higher.

—And his pen name was precisely Jing Hua Shui Yue.

“Hahahaha, I’d say this kid Sa’en is just unlucky by fate,” Qiao Jing clicked on the voice message Yuan Chengdao sent in the group. The other man’s vigorous laughter made his eardrums buzz, and he had to turn down the volume. “Back then, he was suppressed everywhere by Jing Hua Shui Yue. He went through great pains to push the big shot out, thinking that with no tiger on the mountain, the monkey could be king. But then came another Yan Heqing! Hahahahaha!”

Other authors in the group were also gloating.

Relatively speaking, however, they were more reserved, not mocking as blatantly as Yuan Chengdao.

“But Old Yuan, I just took a look at the story that Yan Heqing wrote. How is it a sci-fi novel?” One author, after spamming a set of emojis, raised a question in the group. “This is like an art film; the audience is limited. Usually, it’s critically acclaimed but not popular. I hope he doesn’t get pushed down by that group of lackeys behind Sa’en before he’s even been on the chart for half a day.”

Among the books currently on the chart, half the authors had connections with Sa’en.

Just like streamers in the same company, in any industry, there are basically instances of forming cliques and excluding outsiders.

“Don’t worry, I have high hopes for this Yan Heqing,” Yuan Chengdao replied. “Just looking at all those long reviews in his comment section, you can tell this person’s writing power is definitely there. And do you know that… Liuliu Web only has seventeen channels? Damn, even so, he could squeeze into seventh. If he were writing on Xingchen Web, he would have pressed that kid Sa’en to the ground and rubbed him long ago!”

“Holy crap, really?”

“And he just rose another two spots; he’s fifth now!”

“Awesome!!!!”

“Seventeen versus one hundred and seventeen—nearly a seven-fold difference. If he really gets overtaken, Sa’en will lose massive face this time.”

Yuan Chengdao sneered, typing away with a cigarette in his mouth, predicting accurately: “Given how petty Sa Yi is, he’s probably at home smashing his keyboard right now. Just you wait; his good days are still ahead of him.”

He was absolutely right.

When he saw the chart, Sa Yi did indeed smash his keyboard.

“A bunch of useless trash!” he cursed loudly in his small group. “What kind of garbage are you writing? You actually got overtaken by a newcomer, a newcomer from some small ‘pheasant’ website whose origin is unknown! Trash!”

Other authors didn’t dare to reply, except for one who weakly sent a message: “Brother Sa, I don’t think this Yan Heqing seems like a newcomer.”

“Don’t find excuses for your own garbage writing!”

Sa Yi grew even more furious. “You’ve been writing for three or four years too, right? If I hadn’t promoted it to readers on Weibo, would you even be on this chart? Where are your readers? I don’t believe every single one of them is a damn freeloading pauper! Quickly act pitiful in your groups and get the fans to put in money to subscribe!”

After venting his anger at the people in the group, Sa Yi’s emotions calmed slightly.

But when he refreshed the page and found that “Song of the Earth” had advanced another spot on the chart—

“Fuck!”

He threw his mouse directly.

While this smokeless war on the new book chart made countless hearts race, Qiao Jing, who was at the center of the vortex, was deep in thought over his outline.

Although he also felt that setting this plot was a bit too fast in progress and might seem like a leap to readers.

The protagonist was clearly working on nuclear stuff before, so how did he suddenly jump to another field?

But looking at the continuous stream of news online recently, Qiao Jing still felt it was necessary for him to slightly change the outline.

At least in terms of critical technology, he couldn’t let people keep “choking the neck” (strangling the development) of China.

“Forget it, I’ll just change it like this.” For the first time in his life, Qiao Jing decided to sacrifice some of the plot’s logic; at worst, he would treat it as writing a “face-slapping” story. “If that thing can be developed even one day earlier, it would be a great thing.”

He thought of the reader with the ID “Road to Travel is Hard” (Xinglu Nan) who often appeared in his comment section. Although Qiao Jing, to avoid controversy, had 008 look up information to reply directly to the other party without any direct interaction, he could still tell from the wording of the comments that the owner behind the account should be an elderly, deeply learned scholar.

—At the very least, they should be a full professor at a university.

But Qiao Jing didn’t feel any condescending instruction at all; Gao Xinglu often used respectful terms like “Please,” “You” (honorific), and “Disturb” instead, as if treating him with the respect due to a teacher.

Regarding this, he felt he didn’t deserve it.

Since ancient times, literati had a saying: “When poor, attend to your own virtue; when successful, benefit the whole world.”

Qiao Jing didn’t think he was worthy of the title “literatus,” but even if he was satisfied with the status quo and just wanted to be a shut-in who made no contribution to society, he still held deep respect for these scholars who dedicated themselves to the country.

008 wanted him to become a star in the limelight. It was right; that was indeed a high-paying profession envied by many.

But in reality, there were more people like “Xinglu Nan” who worked in various industries. Most of them were unknown—tiny dots of light scattered across this vast land.

Gathered, they are a flame; scattered, they are a sky full of stars. These researchers are the ones who silently support the future of this country.

Don’t Pigeon had previously told him it was best to write a few words of author biography before listing. Qiao Jing originally thought he had nothing to write, but after thinking it over, he opened the back end and wrote a passage from a high school textbook in the bio section below his avatar—

“Have a portion of heat, emit a portion of light. No need to wait for the torch.”

“If thereafter there is no torch, I shall be the only light.”

Beijing Time, 4:37 AM.

After more than a month of fighting through the night, everyone in the research institute gathered in front of the large screen, watching the torrent of data rushing across the supercomputer, holding their breath, hearts racing.

Everyone’s eyes were bloodshot, yet they still stared unblinkingly at the supercomputer, which was conducting simulation experiments at a computing speed of 200 quadrillion operations per second, their fists clenched tight.

“Ding—Calculation successful!”

Accompanying the mechanical female voice, an outburst of cheers almost lifted the ceiling of the research institute. All the experimental staff couldn’t help but hug, scream, and jump around because today, they had created a new history for humanity!

Ding Qi screamed while looking around, but he didn’t see his supervisor in the crowd.

The smile on his face faded slightly. After thinking it over, he said a word to his senior and trotted all the way to the statue in the center of the research institute.

This statue commemorated the founder of the country’s nuclear field, a national elder who had led them to create nuclear bombs in an era of absolute poverty. He had passed away from illness twelve years ago.

Likewise, he was also Gao Xinglu’s mentor.

As Ding Qi expected, Gao Xinglu was indeed standing in front of the statue.

The old man’s silhouette appeared somewhat small in the dim light, but his back was held very straight. He wore a black down jacket, common on any street, and his hair was entirely white.

—No one could tell that this was a pillar-level figure in the Chinese scientific community with the title of Academician.

Ding Qi’s pace slowed.

He stood half a step behind Gao Xinglu, hesitated for a moment, and still asked in a low voice: “Teacher, do you want a tissue?”

“…No, I’m not crying.”

The old man stubbornly sniffed his nose like a child, speaking with red eyes.

Ding Qi silently withdrew his hand.

“My teacher,” after a moment of silence, Gao Xinglu spoke on his own initiative. “In his life, he didn’t have many good days. Just two days after getting married, he went to the Gobi Desert on a business trip. In such a harsh environment, he stayed for over a dozen years. When he finally retired and was rehired, his health collapsed. Even so, he insisted on writing papers every day on his hospital bed, leading students and guiding us, the next generation of the country, hand-in-hand.”

“While Teacher was alive, because of the confidentiality agreement, no one knew of his contributions. It wasn’t until the fifth year after his death that his deeds were made public by the state… This statue was also built at that time.”

Gao Xinglu sighed deeply, holding back the tears in his eyes. Looking at the statue of his teacher, he showed a smile mixed with relief and excitement: “Teacher, did you see? I’m at this age already—two years older than when you passed away. I thought I wouldn’t see this day arrive either. I didn’t expect it, I didn’t expect it…”

He repeated these words over and over. Beside him, for some reason, Ding Qi’s eyes also felt a bit sore.

As a student, he naturally knew how much Gao Xinglu had sacrificed for the research.

Countless experimental failures, stacks of calculation drafts as high as several people, the continuous late-night work and research pressure that even young people couldn’t handle—he had done it for decades.

Finally, finally, they succeeded!

—Everything was worth it.

The morning light dawned on the horizon. Ding Qi heard a faint singing coming from the music department teaching building in the distance—the melody was the familiar “My Motherland.” He took a deep breath, quietly finished listening to the whole piece, turned around, and said to Gao Xinglu with a smile:

“Look, Teacher, it’s dawn.”