A nation's industrial development begins with junior engineers.

Chapter 1095 In Cao Cao's Camp...

"If I want to show documents to someone, do I have to move this computer over as well?"

Uncle Jin looked up at Dr. Witt: "...Or should I copy it down word by word from the screen?"

Jack stood to the side, and upon hearing this, he rubbed his fingers awkwardly, his expression like that of someone eating an unripe persimmon.

"Uh... there's a printer... but the printer costs extra. Two hundred thousand is just the price of the main unit."

Uncle Jin frowned, about to say something, but Dr. Witt waved his hands repeatedly: "Yes, yes, sir, don't worry, there is a printer!"

He strode to the small cart by the door, bent down and dragged out an inconspicuous cardboard box from the bottom shelf, explaining as he unpacked it: "The Chinese sold us the whole set of equipment from the exhibition, including the main unit, printer, several boxes of spare consumables, and the accompanying software tapes."

Uncle Jin's gaze fell on the cardboard box, and his brows furrowed even more.

A complete set? Two hundred thousand including the printer?

He pursed his lips, somewhat displeased.

The family's spendthrift son!

If he were to sell it, the price of this set would increase by at least 30%!

Buy the main unit for 200,000, charge for the printer separately, and then charge another amount for consumables. That's how you do business.

Now look what's happened! A one-off deal! Outsiders have gotten away with it for nothing.

Dr. Witt didn't notice the subtle expression on Uncle Kim's face. He had already deftly taken the printer out of the box, pulled out a roll of cable from underneath, and began to skillfully connect it.

"This is an L-type printer, specially designed for the 'Big Yellow' series," he said as he took the phone, his tone carrying the focus and enthusiasm characteristic of a technical expert.

"The interface is on the back of the host, it's plug-and-play, and requires no additional debugging. In theory, you can edit and print at the same time, or you can edit everything and print it all at once."

Once the cable is connected, the printer emits a soft buzz and the indicator light illuminates.

Dr. Witt straightened up, pulled a handwritten instruction manual from his briefcase, and handed it to Uncle Jin with both hands: "The printed quality is very clear, like printed text, and it can print both Chinese and English characters."

Uncle Jin took the instruction manual and was about to open it when Jack suddenly stepped forward and grabbed Dr. Witt's hand:

"Wait, Vittoria! Didn't that vampire leader say the printer had to be bought separately? I remember I only bought the main unit! This printer... this printer you bought 'out of your own pocket'?"

Dr. Witt stumbled as he was pulled, but after regaining his balance, he looked up and met Jack's surprised and anxious eyes. He smiled gently, placed his other hand on the back of Jack's hand, and patted it lightly.

"Yes, it won't work if there's only an input port and no output port. You spent 200,000 on the host, and I'll spend 20,000 on a printer. It's very reasonable."

Jack opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a word for a moment. He stared intently at Dr. Witt, his eyes beginning to redden again.

“Witt…”

“It’s alright, Jack.” Dr. Witt patted his hand again, his tone as gentle as if he were coaxing a child. “We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

Uncle Jin's fingers started twitching again.

He watched the scene unfold before him: Jack was holding Dr. Witt's hand, Dr. Witt was patting the back of Jack's hand, and the two were gazing deeply into each other's eyes, so affectionate...

Uncle Jin felt that nausea rising in his stomach again.

enough.

This interaction, filled with a strange atmosphere, is so intense that if you watch it any longer, your eyes will go blind!

Uncle Jin took a deep breath, forced himself to look back at the screen, and typed the last few lines of the document at lightning speed, ignoring his pain.

Then, following the instructions in the manual, he fumbled around and tried to operate it a few times.

The printer emitted a soft "humming" sound as the paper was slowly ejected.

Uncle Jin picked up the still-warm piece of paper and brought it close to his eyes.

The handwriting was clear, neat, and so precise that it looked like it was printed on a printing press—no, it was clearer than most printing presses.

Each letter, word, and number stood upright in its proper place, without ink stains, without any crookedness, and without any trace of hand typing.

Uncle Jin's gaze lingered on that piece of paper for a long time.

Then, he gently put the file aside, looked up, and his face returned to its usual calm expression.

“Alright,” he said, putting his left hand back on the keyboard. “You guys sit down for a bit, I’ll try again.”

Jack and Dr. Witt exchanged a glance and tactfully retreated to the other end of the ward. Jack sat in the chaise lounge, while Dr. Witt leaned against the wall. Neither of them spoke, only occasionally exchanging a look, as if they were communicating something in a silent way.

Uncle Jin started typing again.

The cursor blinks on the screen, and characters appear one by one, forming words, sentences, and paragraphs.

He was so immersed in that strange sense of fluidity that he momentarily forgot where he was.

Just then, somehow, the pinky finger of his battered left hand touched a combination key in the corner of the keyboard.

The cursor is still blinking, but it has changed from a slanted / to a horizontal _.

Uncle Jin didn't notice this; he simply laid the handwritten manuscript out on his lap, his right hand pressing down on the edge of the paper, and his left hand awkwardly resting on the keyboard.

The bandage on his left forearm had bleed into a dark red patch, but he couldn't care less now. He could only use his left index finger to tap the buttons one by one.

嗒。

blah blah.

Ta-ta-ta.

One letter, one word, one sentence. With each tap, the wound throbbed with pain, but he didn't even flinch.

What's this? He's experienced things that hurt ten times more than this.

If your left hand gets tired, switch to your right. If your right hand gets tired, switch back to your left.

With alternating hands, like two miners taking turns on duty, they chiseled away at the keyboard of that machine.

He buried himself in his work for quite a while.

He had been thinking about the application materials for the misappropriated funds on and off for three days. Now that he had this machine, he could even recall them and revise the parts he wasn't satisfied with before.

After he finished typing a line, he subconsciously glanced up at the screen, preparing to check what he had just entered—

He was stunned.

On the screen, the line of characters that had just been typed was no longer a neat English word.

It is a square character.

In addition to the square characters that have already appeared, a small cursor is flashing at the bottom of the screen, while above it are the few English letters that he just accidentally typed. But above these letters, several corresponding square Chinese character candidates have appeared!

It's a Pinyin input method!

At home... they've already gone this far?

Can this computer display Chinese characters?

Ecstasy, shock, indescribable pride, and an overwhelming homesickness that nearly drowned him, like a flood breaking through a dam, instantly shattered Uncle Jin's steely will.

Uncle Jin stared intently at the few small, seemingly incomprehensible characters on the screen, his vision blurring and burning at an alarming rate.

Those familiar, warm strokes are quietly arranged on the screen, like the silhouette of the old house in my hometown under the setting sun, like the paper-cuts my mother pasted on the window, like the first line of words I traced in my childhood textbook.

That was his root, his soul, the cultural bloodline he protected for sixteen years while sacrificing everything and infiltrating the enemy camp.

Now, it has unexpectedly pierced through layers of disguise and reached the softest and strongest place in Uncle Kim's heart in such a cold yet fiery way.

Chinese character input interface.

Our colleagues in China actually made sure to adapt this demonstration machine to Chinese character input.

Uncle Jin could almost imagine how those comrades-in-arms, whom he had never met, made improvements little by little under rudimentary conditions, not only enabling the machine to process English, but also stubbornly and proudly implanting the soul of their mother tongue into the computer.

His throat tightened.

Something was burning and surging in my eyes, almost bursting out.

Comrades in China are really great.

How clever!

We Chinese are truly the best!

Uncle Jin took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He slowly raised his left hand, paused on the keyboard for a few seconds, and then, as if drawn by some deep-seated calling, typed a few characters.

He was typing in pinyin.

Uncle Jin's lips curled up slightly.

It's true that our comrades in China are clever; they've come up with a method to type Chinese characters into machines, which is truly impressive. But Lao Jin isn't one to be trifled with either.

Old Jin learned pinyin very quickly.

That was in 1958. That year, the "Chinese Phonetic Alphabet Scheme" was officially promulgated and vigorously promoted throughout the country. When he saw that document through internal CIA channels, he only viewed it as ordinary intelligence.

But as he looked at it, he realized how amazing it was—it could cover the pronunciation of thousands of Chinese characters with just 26 Latin letters, making it simple, scientific, and easy to learn.

He spent several hours memorizing the pinyin rules.

I'm not thinking about anything else, I'm just thinking that maybe I'll need it someday.

Subsequent events proved him right. When abroad, in situations where it's necessary to record information in Chinese but writing Chinese characters is inconvenient, pinyin becomes the best alternative.

Uncle Jin even wrote several encrypted letters to his comrades in China using pinyin—using pinyin to spell out entire sentences and paragraphs, so that even if intercepted, people who couldn't understand Chinese would only see it as some kind of strange transliterated gibberish.

At this moment, he tapped each one with his left index finger:

s h e n . z a i . c a o . y i n g

Five Chinese characters appeared on the screen:

Being in Cao Cao's camp...

Uncle Jin's eyes felt slightly warm.

He continued knocking:

x i n . z a i . h a n

Five words again:

My heart is with Han...

He stared at those ten words, stunned for several seconds.

His body was in Cao Cao's camp, but his heart was with Han.

He's been here for twenty years. He wears their suits, drinks their coffee, and acts like a brother to them. But the connection in his heart has never been severed.

Uncle Jin blinked, suppressing the rising heat, and then pressed a few more keys:

g u . c h e n . n i e . z i . y i . x i n . r a n

Even a loyal minister and a wicked son are pleased...

Finally, a line of text appeared on the screen:

Though physically in Cao Cao's camp, his heart remained with Han; even a loyal minister and a wicked son were content.

These ten words are the truest reflection of his feelings at this moment. They are also the most concise summary of his more than twenty years of undercover work.

Yes, his body was in Cao Cao's camp, but his heart was with Han.

Even a loyal minister and a wicked son are pleased.

Because we have such intelligent comrades, so many steadfast and indomitable predecessors, and that land that is struggling yet resolutely marching towards prosperity—

He is not alone at all.

Not at all.

…………

—Alright, now that my mind is clear, it's time to get down to business.

Uncle Jin let out a soft breath, preparing to delete that line and continue writing the application materials.

But his fingers paused on the keyboard, hesitating for a second.

Just then...

A hand reached out.