Chapter 16

The next day, the teacher brought a few more sheets of paper.

Somewhat embarrassed, he admitted that these were once again questions raised by the student named Chen Yi.

But he could not answer them.

I lowered my eyes to the last few questions on the paper.

I already had the answers in my mind.

To inspire thought, I spread some stories through the school.

Stories written in the plainest language, in the form of fables and legends.

I wrote the Flying Shuttle Loom into the legend of the Weaver Girl.

Described the steam engine as the tears of the Sun God.

Told of Hybrid Rice as the technique of Shennong.

And many, many more.

In fact, there were some things I did not fully understand myself, but all I needed was to point out a general shape and direction.

Because what I needed to do was simply to provide a starting point.

When ideology and productivity do not yet match the Industrial Revolution, I would not forcefully place the finished product before them.

But when they become conscious of the need to create these things, perhaps these seeds will help them avoid some detours.

And the last few lines on this paper were all questions about improvements to the loom and issues related to iron smelting.

These were not empty speculations, but practical questions that had already arisen.

It was obvious that this Chen Yi had already begun to put things into practice.

I calculated carefully.

It had only been four months since the courses began, and just three months since the stories started to spread.

To be able to draw inspiration so keenly from the stories.

To immediately apply the principles taught in class.

And to have the ability to start making improvements, to be able to experiment and learn from failures.

Who exactly was this Chen Yi?

My fingertips felt a little cold as I held the paper.

I showed nothing on my face, and still picked up my brush to write answers for the teacher to deliver.

Early the next morning, I went to the school.

After class, I walked toward the tea house where the teacher rested, and sure enough, Chen Yi was there.

Many years later, when I recalled the scene from today, it had already become somewhat blurred.

But Pei Yi standing beneath the peach blossom tree, petals covering his shoulders, the youthful spirit in his bearing-that image remained vivid.

Only, at that time, I did not yet know his name.