In the winter of 1978, Chen Chen was reborn as an educated youth in Northeast China in the flames of a nuclear explosion laboratory. The five-pointed star iron plate on the chest turns into quantum space, swallowing the technological fire that spans the ages. When the militia captain's gun barrel pressed against the backpack he used to sell nylon socks, he was using a future warm baby to melt the frozen fingers of a forest girl; on the back of the food stamps traded on the black market, there was a nanocode to decipher the coordinates of enemy submarines. From the copycat Nintendo Famicom to the superconducting tokamak device, he fought for foreign exchange at the Canton Fair with his left hand, and poured the country's important equipment in Lop Nur with his right hand. Until the white-haired man stood in front of the special train for the Southern Tour, the core of the space in his palm reflected the quantum star map of 2035. It turns out that the life span lost in exchange for materials every late night has long been engraved into the gilded annual rings on the monument of reform.
