Chen Mo, who died suddenly in the quantum computer laboratory, opened his eyes and fell into the rural earthen kang in 1985 - the smell of coal smoke was wrapped in the chirping of cicadas, and the Kyoto Institute of Technology notice in his hand was still stained with the residue of corn flour steamed buns.
The unexpectedly awakened computational brain is the only trump card he holds tightly: repairing radios is ten times faster than the old electricians in the commune, and the calculator built from scrapped parts makes the supply and marketing society throw away the abacus that it has been planning for ten years; in the cold night, he repairs agricultural machinery to save the frozen wheat fields, and he uses soldering wire to burn technological sparks on the frozen soil.
When the oscilloscope of the county competition jumped out with a perfect waveform, and when the admission notice in the pocket of Deliang's shirt was hot, Chen Mo looked at the telegraph pole in the distance and smiled: This time, China in the 1980s no longer had to wait for other people's chips. He wants to use his brain to calculate the circuit parameters and use a soldering iron to open up technical barriers - from rural courtyards to Zhongguancun in Kyoto, welding into our technological era!
