Reborn in 2005, starting with repairing mobile phones

The next day, at nine o'clock in the morning.

Temporary office in the International Science and Technology Building, Futian District, Shenzhen.

Compared to the unfinished floor upstairs that is still under renovation, this office is fully equipped.

The space of about fifty square meters was simply divided into an office area and a meeting area.

The walls were painted with the most common off-white paint, there were a few second-hand desks and chairs, an old-fashioned water dispenser that hummed, and the smell of cleaning agents left over from last night's cleaning still lingered in the air.

People gradually arrived.

Zhang Mingyuan sat near the door, wearing the new shirt that Lin Dong had asked Uncle Cai to buy for him, the collar of which still felt a little tight.

A thick, frayed circuit notebook lay open in front of him, his fingers unconsciously stroking the pages. His eyes held both tension and a sense of having found his place.

Zhou Chengyu sat opposite him.

There was no paper or pen in front of him, only an old IBM laptop that he had brought himself, with its screen lit up and filled with densely packed algorithm code windows.

His gaze was focused, as if everything around him had been shielded, and his fingers moved slightly across the touchpad, performing silent calculations.

Su Xiaowen arrived the latest.

Today she changed into a more streamlined outfit of a black turtleneck sweater and khaki pants, and her long hair was tied into a neat low ponytail.

She went straight to the window and sat down in the best-lit spot.

He took a heavy leather binder out of his backpack, opened it, and inside were neatly bound various design sketches, material color swatches, and several mind maps about team structure that were clearly newly printed.

After she sat down, she calmly glanced at everyone present, nodded slightly, and that was her way of greeting them.

Uncle Cai and Ah Hao stood in a corner of the conference hall, one holding a thermos cup and the other standing with his hands behind his back, like two silent guardians.

There was a subtle quiet in the air, a quiet that was a mixture of unfamiliarity and anticipation.

Without exchanging pleasantries, everyone was preparing for the upcoming meeting in their own way.

At 9:05, the meeting room door was pushed open.

Lin Dong walked in, his gaze sweeping over every face in the conference room, without saying a word.

He walked straight to the window and opened it.

Outside the window, Futian CBD in 2005 was still a huge construction site with towering cranes, far from the magnificent glass forest it would become twenty years later.

He took out a cigarette, lit it, and took a deep drag. The smoke slowly rose and swirled in the morning light.

He stood there, took almost three puffs of his cigarette, and then slowly spoke to the window, his voice hoarse as if it had been smoked:

Last night... I had a very long dream.

The cigarette ash trembled between his fingers.

Sitting near the door, Zhang Mingyuan subconsciously gripped the frayed edge of his notebook, as if the rough texture made him feel more at ease.

"In my dream, it was as if I lived my life again. When I was eight years old, I had a serious illness and almost didn't make it. My family sold everything they owned, borrowed from all our relatives, and went into debt, but they managed to snatch me back from the jaws of death."

He paused for a moment, as if recalling a painful detail, "At that time, I thought, I have to live up to expectations, I have to study hard, so that my parents can hold their heads high."

Uncle Cai's hand, which was holding the thermos, froze in mid-air. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped down a large mouthful of tea that had long since gone cold.

"Later, I got accepted. The admission letter from Shenzhen University was red and was sent home."

He flicked his cigarette ash very lightly, as if afraid of disturbing something. "But the piece of paper in my dream, before I could even warm it in my hands, the creditors came knocking."

He just sat in your living room, not saying a word, smoking one cigarette after another. The whole house reeked of smoke, and my dad couldn't even lift his head.

Zhou Chengyu raised his eyes, his gaze behind his glasses filled with doubt. He had an intellectual's instinctive skepticism towards "narratives of suffering," but Lin Dong's calm tone contained no sob story, only a statement.

"Later... in my dream, I tore that notice up with my own hands. I tore it to shreds."

His voice was calm, so calm it sent a chill down your spine. "Then I came to Shenzhen with a few hundred yuan in my pocket. I slept under bridges, washed dishes in restaurants, carried bricks on construction sites, and finally... settled down in Huaqiangbei."

Ah-hao stood in the shadows by the door, his back still straight as a spear, but the line of his jaw tightened imperceptibly for a moment.

"I repair Nokia and Motorola phones the most. I can draw their circuits with my eyes closed." Lin Dong paused, "But every time someone points to a domestic phone and asks, 'Can this thing be repaired?' I open my mouth and can't say a word for a long time."

Su Xiaowen's fingertips unconsciously traced the edges of the design sketch.

She recalled her former company director's words, "Your design is too advanced; it can't be done in China," and her heart felt like it had been pricked by a fine needle.

Halfway through the cigarette, Lin Dong turned around, leaning against the windowsill, facing the crowd.

Sunlight streamed in from behind him, gilding his features with a fuzzy golden edge, but his expression remained hidden in shadow, indistinct from view.

"Later in my dreams, my skills improved so much that I could handle all sorts of difficult problems. One customer, after fixing his phone, patted me on the shoulder and said, 'Master Lin, with your skills, you'd be an engineer overseas by now.'"

He forced a smile and thanked him, but a voice inside him was asking himself a question.

"On what grounds?"

Why should we be born to make other people's things more perfect?

"Why is it that we can understand the most complex circuits, yet we're forever stuck imitating the simplest reference designs?"

Why should we have to wait for others to agree before we can even say "this is better"?

Zhang Mingyuan's breathing became heavy, and his eyes turned bloodshot.

He recalled the factory's design drawings that were always "referencing" the official version.

Zhou Chengyu pushed up his glasses, remembering the paper that had been attributed to someone else.

Lin Dong's words were like a key, unlocking the dissatisfaction that was locked in a corner of his heart.

Su Xiaowen stopped swiping her fingers.

She looked at Lin Dong in the backlight, at this young man who had shattered all her pride with a single picture, yet now he exuded a heavy weariness and...unwillingness that was incongruous with his age.

A subtle pang of heartache crept into my heart.

Lin Dong stubbed out his cigarette on the cap of a mineral water bottle on the windowsill, walked back to the table, and braced himself against the edge of the table with both hands.

This action brought him out of the shadows, and every emotion on his face was clearly visible.

"That dream was so long that when I woke up, I felt like I'd be carrying a suffocating weight for the rest of my life."

"So I've invited you all here today."

He raised his head, his gaze both cold and burning like hot iron:

"It's not about recounting that dream again."

"It's for..."

He paused for a moment, as if gathering his last bit of strength.

Then, he walked to the whiteboard, picked up a pen, turned his back to everyone, and faced the blank space.

When he turned around again, the personal, smoky weariness he had felt earlier was gone, replaced by an unprecedented confidence.