Reborn in 2005, starting with repairing mobile phones

Lin Dong leaned back in his seat, watching the palm tree shadows rushing past the window.

Anderson had been rambling on for twenty minutes, from how Jobs started his business in a garage when he was young to the terrible Italian food he had in San Francisco yesterday.

"—That's why I said that sauce definitely wasn't freshly made, Lin. Trust me, I spent three months in Sicily—"

Lin Dong didn't respond.

He was thinking about that speech.

2005 7 Month 11 Day.

This was Steve Jobs' first public appearance since his recovery.

"—Lin? Lin!"

Lin Dong came to his senses.

Anderson looked at him in the rearview mirror, his expression a little aggrieved: "I've been talking for ten minutes, and you haven't heard a single word."

"I heard it."

"What did I just say?"

"The sauce in Sicily isn't freshly made."

Anderson choked for a moment, then burst into laughter: "Fine, you win."

He turned the steering wheel, and the car exited the highway and entered a tree-lined road on both sides.

We're almost at Palo Alto.

He said, "The hotel is near Stanford, within walking distance of the campus."

He paused, then his face showed that familiar, hesitant expression that Lin Dong already knew.

"Lin, you know—"

"The speech is on the 11th."

Anderson, caught off guard, paused for a moment: "How did you know?"

Lin Dong did not answer.

You waved those two tickets at the airport and shouted at me at least three times.

But he merely turned his head and glanced at Anderson.

That look meant: You forgot?

Anderson blinked, and two seconds later he realized what was happening.

"Okay, number 11."

Anderson shrugged. "But the campus has been quite lively these past few days."

Stanford holds a "Summer Technology Week" every year around this time, which serves as a warm-up for the lectures—forums, workshops, and small-scale showcases of research findings.

Many startups and labs will take this opportunity to poach talent.

He glanced at Lin Dong in the rearview mirror.

"Aren't you short-staffed?"

Lin Dong turned his gaze away from the window.

How did you know?

"Just a guess," Anderson said matter-of-factly. "No tech company is immune to talent shortages. Since we're already here, we might as well grab a few."

He glanced at Lin Dong in the rearview mirror.

"This is the best place in the world to gather talent."

"Anyway, the lecture is on the 11th, and I'm free these few days anyway. There's a networking reception tonight; my friend is a visiting professor at Stanford's School of Engineering, and I have an invitation."

He looked at the road ahead.

"Are you going or not?"

Lin Dong did not answer immediately.

The car drove into Palo Alto's main street as dusk was falling.

The cafes, bookstores, and small galleries on both sides of the street lit up with warm yellow lights, and a few students with backpacks rode past on bicycles, their laughter echoing along the way.

Lin Dong watched those figures as they walked away.

2005 October.

The heart of Silicon Valley.

In the Stanford lab right now sit the people who will define this industry over the next ten or twenty years.

What he wanted was simply to pick out a few people from this group who were willing to go back to Shenzhen with him.

"Go," he said.

Anderson booked a small boutique hotel called "Garden Courtyard," which is less than a ten-minute walk from the Stanford campus.

After checking in, Lin Dong stood by the window of his room.

Outside the window is a quiet courtyard in the center of the hotel, where a few olive trees cast faint shadows in the twilight.

My phone vibrated.

News about Chen Wei'an:

[Arrived safely at the store. Registration information is being prepared and will be sent to Uncle Cai tomorrow morning.]

Do I need to arrange local transportation for tomorrow?

After reading it, Lin Dong replied with a single word:

【it is good. 】

He paused, then typed another line:

I'm at Stanford these next couple of days. Please contact me if needed.

send.

He put away his phone and turned around.

Anderson leaned against the doorframe, waving two dark blue invitations in his hand.

"At 7:30 p.m., the Engineering College's 'Innovators' Cocktail Party'."

He waved the invitation, "There's food and drink to be had, and the room is full of investors, professors, and young geniuses waiting to be scouted."

He paused, then lowered his voice.

"I've heard that several labs have had some really impressive results this year. Some are in structural design, some in radio frequency, and a few master's students working on embedded systems have had their papers accepted by IEEE, but haven't signed letters of intent yet."

He looked at Lin Dong.

Which ones are you missing?

Lin Dong accepted the invitation and looked down at the gold-embossed Stanford University emblem on it.

"They're all in short supply."

Which ones are you missing?

Lin Dong accepted the invitation and looked down at the gold-embossed Stanford University emblem on it.

"They're all in short supply."

Anderson whistled and stuffed another invitation into his suit pocket: "Alright, I'll help you look around tonight, and if I see anyone I like and who's capable, I'll bring them over for a chat."

At 7:10, the two walked out of the hotel.

The evening in Palo Alto was quiet, with the shadows of olive trees casting long, slanting patterns on the sidewalk.

Anderson was wearing a brand-new dark blue casual suit, his shoes were polished to a shine, and he was adjusting his cuffs as he walked.

Lin Dong was wearing the same outfit he had worn when he arrived from the airport that afternoon—a gray casual jacket over a black crew-neck T-shirt.

He didn't bring a suit when he went out.

Anderson glanced at him, then hesitated, as if he wanted to say something but didn't.

"Say whatever you want to say."

"No, no," Anderson immediately waved his hand. "It's great, simple, and has a Silicon Valley vibe."

Lin Dong ignored him.

The two walked along Palm Avenue toward the campus. As dusk deepened, the streetlights came on one by one, young people lined up outside cafes waiting for tables, and groups of students on bicycles sped by.

Anderson's gaze followed one of the blonde girls in a denim miniskirt until she turned into a side street.

"Lin," he lowered his voice, "what do you think of American girls?"

"I haven't thought about it."

"Then think about it now."

Lin Dong didn't respond.

Anderson waited a few seconds, then couldn't help but laugh: "Okay, you're a workaholic, I got it."

He paused, then added, "But you should be mentally prepared. Tonight, in an event like this, the proportion of female engineering students at Stanford is..."

He paused, his tone becoming cautious.

"...about 15% to 20%."

Lin Dong glanced at him.

"Have you done any research?"

"No need for investigation," Anderson said gravely. "It's pain etched into our DNA."

Lin Dong didn't respond.

Anderson waited two seconds, then chuckled to himself: "Okay, this joke might be a bit old."

At the end of Palm Avenue, the arches of Stanford Memorial Church glowed with warm yellow lights in the twilight.

After passing the church, you'll see the engineering school buildings ahead.

The reception was held in the atrium of the Engineering Institute.

Before I even entered, the sounds of people were already filling the air.

Lin Dong paused at the door.

At least two or three hundred people stood in the double-height glass atrium, their figures swaying under the warm lights as they held champagne glasses.

Young students gathered in small groups, nervously clutching their resumes; middle-aged men in suits strolled among them.

In the corner, a grand piano was playing jazz; the sound was almost drowned out by the crowd.

Anderson peeked out from behind him and sniffed with satisfaction: "This smells just right."

"What does it taste like?"

"The smell of money, the smell of talent."

Anderson squinted. "And there's the smell of free champagne."