Chen Zhuo set down his teacup, his gaze falling on the few pages of paper.
"It’s written very clearly."
Alchemist looked at Chen Zhuo and said, enunciating each word.
"Everything regarding the three-dimensional transonic fluid model, the aerodynamic grid compensation algorithm, and any physics application context involving high-speed trains will be classified as a top state secret. For the next ten years, you cannot mention this technology or its related data in any public forum, or in any domestic or international academic journal."
Alchemist tapped the table, his voice somewhat heavy.
"Chen Zhuo, signing this means that for a long time to come, all the contributions you’ve made to this major project will be buried in an archive room. You won’t receive any flowers or public commendations. Even your parents won’t be able to know what you’ve done. Can you accept that?"
Chen Zhuo didn’t answer right away.
He picked up the documents on the table, opened to the first page, and began to read.
He read slowly, line by line, word by word.
The office was completely silent, save for the sound of rustling paper.
After about ten minutes, Chen Zhuo finished reading the last document.
He picked up the black pen from the table, uncapped it, and neatly signed his name on the last page of all three agreements.
After signing, he pulled over the red ink pad, pressed his thumb onto it, and then firmly stamped his thumbprint over his name.
Once he was done, Chen Zhuo took out a tissue, carefully wiped the red ink from his thumb, and then pushed the documents back to Alchemist.
"There’s nothing I can’t accept."
Chen Zhuo looked up at Alchemist, his tone calm.
"I was just doing my part for our country anyway. Some things don’t need to be shouted from the rooftops for the whole world to know."
Alchemist looked at the gentle young man before him, his admiration growing with every passing moment.
Alchemist separated one copy of the agreement and handed it to Chen Zhuo.
"Keep this copy for yourself. The other two will be sent to the Ministry for archiving shortly."
Chen Zhuo took it, folded it, and placed it in the inside pocket of his jacket.
Watching him put the agreement away, the serious expression on Alchemist’s face finally softened, replaced once again by a gentle smile.
He reached into the envelope again and, from the very bottom, pulled out a bank card.
It was a very ordinary bank savings card.
Alchemist placed the card on the coffee table and pushed it toward Chen Zhuo.
"The papers are signed. Now, let’s talk about something more substantial."
Alchemist looked at Chen Zhuo, his voice softening.
"The country never mistreats those who get things done. Simen Zi’s concession this time, both in terms of overt funds and covert strategic positioning, has saved the nation an enormous price."
Alchemist gestured toward the card.
"This is a special bonus approved by the Ministry. It’s not a laboratory stipend; it’s a personal reward issued directly to you. All taxes have already been paid by the Ministry through the proper channels."
Chen Zhuo’s gaze fell on the card.
Alchemist lowered his voice slightly and uttered a number.
"Two million."
Two million.
Forget about today in 2004; even adding his two lifetimes together, Chen Zhuo had never possessed two million.
This was an astronomical sum that an ordinary working-class family could never save in a lifetime, even if they didn’t eat or drink.
Chen Zhuo’s hand, which had been resting on his knee, trembled unconsciously.
He didn’t pretend to be unfazed, nor did he put on an air of otherworldly indifference.
He stared intently at the card, remaining silent for a full half-minute.
Chen Zhuo took a soft breath and then looked up at Alchemist.
The gentle smile on his face had vanished, replaced by a somewhat helpless, yet exceptionally genuine, wry smile.
"Sir, please don’t scare me..."
Chen Zhuo’s voice was a little tight. He frankly admitted his current loss of composure.
"My dad has worked in the workshops of the First Mechanical Factory for most of his life, his hands covered in grease that never washes off, just to earn a meager fixed salary each month. My mom has to haggle for two minutes just to buy a bunch of greens at the market."
Chen Zhuo looked at the flimsy plastic card and shook his head.
"The two of them might not earn this much even after a lifetime of hard work. To be honest, when you said that number just now, I think my heart skipped a beat."
Hearing Chen Zhuo’s incredibly down-to-earth words, not only did Alchemist not find the boy materialistic, but he actually felt a strange sense of relief.
’This is what a real person is like.’
If a thirteen-year-old boy could remain completely unfazed when faced with a sum of money large enough to change his destiny, Alchemist would have actually been frightened.
Chen Zhuo’s current reaction—the shock of an ordinary person, the empathy for his parents’ hardships—made the young man before him seem all the more real, and all the more trustworthy.
"What’s there to be afraid of?"
Alchemist chuckled and leaned back against the sofa, his tone carrying the indulgence of an elder.
"You earned this for the country fair and square, with your own intellect. Does this money burn your hands? Not in the slightest. Take it home and spend it with a clear conscience."
Alchemist watched him with great interest.
"Suddenly a millionaire. How do you plan to spend the money?"
Chen Zhuo reached out and picked up the card.
He gently rubbed its edge between his fingers, then solemnly tucked it into the pocket closest to his body, together with the non-disclosure agreement.
After putting it away, he even patted the outside of the pocket through his clothes a couple of times, like a farmer who has finally stored his grain in the cellar. The gesture conveyed a tangible sense of security, of having it safely in the bag.

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