Rejecting Tsinghua and Peking Universities: I Will Lead Harbin Institute of Technology to World Lead

For the past month, Lin Feng has hardly left the courtyard.

Zhao Weiguo brought his three meals from the cafeteria. He only slept four hours a day and spent the rest of his time immersed in the system simulation space.

The Vermilion Bird fighter jet, a concept that began at the Kunpeng base, has finally reached theoretical perfection after more than a year of refinement and tens of thousands of simulations.

Lin Feng walked to the center of the system simulation space.

A three-dimensional model of a fighter jet floats in the air—its streamlined fuselage resembles a cheetah poised to pounce, its twin vertical tails angled outwards in a V-shape, and its surface covered with a special dark gray coating that barely reflects light under illumination.

This is the Vermilion Bird.

Sixth-generation fighter jet.

The data panel expands to the side:

Maximum speed: Mach 8.2

Service ceiling: 35000 meters

[Stealth performance: Radar cross-section of 0.0001 square meters]

[Powertrain: Variable Cycle Adaptive Engine + Pulse Knock Boost]

Weapon Systems: Laser Close-In Weapon System, Electromagnetic Railgun, Smart Combat Missiles

[Avionics Systems: Artificial Intelligence-Assisted Decision Making, Multi-Aircraft Collaborative Combat Network]

Every single statistic surpasses that of the world's most advanced fighter jets by at least one generation.

Lin Feng looked at the fighter jet, his eyes showing no excitement, only a calm that came naturally.

He slowly exited the system simulation space.

Lin Feng took a deep breath, took out his phone, and dialed Tang Guohong's private number.

The phone rang five times before being answered. A sleepy voice came from the other end: "Xiao Feng? So early..."

"Principal," Lin Feng said, "I need to leave for a while."

Tang Guohong on the other end of the phone was silent for a few seconds, then he became fully awake.

"How long?" he asked simply.

"I'm not sure," Lin Feng replied simply. "It could take a few months, or it could take longer."

"Okay." Tang Guohong said only one word, "Good luck, Harbin Institute of Technology welcomes you back anytime."

"Thank you, Principal."

"Be careful." Tang Guohong paused. "Also... if you need any support, just let me know."

The call has ended.

Lin Feng returned to his study and opened the encrypted laptop he always carried with him. He retrieved all the files for the Vermilion Bird project, packaged them, encrypted them, and saved them to a specially made USB drive.

Then, he picked up the red secure phone.

"Mr. Chen, I am Lin Feng."

The call was answered almost instantly. Old Chen's voice was clear-headed, clearly he hadn't slept either: "Xiao Feng, so early, what's up?"

"Professor Chen, I have new research to share," Lin Feng said. "It needs to be reviewed by experts in the military industry."

I heard the sound of a chair being pushed back on the other end of the phone.

"New research?" Old Chen lowered his voice. "In the military field?"

"Yes," Lin Feng said calmly. "The theoretical verification has all passed. As long as the resources are in place, it will definitely be completed within two years."

Three seconds of silence.

Then, Old Chen's voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement: "Where are you now?"

Harbin Institute of Technology.

"Alright," Old Chen said, quickening his pace, "go directly to the Northwest Military Industry Research Institute. I'll contact Old Zheng—he's in charge of the military industry system and an expert in the field. Once you arrive, follow his instructions."

"clear."

"Did you bring all the documents?"

"That's all."

"Okay. Be careful on your journey."

Less than five minutes after hanging up the phone, Lin Feng received an encrypted text message on his phone. It was a phone number with the contact name: Mr. Zheng. Attached was a brief message: "Communication complete, contact directly."

Lin Feng dialed that number.

The phone rang twice before being answered. A frail but strong voice came through: "Comrade Lin Feng?"

"Hello, Mr. Zheng, I am Lin Feng."

"Old Chen just spoke to me," Old Zheng said, getting straight to the point. "You should leave now. I'll have my assistant wait for you at the institute entrance. Once you arrive, come directly to my office."

"Yes."

The call has ended.

Lin Feng packed his things—the same simple suitcase, a computer, and a USB drive containing all of Zhuque's data.

When they came out of the small building, Zhao Weiguo was already waiting by the car. Qingfeng and Hanren also came out of the annex building, quickly checked the vehicle, and confirmed the route.

"Mr. Lin," Zhao Weiguo opened the car door, "to the airport?"

"Hmm." Lin Feng got into the car. "Northwest."

As the car drove out of the Harbin Institute of Technology campus, the sky was just beginning to lighten with the first hint of dawn.

Lin Feng looked at the fleeting street scene outside the window, took out his personal phone, and sent a message to Shen Mo Ran:

[Senior, I'll be leaving for a while. I might be unable to contact you, so please don't worry. Take care of yourself, and wait for me to return.]

The message was sent, but no reply was received immediately—she should still be asleep at this time.

But he knew that when she woke up and saw it, she would understand.

An hour later, the plane took off from Harbin.

Outside the porthole, the sea of ​​clouds churned, and the sunlight pierced through the clouds, casting a golden glow.

Three hours later, the plane landed at a military airport in Northwest China.

The environment here is completely different from that of Harbin. It's dry, desolate, with endless Gobi Desert stretching as far as the eye can see, and rolling brown mountains in the distance. The wind blows, stirring up dust, and the air smells of earth.

A camouflage-painted SUV was already waiting by the runway. The driver, a young soldier, saw Lin Feng and his group, stood at attention, and saluted: "Mr. Lin, Mr. Zheng sent me to pick you up."

"Thanks."

The car sped along the Gobi Desert highway. The scenery outside the window was monotonous, with only endless sand and gravel and the occasional drought-resistant plant. After about an hour, a cluster of buildings appeared ahead—dusty gray buildings, tall factories, surrounded by high walls and barbed wire.

Northwest Military Industry Research Institute.

There were two sentry posts at the entrance, with armed guards standing solemnly. The driver showed his identification, which the sentry carefully checked before letting him through.

As soon as the car came to a stop, a middle-aged man in his forties, wearing a Zhongshan suit, quickly came to greet him.

"Mr. Lin?" He extended his hand. "I'm Mr. Zheng's assistant, my surname is Wang."

"Hello, Assistant Wang." Lin Feng shook hands with him.

"Mr. Zheng is waiting for you in his office. Please come with me."

Assistant Wang led them across a spacious square. Several retired fighter jets were parked there, their fuselages weathered but still showing glimpses of their former glory. In the distance were a huge wind tunnel laboratory, an airstrip, and a radar antenna array.

This is one of the cradles of China's military industry.

Mr. Zheng's office is in an inconspicuous three-story building. The corridor is old, and the paint on the walls is peeling, but it is very clean.

Assistant Wang stopped in front of a wooden door on the second floor and knocked gently.

"Come in," came Old Zheng's voice from inside.

The door opened.

The office was small and simply furnished. There was an old desk, two metal filing cabinets, and several black-and-white photos hanging on the wall—photos of Zheng Lao and his comrades when they were young…

Mr. Zheng sat behind his desk.

He was thinner than in the photos, with deep wrinkles on his face, but his eyes were as sharp as an eagle's. Upon seeing Lin Feng, he stood up, and without exchanging pleasantries, extended his hand directly: "Comrade Lin Feng, you must be tired from your journey."

"Hello, Mr. Zheng." Lin Feng shook hands with him.

"Sit down." Old Zheng gestured to the chair opposite him. "Assistant Wang, please pour two cups of tea, and then stand guard outside the door. No one is allowed to disturb us."

"Yes."

The door closed, leaving only the two people in the office.

Old Zheng didn't beat around the bush, looking directly at Lin Feng: "Old Chen said on the phone that you have new research that requires the full cooperation of our military industry department."

"Yes." Lin Feng nodded.

"Research content?"

"A sixth-generation fighter jet," Lin Feng said calmly. "Code name: Vermilion Bird."

Old Zheng's eyelids twitched slightly, and his eyes stared intently at Lin Feng.