Reborn in 1977, I will no longer be my brother's blood bag.

The next morning, at the Beijing Mechanical Systems Training Center.

Zhou Zhiyuan changed into his work clothes and picked up the file bag on the table.

Last night, a colleague asked him to deliver some documents at Tsinghua University.

"Old Zhou, it's on my way, could you do me a favor?"

And so he came.

The early morning in Beijing carried the scent of autumn. As the bus headed west, the scenery outside the window kept receding.

Zhou Zhiyuan leaned back in his seat, his gaze calm.

But only he knew that his heart was beating faster than usual.

He stood at the school gate, momentarily lost in thought.

In his past life, he had visited Tsinghua University many times.

Sometimes it's a meeting, sometimes it's a survey.

But each time, I just passed by.

In this life, for the first time, he felt that this place was very close to him.

Soon, the bus stopped. The words "Tsinghua University" came into view.

Zhou Zhiyuan got out of the car and looked up.

The school gate was solemn and dignified, with students coming and going, some carrying books and others riding bicycles. The air was filled with youth and vitality, completely different from the machine factory.

He stood there for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled and stepped inside.

On the other side, the automation building.

The first discussion of the competition plan was underway in the conference room.

Professor Chen sat at the front, while Li Mingyuan and Zhao Guodong each carried their own documents; the atmosphere was somewhat tense.

Because the competition for the position has begun, everyone wants to win.

"Lin Xiuhe," Professor Chen suddenly spoke, "come out with me for a moment."

Everyone in the conference room looked up at the same time.

Lin Xiuhe was slightly taken aback, but still stood up and followed Professor Chen away.

The corridor was quiet. As the old man walked along, he asked, "What stage has the plan reached?"

"The framework has been set."

"What's the core idea?"

"Still in the simulation."

Professor Chen nodded and didn't press further. He knew that truly valuable things often weren't yet fully formed.

Just as the two were heading towards the stairs, on the other side, in the lobby on the first floor, Zhou Zhiyuan had just entered the automation building.

The lobby was somewhat empty, with various notices posted on the walls and students coming and going. He glanced down at the office number on the document and prepared to go upstairs.

Just then, footsteps sounded on the stairs. A figure walked past the corner—white shirt, ponytail, carrying documents, walking quickly.

Zhou Zhiyuan suddenly stopped walking, and his breathing slowed down.

His back view was so familiar, so familiar that even if they were separated by two lifetimes, he would not mistake it.

In that instant, all the surrounding sounds seemed to disappear.

He stood there, staring blankly in the direction of the stairs.

But the next second, the figure had already disappeared around the corner.

The air began to flow again.

People walked by, others discussed the course, and the hall remained lively, as if nothing had happened.

Zhou Zhiyuan slowly withdrew his gaze, and after a long while, he lowered his head and smiled: "It really is her."

On the other side, on the stairs, Lin Xiuhe inexplicably stopped.

For some reason, her heart skipped a beat just now, as if someone familiar had appeared.

She instinctively turned around, but the staircase was empty; there was nothing there.

"What's wrong?" Professor Chen asked.

"It's nothing." Lin Xiuhe shook her head, suppressing the strange feeling, and continued walking forward.

The documents were delivered a few minutes later.

As Zhou Zhiyuan came out of his office and was about to leave, he saw a group of students gathered at the end of the corridor, and he could vaguely hear them discussing something.

"It's her."

"I heard that Professor Chen values ​​it highly."

"People from the research institute have come."

"Lin Xiuhe from the Automation Department?"

"right."

Zhou Zhiyuan stopped in his tracks and looked toward the crowd.

I didn't approach or inquire; I just stood there quietly, listening to the discussions, and suddenly I had an indescribable feeling.

In her past life, no one knew what Lin Xiuhe had experienced.

Everyone only saw her after she succeeded, standing under the spotlight. But in this life, he watched her walk this path step by step.

After a long while, Zhou Zhiyuan turned and left.

He didn't go to see her because he suddenly realized that some reunions shouldn't be rushed.

Outside the campus, the autumn wind blows, and ginkgo leaves slowly fall.

Zhou Zhiyuan walked out of the school gate, put his hands in his pockets, and prepared to return to the training center.

But as I passed the notice board, my gaze suddenly stopped.

There was a list of competition groups posted there, and the name at the very top was particularly eye-catching—

Lin Xiuhe.

Zhou Zhiyuan looked at it for a long time, then smiled softly, his eyes filled with pride and satisfaction.

Because in this life, she finally stood where she belonged.

Meanwhile, in the conference room of the Automation Building, Professor Chen suddenly took out a new document and placed it on the table:

"The project officially launches today."

Everyone lowered their heads simultaneously. The cover of the document bore two words: "Enlightenment."

Li Mingyuan subconsciously read it aloud: "Qiming?"

Zhao Guodong also looked up, clearly pondering the meaning of the name.

Professor Chen looked at everyone and slowly said, "The morning star, the brightest star before dawn."

The meeting room fell silent.

The old man's gaze swept over the young people in front of him, and his voice, though not loud, was exceptionally powerful: "I hope that one day, we can light it up ourselves."

Outside the window, the setting sun is slowly sinking.

No one knew that many years later, the name "Enlightenment" would appear in the institute's archives, in the memories of countless people, and become a testament to the beginning of an era.