Freak-level genius

Chapter One: A Hidden Treasure Found

In the winter of 1990, in the town of Sanjiang, the dawn was barely beginning to stir—though to call it "dawn" might be a stretch, for it was only four o’clock in the morning. At this hour, during this season, while most lay curled in the warmth of their beds, Feng Xiaotian had already risen to begin his day.

An orphan since the age of six, Feng Xiaotian had lost his parents in a tragic car accident. From then on, he was raised by his grandmother—a gentle and kind woman who cherished her grandson more than anything. To support them, she would rise early each morning to scavenge for recyclables. But fate was cruel: five years ago, illness took her too, leaving Feng Xiaotian completely alone in the world.

He was not without relatives, yet those kin were cold and indifferent. Not a single one came to pay their respects when his grandmother passed. In their apathy, they had severed the last thread of familial warmth.

From a very young age, Feng Xiaotian had learned the art of self-reliance. While other children basked in innocence, he had been thrust prematurely into the gray, unforgiving world of adulthood. Overnight, his world lost all color—becoming a landscape painted in sorrow and ash.

Whoosh—

As he pulled himself out from beneath the threadbare quilt, the chill of the morning instantly devoured the last remnants of warmth. Dressed in patched, worn-out thermal underwear—one of only two sets he owned—he moved quickly. Though oversized and clearly handed down from his late father, these clothes were among his most treasured possessions.

He threw on a faded, army-green coat. Though frayed at the seams, its thick lining of fur offered a measure of comfort against the biting cold. As he zipped it up, a visible sigh escaped his lips—a brief, fleeting relief.

Having washed his face with icy water that stung like a thousand needles, he picked up a snakeskin sack and stepped out into the pre-dawn darkness, ready once again to earn his survival by collecting junk.

At fourteen, Feng Xiaotian was no stranger to this life. Scavenging had become second nature to him. Come wind or rain, he never missed a day. He could not afford to—missing even one might mean going hungry.

He slipped on a pair of soot-stained cotton gloves and, after locking the door behind him, strode purposefully into the dark street.

Outside, the world was wrapped in a heavy black cloak. In these years, streetlights were a rare luxury and seldom stayed on through the night. Electricity was rationed even for households—how could one expect the streets to be lit?

Navigating by touch and instinct, he soon arrived at the first heap of trash. Squatting low, he began to rummage. The darkness made it hard to see, but years of practice had honed his sense of touch. He could tell by feel alone which items held value and which could be kept for his own use. Within minutes, the pile was thoroughly searched. His harvest: two empty wine bottles. Not a promising start.

Undeterred, he pressed on. At each trash heap, he repeated the same ritual. As the hours wore on, his sack grew heavier, bulging with salvaged goods. By six-thirty, it could hold no more.

Satisfied, Feng Xiaotian hefted the full sack onto his back and made his way toward the familiar silhouette of the recycling depot nestled below a ridge near the vegetable market. This was his usual spot for selling scrap.

As he approached the gate, the depot’s owner—a wiry man brushing his teeth beneath the eaves—glanced up.

Pushing the gate open, Feng Xiaotian greeted him with a grin. “Uncle Li, even on a freezing day like this, you’re up bright and early!”

Uncle Li, a man well past sixty, had tousled hair like a bird’s nest and a scruffy beard. Most simply called him Old Li; few knew his real name.

Old Li chuckled after rinsing his mouth. “Early? Compared to you, I’m practically sleeping in! Hold on, Xiaotian—I’ll wash my face and be right out.”

While he stepped inside, Feng Xiaotian emptied the contents of his sack onto the ground and began sorting everything into neat piles. When Old Li returned, he smiled and said, “Uncle Li, could you weigh these for me?”

Nodding, Old Li produced a scale. Binding the newspapers and cardboard first, he weighed them and did some quick mental math. “Five jin and four liang of paper. At five cents per jin, that’s twenty-five cents, plus two more for the extra liang—twenty-seven cents in total.”

Next came a battered old pot. “Two and a half jin. At thirty cents per jin, that’s seventy-five cents,” he muttered while tallying. “Now for the plastic...”

His hands moved deftly, measuring and sorting. Within three minutes, the count was done.

“All in all, a pretty decent haul today,” he said with a grin. “That comes to one yuan and sixty-three cents. Here you go.”

Feng Xiaotian took the coins, carefully tucking them into his pocket before flashing a grateful smile. “Thank you, Uncle Li. I’ll be on my way now.”

He turned to leave, but as he passed a pile of recently acquired junk in the courtyard, his eyes were caught by a peculiar iron box. He paused, lowering his head to examine it more closely, his black eyes fixed intently on it.

Old Li noticed and chuckled. “That one? Picked it up yesterday from the university town. Some security guard sold it to me. Said it was... what was it now... some kind of outdated school equipment? I didn’t quite get it.”

Feng Xiaotian spoke quickly, excitement creeping into his voice. “Uncle Li, how much did you pay for this? Could you… sell it to me?”

He could hardly contain his exhilaration. He knew exactly what that object was. He had seen it only in books—never in real life.

Old Li blinked in confusion. “You want that? It’s basically scrap metal to me. Paid about two yuan and a bit—two-one, I think. Why? You really want it?”

Feng Xiaotian nodded, struggling to keep his voice even. “Yes, Uncle Li. May I buy it from you?”

Sensing the boy’s eagerness, Old Li squinted at the box, then back at Feng Xiaotian. “Tell you what—dragging that thing back from the university town was no joke. Over twenty li, you know. I’ll let you have it for two and a half, to cover the trouble. How’s that?”

Feigning hesitation, Feng Xiaotian eventually pulled the coins from his pocket, counted out the exact amount, and handed it over. “Here you go, Uncle Li. Please count it.”

Old Li beamed. “No need—have you ever shortchanged me?”

He was delighted with the deal. Buying low and selling high was the name of the game, and the iron box had been lumped in with other scrap anyway. Selling it for a profit of forty cents was a tidy little gain.

Still grinning, Old Li added, “Say, Xiaotian, there were two other pieces that came with that box. Want to have a look?”

Feng Xiaotian’s eyes lit up, though he kept his expression neutral. “Oh? There’s more? May I see?”

Ever the shrewd seller, Old Li was eager to keep the momentum going. “They’re in the house. Come on in—I’ll show you.”

As he stepped inside, Feng Xiaotian’s heart was already racing. He had a hunch about what the other items were. When Old Li pointed them out, his breath caught.

There they were: a monitor and a keyboard. The iron box outside? The computer’s main unit.

In this era, computers were almost mythical in China—few had even heard of them, let alone seen one. But Feng Xiaotian knew what he was looking at. He had once stumbled across a book titled Computer Programming and Languages. Ever since then, the mystery and magic of computers had consumed him.

He read that book each night, marveling at the idea that humans could command machines to think and act through code. How? Why? What power lay within those lines of logic?

Now, here stood the very object of his fascination. For Feng Xiaotian, this wasn’t merely junk. It was a door—perhaps the very key to transforming imagination into reality.

Chapter Two: A Brand-New Computer

Old Li noticed Feng Xiaotian staring blankly at the computer monitor, lost in thought. He gave the young man a friendly pat on the shoulder and asked, “Xiaotian, what’s on your mind?”

Startled from his reverie, Feng Xiaotian gave a soft “Oh,” then tried to cover up his slip. “These two things strike me as a bit odd. Uncle Li, do you know what they’re used for?”

Old Li chuckled heartily. “I’m just a scrap collector—how could I possibly know what these gadgets are? What do you think? Want them?”

Feng Xiaotian’s eyes flickered with calculation. “Well… how much are you asking for them?”

Old Li glanced at Xiaotian, then at the monitor and keyboard. He hesitated for a moment before saying, “For the pair… fifteen yuan. How does that sound?”

At that, Feng Xiaotian’s thoughts began to whirl. Judging from Old Li’s demeanor, he probably hadn’t paid a cent for them. The keyboard was plastic—how much co