Chapter 151: Development Route

The recent rewards had enlightened Zhang Wenhao about the system’s criteria for recognizing achievements. Regarding the use of the top-tier medical skill package, only when saving a life would the system grant a substantial reward—often reaching triple digits. However, for other ailments, the rewards seemed stingily meager.

Yet, the advantage lay in the large base number: over five hundred arthritis patients brought him more than six thousand points in total. This made Zhang optimistic about the prospects of accumulating points moving forward.

Although the industrial manufacturing skill package was currently of little use to him, Zhang firmly believed in the principle that technology is the primary productive force. These skills would inevitably prove invaluable in the future. But to fully harness this skill package, he needed to create the right objective conditions.

What constituted sufficient objective conditions? To Zhang, it boiled down to one word: money.

But not just a few hundred thousand or millions—the capital would have to be in the billions if he wanted to break into manufacturing. With such capital, he could create the essential conditions for success. If he had a complete automobile production line now, Zhang was confident that, given a few months, he could produce the world’s finest cars. If he could obtain the national production line for the Harmony trains, he could completely replace France’s Alstom, Japan’s Kawasaki Heavy Industries, Germany’s Siemens, and Canada’s Bombardier, becoming the king of high-speed rail.

If he had an airliner production line—not necessarily top-notch—just taking over China’s COMAC production line, with time, he could rival Boeing and Airbus, the giants of civil aviation.

If he had a fighter jet production line, the dominance of the American F-22 and F-35 might become a thing of the past.

If only...

At this moment, Zhang Wenhao was ecstatic. He knew that countless “ifs” awaited him—“ifs” only because he lacked the ability to turn them into reality.

His ambitions had undergone a profound transformation because of this skill package.

He needed money. A great deal of money! Industrial manufacturing was an immense industry. Without enough capital, everything was nonsense. Without money, he couldn’t even produce an advanced car wheel in the end. But how could he earn more money?

Zhang Wenhao set his sights on his remaining points. He had 7,700 points available, enough to exchange for many individual skills. The super learning system offered countless options, but which skill would truly make him rich?

After much contemplation, Zhang looked at his old Nokia phone and inspiration struck.

Electronics!

Undoubtedly! Although small in size, electronics was an immensely profitable industry. Unlike other physical manufacturing sectors, this field divided into hardware and software. Hardware required actual production lines—LCD screens, processors, flash memory, and so forth—but software did not.

Nokia, once at its peak, had now declined to obscurity. Was it due to inferior hardware? Not really. The biggest reason it lost out to Apple and Android phones wasn’t hardware but software.

Nokia once ruled the smartphone market with its Symbian system, but stubbornly clung to it. The emergence of Apple’s iOS and Google’s Android systems swiftly annihilated Symbian. When Nokia tried to pivot to the Windows Phone system, even software giant Microsoft was far behind the other two in smartphone OS development.

Zhang could exchange for the full software development skill, but creating an operating system required more than knowledge—it demanded a vast team and countless hours of coding. Relying on himself alone, he would never finish. An operating system was the aircraft carrier of software; not every shipbuilder could make one.

But this was no problem. In today’s world, trying to achieve success overnight was nearly impossible, but steady progress could eventually yield a giant company worth hundreds of billions, like Apple. Mobile software today was diverse, but popular apps generated enormous profits. Take, for example, the game “Temple Run,” downloaded over 40 million times on iOS and tens of millions on Android. Millions played daily. Though it appeared free, other paid versions and in-game item shops generated revenue, but the largest income stemmed from its massive user base and advertising.

Zhang felt a twinge of excitement. If he could develop a game like “Temple Run,” earning a hundred million yuan annually would be easy. With sufficient funds, he could assemble a development team to create advanced software, or even an operating system, vastly expanding his income potential.

He quickly checked the software development skill—it required 2,000 points, not too expensive. Yet the system noted that acquiring this skill meant mastering advanced software development techniques but did not guarantee a successful product.

Zhang understood this well. Using “Temple Run” as an example, it was developed by a small team and was technically simple. Many large teams had created more complex games, but many technically sophisticated games failed to captivate consumers.

Years ago, Shanda’s “Legend of Mir” was a third-tier game technically and graphically, yet its playability made it one of China’s most classic and popular online games, propelling Chen Tianqiao to become China’s richest man and building a large corporation.

For Zhang, software development skills alone wouldn’t suffice for success.

Soon after, Zhang found a skill that thrilled him: the Super Software Package.

This package contained all software source codes from the inception of computers, smartphones, tablets, and beyond, including operating systems, software, and games—extending well into the future. With it, Zhang could simply recombine the source codes in reality to develop an indos10 system as classic as Windows XP twenty years hence.

He was tempted. With this package plus the software development skill, he could build a software empire surpassing Microsoft, Apple, Google—surpassing all the best of the best.

Yet, when he saw the price—60,000 points—he deflated like a punctured balloon.

Damn! A single software package cost 60,000 points! Clearly, in the internet industry, technology was not valuable; the product was king.

No wonder Zhou Hongyi amassed hundreds of millions of users with 360 Computer Guard; no wonder Ma Huafeng dominated the internet for over a decade by copying QQ, building the Tencent empire from that single product. Likewise, Baidu’s CEO Robin Li became the richest man in China by emulating Google. Their success came not from superior technology but from vision, positioning, and understanding of internet products. Whether original or copied, these people succeeded—immensely so!

In Zhang’s mind, the internet industry’s weight was far lighter compared to manufacturing. He hoped one day to become a manufacturing titan, indifferent to how much money he made, at least to restore pride for his nation. From the Qing dynasty’s isolation to now, China’s industrial level had long been the greatest obstacle to development.

Why could the Eight-Nation Alliance sail their warships to China’s doorstep? How could the Japanese emerge from a tiny island to invade much of China? Why did China’s economic growth hinge on producing OEM goods for others, becoming the world’s factory?

Why did few citizens buy domestic cars priced above 150,000 yuan? Why did Japanese, German, American, Swiss, and Italian cars dominate the Chinese market? Why were FAW sedans ignored while FAW Volkswagens filled the streets? Why was GAC Trumpchi seen as inferior, yet GAC Toyota and GAC Honda fiercely pursued?

Why were Boeing and Airbus the mainstream in Chinese civil aviation? Why did domestic large aircraft frighten passengers? Why did China develop high-speed rail but still buy technology from Kawasaki Heavy Industries, Siemens, Alstom, and Bombardier? Why did the “China Star” project fail? Why did the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau run GE’s NJ2 locomotives instead of domestic ones?

Zhang was not an angry youth. He understood clearly that the root cause of these frustrations was China’s own lack of strength. China simply did not have the capability to build top-tier products.

If he could change all this, these problems would vanish, and the global landscape would be reversed. When the Japanese realized their Lexus cars performed at half the level and safety of domestic cars, who would buy them? Probably not even the Japanese themselves.

Zhang knew that in the current situation, blind hatred was futile. Instead, he had to find every way to catch up, for only then could the fundamental issues be solved.

He sat on his bed and conceived a plan.

Gain points.

Keep gaining points.

Work tirelessly to gain points.

Once he accumulated enough, he would first redeem the Super Software Package. Then, with the low entry and investment threshold of the software industry, he would start attracting capital. Once he had sufficient funds, he would immediately enter manufacturing.

Manufacturing today had relatively low entry barriers in automobiles. He would begin with the automotive industry and gradually expand into more advanced fields.

Having devised this route, Zhang sprang from bed, quickly freshened up, checked out, and drove his G65 once more, embarking on his point-earning journey.

By the end of July, after a month and a half, using Guiyang as his supply center, Zhang covered five impoverished regions.

In those five areas, he conducted health checks for 31,000 people, cured over 1,900 cases, and earned 35,000 system points.

Available points: 42,700; total points: 51,000!

During this time, his parents called to inform him that the admission letter from Yanda University had arrived; registration was set for August 20.

August 20.

Zhang privately calculated that to redeem the software package and software development skill, he still needed 20,000 points. With just over twenty days remaining, earning 20,000 points should be easy.

He once planned a trip through Yunnan and Guizhou, but upon arrival realized just how many impoverished areas existed. Even focusing on one province, it was impossible for him alone to cover all medical needs. At this rate, a region with a few thousand people required at least a week’s work. Two months—he could only reach so few places.

For now, Zhang shelved plans for farther Yunnan and resolved to continue using Guiyang as his base to radiate out to nearby impoverished areas. This time, he aimed for a Miao autonomous township in southern Guizhou.

The township, named Miaojia Village, lay over 280 kilometers from Guiyang. Laden with medicines, Zhang set out on a drizzly morning.

Miaojia had over 3,000 residents but, like Wanshan Township before, was located in mountainous terrain with poor transportation. Indeed, most impoverished areas here were remote mountain villages, where difficult access severely hindered economic development.

Zhang arrived at Miaojia after nightfall. This mountain basin was surrounded by peaks, with a single exit road carved along a relatively low ridge. The road’s condition was poor—mostly narrow enough for a single vehicle. One side dropped into an abyss; the other was an unfortified cliff face, with giant stones seemingly embedded in the rock, threatening to fall at any moment. Fallen rocks often blocked the path, and Zhang had to get out and move them himself.

Fortunately, although it rained continuously leaving Guiyang, the weather here was decent. Otherwise, a dark, rainy night would have made the road impassable due to landslide risks.

The mountain ascent alone took over two hours. By the time Zhang reached Miaojia, it was pitch black with no lights visible.

He decided it was unwise to enter the village at night. Dawn was just hours away, so he chose to rest in the car near the village, less than twenty kilometers away.

At 6:30 a.m., although daylight had increased, thick fog enveloped the mountain. From a distance, Miaojia seemed cloaked in a large cloud, severely limiting visibility. Zhang cautiously drove forward.

After about forty minutes, he finally reached the village outskirts.

Sunlight dispersed much of the morning mist, revealing breathtaking scenery. The verdant mountains, varied in shape, rivaled those of Guilin. A clear stream meandered through the valley, its source nestled deep in the mountains. The surrounding terrain was relatively flat, filled with rice paddies and abundant greenery.

Miaojia itself was unique. Instead of brick or thatch houses, it featured wooden stilted homes densely clustered along the mountainside in a terraced pattern ascending halfway up the slope. The entire settlement exuded rustic elegance, far surpassing the scenery of Wanshan Township.

Zhang parked near a bridge, gazing around with a serene heart. He thought that living here, poverty might not be such a great problem. The people were self-sufficient, relying on their labor for everything. Though poor, money seemed less vital. Farmers dressed in traditional Miao attire showed no signs of destitution. Groups of men and women worked the fields, their faces relaxed and content.

Zhang sighed inwardly. Compared to this, the bustling outside world might not be any better. To live in such a place in seclusion might well be heaven for immortals.