Guo Qing's family probably thought the same as my mom—once they heard about a fight class, they immediately agreed.
On Saturday, Guo Qing and I arranged to meet at the gate of the Fourth Middle School and then head to the Sanda class at the Youth Palace.
We followed the address on the flyer and arrived at the registration desk on the first floor of the Youth Palace. The place was packed with kids and parents signing up—it was a real crowd. In my previous life, I knew that youth education was a very lucrative business, and it had exploded everywhere after 1997. But in Songjiang City at this time, the Youth Palace had a monopoly on the market.
Though I knew that the industry was a goldmine, I was very clear that, at the moment, I had no chance to cash in. First, I lacked startup capital; second, I didn't have access to teaching resources.
After a long wait, it was finally our turn. I walked up to the registration desk and told the teacher, "We'd like to sign up for the Sanda class!"
The teacher glanced at us and asked, "Sanda is quite dangerous, you could get injured. Have your parents agreed?"
We both nodded quickly and said, "Yes, they've agreed!"
"Alright," the teacher replied, handing us a registration form. "Fill this out and then head over to the payment desk to pay the trial fee."
Guo Qing and I took the forms. The trial fee was 5 yuan. I thought, Times have changed. Back in my previous life, youth classes were advertised everywhere, and the trial lessons were usually free.
I glanced through the form. The front was filled with basic personal information, like name, age, school, etc. On the back, there were instructions at the top and a list of other courses offered by the Youth Palace, including dance, opera singing, and piano lessons. My eyes suddenly froze on three words. I slapped my thigh in realization—I've been searching everywhere, and it was right in front of me all along!
I turned to the teacher and asked, "Excuse me, do you have a computer class?"
The teacher glanced at the schedule and said, "Not yet. The first class starts tomorrow morning. Would you like to sign up?"
"Yeah, could I have a form, please?" I asked.
I took the new form and noticed the terms were very similar to the Sanda class. The only difference was that the trial fee for the computer class was double—10 yuan. I shook my head. Computers aren't even widespread yet in '94, and people still view them as high-tech. For something like this, they're charging such a high price?
Guo Qing looked at me in surprise and asked, "Boss, why do you want to learn that?"
"High-tech is the future…" I knew this wouldn't make sense to Guo Qing. To him, learning computers seemed pointless compared to playing video games.
"Tch," Guo Qing snorted. "I'm not interested in that. I'm not going with you, Boss."
I smiled and said, "It's fine. I'm just curious. Maybe after one class, I won't go again."
I thought, It's better Guo Qing's not joining anyway. It'll be less of a distraction when I'm learning to code and he keeps asking questions.
After paying the trial fees, Guo Qing and I followed the directions on the registration form and made our way to the top floor of the Youth Palace, where the Sanda training area was located. Inside, there were many old-fashioned gym machines, which seemed outdated by modern standards. A muscular man greeted us and, after a brief chat, I learned that he was our Sanda coach. His name was Zhang Yang, a former champion of the Youth Group in the Songjiang Province Sanda League. After graduating from university, he came to the Youth Palace to teach.
In my previous life, I had also competed in similar leagues and won the national university Sanda championship. I knew how tough it was, so I could tell that Coach Zhang had impressive skills. This was a great opportunity for the other students—having a good teacher often leads to outstanding students. But for me, the quality of the coach didn't matter much. I was already highly skilled in Sanda techniques, and my goal here was simply to improve my strength. Don't ask me why I didn't go to a gym—were there gyms in 1994?
I explained to Coach Zhang that I was there for physical training, not to learn techniques. He didn't object—after all, whether I learned or not, I still had to pay the lesson fees.
In the morning, everyone, including Guo Qing, followed Coach Zhang's instructions and learned Sanda. I, however, was following my own routine to strengthen my body. The others—including Guo Qing—found my actions odd at first, but soon got used to it. After all, it didn't affect them.
At lunchtime, Guo Qing and I went to a nearby small restaurant.
"Boss, why aren't you learning anything? Coach Zhang is actually really good!" Guo Qing said between mouthfuls of fried rice.
"You learn it, then. We'll still walk home together after school!" I replied.
"Don't lie to me, Boss. I'm not your dad. The school gate is in the city center, and there are police patrols at night. There aren't even any petty thieves around," Guo Qing said, giving me a puzzled look.
"Heh, I'm just trying to work on my strength. Whether I learn Sanda or not isn't important," I laughed.
"Sigh, Boss, sometimes I feel like you're so mysterious. You really don't seem like someone our age," Guo Qing said, looking at me seriously.
I was startled. Has he figured something out?
But Guo Qing continued, "Boss, have you been drinking too much royal jelly? Are you growing up too fast?"
"Get lost!" I shouted, relieved. "You're the one growing up too fast. Yesterday, when we went to the restroom together, I saw you have a lot of hair!"
"Hey, Boss, can you keep it down? You can't just say things like that about someone's private parts!" Guo Qing's face turned bright red.
In the afternoon, the Youth Palace training area was open for free to those taking the Sanda class, but most people had already left. The self-discipline of kids in their early teens wasn't great.
When Guo Qing and I returned to the training area, it was empty. Guo Qing had originally planned to head to the arcade with me, but I wasn't interested in video games anymore at my age. Guo Qing, being someone who didn't make decisions on his own, followed me back to the training area.
I continued my physical training while Guo Qing aimlessly punched the sandbag, showing no technique. With the advantage of my previous life's memories, I knew exactly which exercises would be most effective for my body. I was rapidly developing the flexibility and strength of each muscle group.
My training was targeted—while it wouldn't give me a bodybuilder physique, it was definitely improving my strength and flexibility.
When I got home, I told my parents about signing up for the computer class. This time, my father didn't object; instead, he encouraged me to study hard and not quit halfway.
As a technical engineer at the factory, my father understood how important computer skills were for future work. Without saying much, he handed me the tuition fees and praised me for being sensible and focusing on my studies. In 1994, computers hadn't yet become the "game machines" or "electronic drugs" that some parents would later claim them to be. Back then, computers were still viewed by most as mysterious, high-tech tools for office automation.
The computer room at the Youth Palace was small, with only about twenty computers, all of them identical Lenovo 386 models. When I walked in, there were only four or five people sitting at their desks—nothing like the bustling crowd from yesterday's Sanda class. No wonder the trial fee was so high; with such a small group, they probably couldn't even afford to pay the instructor without it.
Computers from this era were dull and tedious to our generation, nowhere near as exciting as video game consoles. Because they were so mysterious, many kids—and even parents—viewed them as distant scientific instruments, far removed from everyday life. Only a few forward-thinking parents sent their children to learn about them.
I took a seat in the back and powered up the computer. The familiar self-check sound echoed in my ears, and my heart raced as I stared at the screen, eagerly awaiting the familiar command prompt window.
Wait, why is the screen black? I stared at the blinking cursor and suddenly remembered—it was still the era of DOS in China.
This was like a clever housewife unable to make a meal without ingredients! After being so used to graphical interfaces in my previous life, now I was faced with a command prompt. Fortunately, I had learned DOS 6.22 and Turbo C 2.0 back in university. If I hadn't, I really wouldn't have known where to start.
I quickly opened the file directory on the hard drive. The only programming languages available were BASIC and LOGO, and they hadn't even installed Turbo C (C language compiler). There were a few small programs for typing practice. BASIC was the language I struggled with most in my previous life—it was the one I used the least. Even when I did use it, I worked with Visual Basic, which didn't require me to memorize too many commands and functions. LOGO, on the other hand, was something I had never used, nor had I seen any of my colleagues use it.
"Liu Lei?" Suddenly, a voice I would recognize even in my sleep called my name. It was the sweet voice of our lovely classmate Zhao Yanyan.
"Liu Lei, it really is you! What are you doing here?" Zhao Yanyan nonchalantly sat down at a nearby computer station.
"This is what I should be asking you! Aren't you studying dance?" I stopped what I was doing and asked Zhao Yanyan.
"How do you know I'm here for dance?" Zhao Yanyan gave me a suspicious look.
A cold sweat immediately broke out on my forehead. I had almost slipped up. Logically, I shouldn't have known that Zhao Yanyan was here for dance. The school had only just started, and she had never mentioned it. But in my previous life, I knew she came to the Youth Palace every Saturday to take dance lessons.
I took a deep breath and tried to act casual. "I saw you yesterday when I came to learn Sanda."
"Oh, so you're practicing Sanda too? Didn't expect that. But wait, Liu Lei," Zhao Yanyan suddenly changed her tone, half-smiling and looking at me. "I didn't even come to the dance class yesterday. So, Liu Lei, tell me honestly—how did you know about it?"
No way! Oh my God! I was digging myself into a deeper hole. This was what they meant by "the more you try to be clever, the more you slip up." But just as I thought I was in trouble, my savior appeared—a man walked up to the podium and said, "Alright, everyone, please quiet down, I'm going to start the lesson."
Thankfully, Zhao Yanyan was distracted by him and stopped questioning me. She pulled out a small notebook from her backpack and started preparing to take notes.
I was confused. Why was Zhao Yanyan here in the computer class too? I never heard anything about it in my previous life. Besides, most girls weren't interested in this kind of thing. The fact that Zhao Yanyan was the only girl in the room was enough to prove that.
"How come you're learning this too?" I asked.
"Who says only you can come and not me?" Zhao Yanyan kept her eyes on the podium and muttered, not even looking at me.
"I just can't focus when you're here," I replied, lowering my voice in feigned frustration.
"Why can't you focus? Isn't it nice to have this beautiful girl sitting next to you while you study?" Zhao Yanyan whispered while listening to the instructor. She was half-distracted and joked with me. However, as soon as the words left her mouth, she realized she'd said something inappropriate. Her face turned bright red with embarrassment.
I pretended not to notice and continued, "It's because I keep staring at you during class. That's why I can't focus on the lecture."
"Who are you trying to fool?" Zhao Yanyan snorted. "I seem to remember someone falling asleep every time class started."
"Well, I can't help it. If I'm always staring at you, that'd make you embarrassed," I said boldly.
My comment made Zhao Yanyan blush even more. She didn't say anything for a long time, then softly muttered, "Just focus on the lesson."
"The computer is a mysterious subject. We can use it to draw pictures, edit text, process data, and even write our own little programs, like games…" The instructor droned on in a long, winding speech that, to me, sounded like pointless chatter. But Zhao Yanyan seemed to be absorbing every word, occasionally scribbling something down in her notebook. The other students were also listening intently. I silently mocked them—wait until they actually start programming. Then they'll know what real boredom feels like.
In the era of DOS, what kind of programs could make money? Back then, copyright laws were still undeveloped, and computers in China were few and far between, especially with so much pirated software circulating. Trying to get people to pay for legitimate software seemed almost impossible. I was lost in thought for a moment.
I was typing quickly on the keyboard, a reflexive action I did whenever I was deep in thought. On the screen, I typed out "fhqutemvga," which was the five-stroke sequence for Zhao Yanyan's name in Wubi input method. I couldn't help but laugh at myself when I realized what I had done. Glancing at Zhao Yanyan out of the corner of my eye, I saw she was still deeply engrossed in the instructor's ramblings, completely unaware of what I was typing. Fortunately, I had typed it in Wubi—if I had used Pinyin, she might have thought I was a weirdo. Though, who knows, maybe she'd have been so moved that she'd fall head over heels for me. But that was practically impossible.
I cleared the screen, realizing that this habit of mine wasn't ideal. If the people around me learned Wubi, I'd be exposed. Wubi! That's it! I slapped my thigh in sudden realization. As far as I knew, there wasn't yet a perfect Pinyin input method in this era. People were still trying to memorize Wubi's radical system to speed up typing. In my later life, very few people used Wubi anymore—it had been replaced by Pinyin. For people who didn't type much and worked in government or state-owned enterprises, asking them to learn Wubi was almost an impossible task.
If I could improve upon the Pinyin input methods I knew from the future, like Smart ABC or Sogou Pinyin, and adapt them for DOS, I'd surely spark an input method revolution.
Zhao Yanyan watched the boy beside her, who was repeatedly typing the same sequence of letters on the computer keyboard. She thought to herself, How is it that he seems to lack focus in everything he does, yet he seems to be good at everything?
It was like that time in math class—he had been practically asleep, yet when called to the blackboard to solve problems, he got everything right. It couldn't possibly be mere luck, could it? And now, here he was typing faster than anyone else, though the letters seemed to have no apparent pattern. But on closer inspection, she realized he was typing the same group of letters, fghutemvga, over and over again.
What could these letters mean? fgh clearly wasn't English, and it wasn't Pinyin either. What could it be? Curious, Zhao Yanyan carefully noted the sequence in her mind, planning to ask her mysterious desk mate about it later.
"Alright, everyone, you can now practice your typing as I instructed. Open your computers and enter CAI2 at the DOS prompt and hit Enter," the old man said, walking around the room. Every now and then, a student would stop him with a question.
Sighing inwardly, I thought, If only this were the future—I'd just walk into an electronics store, spend a few bucks, and get a pirated copy of a game or software. But right now, I'm struggling just to find a copy of Turbo C 2.0.
Suddenly, I heard an exclamation beside me, followed by the excited voice of the instructor: "How are you typing so fast? Have you practiced before?"
No need to guess; it was definitely the computer teacher. I turned my head to see the old man staring at Zhao Yanyan beside me with a gleam of admiration in his eyes. What the hell? I cursed inwardly, This old pervert is eyeing Yanyan, isn't he?
Zhao Yanyan didn't expect such a reaction from the teacher. She answered softly, "I practiced at home."
"You have a computer at home?" the old man asked, looking genuinely surprised.
"Yes, my dad has one in his room," Zhao Yanyan replied.
The old man stared at her computer screen with wide eyes. "127 characters per minute? You should represent the Youth Palace in the National Youth Computer Competition!" he exclaimed, looking as if he'd discovered a treasure.
Zhao Yanyan, embarrassed, said, "There are many people who are better than me."
The old man, undeterred, tried to persuade her again. After a while, Zhao Yanyan finally agreed, "I'll talk to my family about it."
The old man, still grinning, stood there, when suddenly he noticed me. "Hey, you! Why aren't you practicing?" He pointed to my screen, which was still blank.
"No need to practice," I replied casually.
"What?!" The old man's face turned red with indignation. "What do you mean, no need? Typing is the most basic skill when learning computers. If you can't even get that right, you won't go far. You might as well give up learning now!"
I couldn't believe his attitude. He had been so kind to Zhao Yanyan, but now he was treating me like I owed him money. Annoyed, I shot back, "How do you know I'm not good enough?"
The old man said, "If you think you're good enough, then show me! If you can type faster than her…" He pointed to Zhao Yanyan. "I'll waive your tuition!"
"Alright! It's a deal!" I agreed. Four hundred yuan wasn't much, but for someone like me who was short on cash, it was a significant amount.
I opened the typing practice program with a smirk, knowing that the old man had no idea what was coming. His eyes gradually turned serious as I began to type, my fingers flying across the keys. The reason for his reaction was obvious—I wasn't looking at the keyboard at all. I was touch-typing, and I selected the hardest difficulty without a second thought, my fingers moving with practiced ease.
Soon, the old man's expression went from serious to shocked, and finally to sheer astonishment. "A genius! An absolute genius!" he exclaimed.
Zhao Yanyan was equally stunned as she watched my screen. I was typing 336 characters per minute, and the error count was zero. That meant I was averaging five to six keystrokes per second with no mistakes.
The old man was so caught up in my performance that he completely forgot the condescending words he had spoken earlier. Without even asking me for permission, he shouted, "You two will represent the Youth Palace in this year's National Youth Computer Competition! Our Youth Palace will finally get some recognition!"
"What about my tuition…" I asked, worried the old man would back out of his promise.
"Don't worry, your tuition is waived! Not only that, I'll personally tutor you both! The computer lab is open to you anytime!" The old man was practically jumping with excitement, already imagining how much fame the Youth Palace would gain if we won.
Although I wasn't particularly interested in extra tutoring, I was more concerned with how to make money quickly. Then I had an idea—if I asked the old man for a copy of Turbo C 2.0, it would be easy for him to get it. After all, he was in the industry, and now that he had high hopes for me, he wouldn't refuse. So I casually asked, "Do you have Turbo C 2.0 software?"
The old man was momentarily stunned but quickly reacted with excitement. "You know how to program?"
"Just a little," I said modestly.
"Perfect! This is fantastic! I've been worried about the programming competition for the computer contest, and now you're here to save the day! You'll also participate in the programming part of the contest," he said, already making decisions without asking for my input.
Sigh, fine, I'll just go along with it, I thought. After all, I needed his help.
The old man promised to get the software for me next week and then bombarded me with questions, which I answered with vague responses.