Chapter 17

The inmates from the cell block gradually returned, and Hu Jianming and Yang Bo looked exhausted. Once back, they fell asleep right away, not bothering with any conversation.

An Xiaohai lay on his bed without moving, his mind constantly rearranging various pieces of information. As lunchtime approached, the prison guards arrived to escort them to the cafeteria.

Due to the impromptu interrogation that morning, the men from Cell 232 had missed their usual work assignment, but they wouldn’t avoid it that easily—they’d likely have to make up the missed hours in the afternoon, possibly even working overtime that night.

Glancing at the stoic middle-aged guard behind him, An Xiaohai couldn’t help but think of Liu Cong. It had been a while since he’d seen the enthusiastic and compassionate young guard, and he wondered how he was doing.

During meals, inmates from the same cell block had to sit together. Since Cell 232 only had three men, they often had to share a table with others.

An Xiaohai had noticed that several men would deliberately sit near him, attempting to make small talk. He always responded with a polite smile, displaying respect and humility, yet internally he remained highly vigilant.

People who want to harm you often need to get close to you first; otherwise, carrying out their intentions becomes significantly harder. An Xiaohai knew this better than anyone.

Hu Jianming and Yang Bo barely spoke and didn’t exchange glances with anyone around them.

In many TV dramas, the prison cafeteria often serves as the main setting for conflicts among inmates, but that’s just creative storytelling. Reality isn’t like that at all.

The prison cafeteria operates under strict rules.

Talking, let alone loud chatter, is forbidden while lining up and eating. If anyone talks too much or makes any overly noticeable movements, a guard quickly intervenes.

But this doesn’t make life easier than it appears in those TV dramas.

Social interaction is one of the most basic human needs, and prison life involves stripping away as many of those basic needs as possible, which creates an almost unbearable sense of repression.

Due to his background as a former university student, An Xiaohai was assigned work handling electronic components.

After examining his task, he deduced that they were likely assembling some type of electronic access control system.

In about a decade, electronic access systems would become commonplace and develop rapidly. Card swiping, passwords, visual systems, facial recognition, and NFC technology would all be easily implemented.

But in this era, electronic access systems were just beginning in China. Apart from a few international brands, the only manufacturers barely managing to produce them were those based in Guoqiang South, known as Asia’s largest electronics hub.

A small access control system like this involves knowledge across several specialized fields: electronic circuits, microcontroller design, and computer programming. In this era, experts in these fields were scarce within the country.

But for An Xiaohai, this was child’s play.

His university major was information systems, and with his eidetic memory, the intricate standards, circuitry, and programming posed almost no challenge.

This was the foundation of An Xiaohai’s confidence. Even if he did nothing else after his release, he could easily earn a comfortable living by designing microcontrollers and writing small programs.

Moreover, his knowledge of these fields was thirty years ahead of this time!

Examining the circuit board in his hands, he quickly grasped its design principles.

From his perspective, this circuit board was rudimentary, likely to develop various small issues in future applications. However, for the standards of this era, it was already pretty good.

These boards were probably products from small electronics factories in Guoqiang South. The big manufacturers would be using assembly line automation and wouldn’t rely on prison labor.

Taking a deep breath, An Xiaohai got to work. He had done this type of task countless times, so his efficiency was high, and the quality of his soldering was perfect—rivaling a machine’s precision.

Within an afternoon, he had completed the entire day’s workload. For the last two boards, he took some spare copper wire, pulled out the thin copper strands, and made a few flywire adjustments on the circuit board.

These flywire adjustments subtly altered the board’s functionality, which would help prevent certain issues likely to arise later during use.

The reason for this small modification was to test something.

When the factory received the completed circuit boards, they’d go through a quality inspection. If the inspector had some expertise, they would notice the improvements these adjustments brought to the circuit’s design.

If they didn’t notice, no harm done—these were just two boards, and the changes wouldn’t cause any significant issues.

Factories that collaborate with prisons on labor tend to have connections within the prison system. If they discovered someone with An Xiaohai’s expertise inside, there was a chance they’d try to make contact with him.

This would offer him a potential channel of communication with the outside world, allowing him to prepare his arrangements in advance, saving time and energy once he was released.

Shenhai City, with its well-known electronics hub Guoqiang South, had a vibrant electronics industry that would remain a pillar of its economy for the next two decades. Not capitalizing on such a resource would indeed be wasteful.

An Xiaohai had arranged for Pan Zhuangzhuang to work in an electronics factory in Guoqiang South to lay the groundwork for future plans.

When it comes to fast ways to make money after time-traveling back a few decades, everyone has their own ideas.

For An Xiaohai, there were countless options. Starting a supermarket, running a factory, or dabbling in real estate weren’t even under consideration.

These activities seemed too complicated, involving the building and management of extensive networks, dealing with numerous logistical challenges, and requiring considerable investment with significant risk and endless entanglements.

Not worth it; such ventures didn’t align with his “silent wealth” approach and would only entrap him in endless toil.

As for real estate speculation, he hadn’t given it much thought either.

The timeline was too long; it was only 1993 now, and there were at least another decade or so before property prices boomed. He’d consider it when the time came, once he’d built up his initial capital, allowing for only minor investments in real estate in the meantime.

The guard looked surprised to see An Xiaohai finish a full day’s workload within the afternoon, though he didn’t comment. He simply placed the completed boards on the shelf.

Prison operated on a points system; if An Xiaohai slacked off, his points would be deducted, leading to penalties, but the guard couldn’t care less as long as the work was done.

Since he’d finished, An Xiaohai could return to his cell after dinner and watching the evening news.

Hu Jianming and Yang Bo were still working overtime, leaving him a rare moment of solitude.

The cell door had barely opened when he heard a shrill but familiar voice.

“Hey there, idol! Is that really you? What a coincidence!”

It was Xu Tianyou!

Damn!