Chapter 78 Stanford’s Anniversary Celebration Day

Su Mu now has nothing; even his programming skills are only half-formed, never truly practiced on a computer. After conversing for so long with the young Bill Gates himself, he realizes he has no substantial bargaining chips to offer—whether it’s buying Microsoft stock or selling programs to the company, everything remains just empty words. If Su Mu had ten million dollars now, or perhaps even more, he might really have been able to obtain a small portion of Microsoft shares from Gates at a two hundred million dollar valuation, paying a premium. This is, after all, 1984, an era when the internet and technology are not yet pervasive, and few appreciate Microsoft’s significance.

Moreover, though Microsoft’s estimated value has surpassed one hundred million, Gates and Paul Allen, who owns forty percent of the company, have not actually made much money; their wealth is mostly on paper. The company’s prospects are bright, but Microsoft requires large sums for research and development, so if possible, they would likely be willing to sell some shares.

On the other hand, if Su Mu did possess ten million dollars, perhaps he would simply become another complacent rich man, content to enjoy life without striving forward. Gains and losses are inevitable, and the future is always uncertain.

With more than a year left before Microsoft goes public, Su Mu still has a chance to claim a share of the pie. After parting ways with Gates at the entrance to Stanford, he is left pondering how to make money. He cannot hope for much from Quigo Supermarket; even if it turns a profit, the pace will be slow.

For now, the quickest paths to wealth remain concentrated in Silicon Valley, where legends are created daily—one day you propose a new idea, and the next you might attract tens of millions, even hundreds of millions, in investment.

Thinking about how to earn money, Su Mu nearly collided with someone while cycling. After apologizing, he decided to walk instead.

Stanford University’s history is quite tumultuous. In 1891, Leland Stanford, a railroad tycoon and governor of California, together with his wife, funded the university’s construction with twenty million dollars. The school was named after their son, Leland Stanford Jr., who died of typhoid; thus, the full name should be “Leland Stanford Junior University.”

For half a century after its founding, the school remained lukewarm, regarded as a “second-rate remote western university.” Only after the 1970s did it begin to gain fame. In the 1960s, Stanford leased a thousand acres of land at very low prices to companies founded by alumni or the business community, who then collaborated with the university, providing research projects and internships for students.

Unexpectedly, one high-tech enterprise after another emerged in the industrial park, soon outgrowing the land Stanford could offer and expanding outward, forming California’s high-tech core—the famed Silicon Valley, where talent gathers in droves. By this era, Silicon Valley’s development has begun to take shape, its reputation spreading worldwide. Every nation watches Silicon Valley, tracking the rise of computers and the internet. Stanford, at the heart of the region, is also thriving rapidly.

Su Mu’s first impression upon entering Stanford’s campus was simply that it was beautiful and vast. Arched gates adorned with carvings, numerous green lawns, and red-roofed buildings dotted the grounds.

He still considered Harvard to be more renowned and overall stronger, yet he loved the campus environment here and thought it would be wonderful to attend this school.

Today, the campus was bustling with people, some marching in celebration of the university’s anniversary—not a major decade or centennial, just a modest event, more an opportunity for alumni and Silicon Valley locals to gather and network. Connections and circles are important everywhere, and the significance of the anniversary extends beyond mere celebration.

He guessed that many wealthy people and politicians were nearby, though Su Mu knew hardly any of them, nor did he need to; they simply weren’t in the same circles. When his status rose, those connections would come naturally.

Take his recent conversation with Bill Gates, for example. Though it seemed pleasant, Su Mu understood that Gates regarded him as a child—one who was overestimating his own abilities.

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On the Stanford campus.

Li Zhekai was walking with Daniel James, accompanied by a white girl who was trying to amuse Li Zhekai, seemingly eager to please.

Despite his recent misfortunes, Li Zhekai’s luck with women remained excellent. On several nights, Su Mu thought someone was renovating, hammering nails into the wall, given the persistent “thud, thud, thud.” Only when he saw a girl emerge from Li Zhekai’s room did he finally solve the riddle that had been disturbing his sleep. Su Mu was still young, but many classmates had already experienced relationships; even Daniel, with his odd personality, had made it to “second base.” Su Mu had not. Lately, several senior female students often teased him at school, leaving him feeling troubled. He wasn’t so desperate as to accept just anyone.

There aren’t many naive girls; materialism thrives in America as well.

Li Zhekai was currently broke, but everyone knew his father possessed hundreds of millions. Fellow students from Hong Kong had spread the news far and wide, and with his habit of driving a Ferrari to school, many girls were drawn to him.

Perhaps it was a family matter—he’d been taught only how to do business, not how to interact with people, resulting in Li Zhekai’s peculiar character. He seldom refused girls who threw themselves at him, acting the consummate playboy.

He passed through a sea of flowers, but not a single leaf clung to him—“pull up your pants and forget her” described him perfectly. One girl even smashed a window because of him.

She mistook the room and broke Su Mu’s window, an unfortunate accident.

Having lived together for so long, Su Mu understood Li Zhekai’s personality. He was actually a good person, working part-time at McDonald’s and as a golf caddy on weekends. His family had cut off his pocket money, paying only tuition—he had to earn his own living.

Sometimes, Su Mu struggled with his studies and would ask Li Zhekai for help; Li always did his best to explain, though his own academic performance was mediocre and sometimes became embarrassed when unable to answer.

This made Su Mu both envious and sympathetic; happiness isn’t necessarily tied to money, but misfortune often is. Despite his own impoverished background, Su Mu never worried about food or shelter—his family provided for him. Meanwhile, the billionaire’s son labored daily to survive.

He didn’t pity Li Zhekai, knowing that once he endured this period, good days would come.

As for himself, Su Mu knew his future depended on his own efforts. No one would pave his way, and he had no desire to return home to inherit the family business—a small, nearly empty Chinatown restaurant.

When Su Mu appeared on campus, Li Zhekai raised his eyebrows in surprise. The two were separated by a narrow road. He stopped and called out, “Hey, Su Mu, what are you doing here?”

……