Wouldn't That Be Making a Wedding Dress for Someone Else?

Wen Leyu considered herself a person with great self-control. Many adults could not keep their emotions from showing on their faces, but she had been able to do so at fourteen.

But right now, she was deeply shocked.

When she had first entered Stanford University's computer room, Wen Leyu had only been somewhat surprised.

Was this the extravagance of imperialism?

In mainland China during the 1980s, if a work unit had even one computer, it would certainly decorate a separate computer room for it.

Heavy sun-blocking curtains were essential; sunlight could not be allowed to accelerate the aging of the computer's delicate plastic casing.

Dust-absorbing, soundproof carpets were also essential. Dust absolutely could not be allowed to drift into the chassis and corrode the circuit boards. And the computer room had to be kept as quiet as possible, befitting the lofty and exalted nature of a computer, practically a divine device.

But look at the computer room in this super-advanced country.

Dozens of expensive computers were simply placed in a "shabby room" in a complete mess.

There was no strict management, either. Students and teachers alike came in and used them as casually as they pleased, hammering away at the keyboards with a clatter.

One computer screen was even flickering, and the bespectacled teacher slapped the chassis as if he were beating a little maid who had carelessly nodded off.

This was a precision device worth tens of thousands of yuan! Back in mainland China, it would have required a dedicated "team" to wait upon it.

Yet here, it received about the same treatment as a radio.

Of course, if they were merely "not short on money," Wen Leyu would have been surprised at most.

The reason she was truly shocked was Li Ye.

After receiving permission to use the