Huayu: I Have a Doraemon

Chapter 17 The Joy of Learning

Lin An ultimately couldn't bring himself to choose the "Sleeping Master."

After much deliberation, he chose [Master of Culinary Skills] and [Scriptwriting].

Doraemon looked at Lin An with a puzzled expression, completely unable to understand this action.

"You can cook?"

"My skill level is only good enough to cook simple home-style dishes; I can't compare to a real chef at all."

Lin An swiped the screen, added "Mastering Cooking" to his shopping cart, and explained unhurriedly:

"I'll probably be very busy after this, and won't have time to cook slowly. I'll need the efficiency of a professional chef to save me time."

Doraemon nodded and didn't say anything more.

With that, the six abilities have been selected, corresponding to the following professions: [Painter], [Lawyer], [Doctor], [Chef], [Screenwriter], and [Translator].

Lin An gritted his teeth and clicked "confirm".

[Points consumed: 3000]

Remaining points: 1577

Looking at his points balance, Lin An felt as if a piece of his heart had been ripped out.

"At least these abilities are practical enough," Lin An comforted himself.

A soft blue light emanated from the top of the machine, slowly condensing in the air until it formed a ball of light the size of a fist.

The next second, six fist-sized square disks fell out of the sphere of light and landed on the bed. Each disk had a different pattern printed on it:

— Quill pen, gavel, capsule, chef's hat, paintbrush, dictionary.

Lin An reached out and picked up the disk with the "paintbrush" pattern printed on it, and looked at it over and over again.

The disk was thinner than I expected, and it felt like a warm, smooth ceramic material with smooth edges and no interfaces or slots.

"How do I use it?"

"Just stick it on your skin."

Doraemon explained, "It will automatically integrate into the user's body and automatically exit when the time is up. Of course, you can also manually remove it—just press the location where the disk is integrated."

"Can it be used continuously?"

"It needs time to cool down, about ten minutes."

Lin An nodded thoughtfully.

Ten minutes of cooling-off time is neither long nor short.

It's sufficient for emergencies, but relying on this job is unrealistic; nobody knows what might happen during a 10-minute gap.

At least on set, no one can make the entire crew wait for 10 minutes.

It's possible to buy two and use them alternately, but such frequent switching makes the flaws too obvious... Using multiple cards at the same time? Well, that's probably not feasible. Otherwise, the product could be designed to run continuously for 24 hours, which future technology could definitely achieve... In this light, the so-called 10-minute cooling might not be for the disk, but for the user himself... Lin An's thoughts began to settle, and he pressed the [Drawing] cartridge to his wrist, the disk seeping into his skin like melting candle wax.

The next second, countless pieces of knowledge and skills flooded into my mind like a burst dam.

The line separating light and shadow, principles of perspective, human proportions, layers of light and shadow, techniques of hatching in sketching, the different characteristics of charcoal and pencils...

These concepts, which should belong to a painting student who has undergone years of systematic training, are now firmly rooted in Lin An's mind like an innate instinct.

He subconsciously glanced at the water glass on the table.

When my eyes fell on the highlights on the cup, the analysis that "the light source comes from the upper left, the cup is cylindrical, the highlights are long and thin, and the reflective area is cool" automatically came to mind.

This feeling...

It was strange, even bizarre.

It's as if he has an extra "painting processor" in his brain, specifically responsible for handling everything related to images, lines, and light and shadow.

"How are you feeling?" Doraemon's voice came from the side.

Lin An didn't say anything, but stood up and walked to the newly bought desk. He took out a 2B pencil and a blank A4 sheet of paper from the drawer.

The pen tip touches the paper.

The pencil moved quickly across the paper, the lines going from light to heavy, from sparse to dense. In less than two minutes, a round outline appeared on the paper.

Doraemon leaned over and took a look.

The drawing on the paper depicts him, or more accurately, his profile.

The direction of the head, nose, and beard, even the reflection of the bell on the neck, is so precise that it looks like a rubbing.

"Great, great, that's a really good drawing." Doraemon clapped his hands loudly, making a loud "clap clap" sound.

Although he knew it was a prop effect and had nothing to do with his own abilities, Lin An still smiled slightly.

Who doesn't like to hear compliments?

Ten minutes later.

Lin An pasted the completed sketch on the refrigerator door, took two steps back, crossed his arms, and looked as if he were admiring a masterpiece.

Lin's mother came out of the kitchen, still holding cleaning supplies in her hand. Her gaze inadvertently swept over the refrigerator, and then she froze on the spot.

"Did you draw this?"

"Of course," Lin An replied without changing his expression.

Lin's mother leaned closer to look for a few seconds, then took two steps back, tilted her head and examined it for a while, her brows furrowing more and more tightly.

When did you learn to draw?

"I learned it at school," Lin An said casually.

Lin's mother glanced at him, a complex look flashing in her eyes, but she snorted and waved her hand, saying:

"You've passed. Now get lost."

Lin An's lips curled up slightly.

Back in his room, as he closed the door, he leaned against it and let out a long sigh.

Doraemon sat on the bed, tilting his head to look at him: "You succeeded?"

Lin An hummed in agreement, walked to the bedside, plopped down, leaned back on the bed, and stared at the ceiling:

"Maybe I shouldn't have done that."

Doraemon asked, puzzled, "What do you mean?"

"Her concerns are actually valid."

Lin An's voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself.

"What?"

"My mom."

Lin An rolled over, lying on his side, his gaze falling on the half-read copy of *Das Kapital* on the desk, and repeated:

"Her concerns are valid."

He paused, his voice becoming hoarse:

"With my current abilities, I really can't stand on my own in society."

Doraemon opened his mouth as if to say something, but Lin An interrupted him:

"Without props, I am nothing."

The room fell silent.

"It's not that exaggerated."

Doraemon shifted its position and sat down next to Lin An, patting his shoulder with its round hand:

"Didn't you win over those directors with your own abilities?"

Lin An shook his head and sighed, "It's still different."

He said, "I need something that truly belongs to me. Relying on props is not a long-term solution; what is fake will always remain fake."

Doraemon stared at him blankly, her expression becoming complicated.

"Can you do me a favor?" Lin An turned his head and looked at the blue fat man.

"What kind of help?"

Lin An patted his wrist, and the disk emerged from under his skin, still warm from his body heat, gleaming faintly under the light.

He handed over the disk and said softly:

"You come and teach me, at least teach me how to draw and write scripts."

Doraemon quietly looked at Lin An's profile.

The lamplight only illuminated half of the face, leaving the other half in shadow, obscuring the expression.

Doraemon sighed, his heart filled with mixed feelings.

You and Nobita are really different.

I promise you.

Doraemon stretched out his round hand, took the disk, and stuck it to his round arm.

The disk seeped in silently, like melting snow.

Doraemon smiled and said, "Let's begin."

Lin An smiled and nodded, "Okay."