Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Chapter 118

As Jiang Cheng watched his master's retreating figure, he suddenly remembered something.

His master had been in Beijing for almost a month, and he had never once asked about his health. Did his back still hurt? Were his knees still sore? Was he used to sleeping on a hard bed? He felt he was a terrible, incompetent apprentice, a real scoundrel. He silently berated himself.

He squatted down next to Huang Deqing.

"Master, how's your back?"

Huang Deqing didn't even look up. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Do you like the food in the cafeteria?"

"I can get used to it. Beijingers don't put chili peppers in their cooking, which is perfect. I can't handle spicy food. When I worked in the factory, the canteen would stir-fry chili peppers every day, and my stomach couldn't take it."

Jiang Cheng pursed his lips and didn't ask any more questions.

For the next week, the three of them practically lived in the lab. Sun Deming drew during the day and revised it at night. His sketches went from the first version to the seventh, and Huang Deqing pointed out flaws in each one—this structure wasn't strong enough, that tolerance was too tight, this material was difficult to process.

Sun Deming wasn't annoyed; in fact, he felt somewhat relieved. He revised and redrawn, revised and redrawn again. Sometimes, when he was drawing until midnight and got really sleepy, he would doze off at the table, then wake up and continue drawing.

Huang Deqing didn't urge him; he just squatted down beside him, holding the oilstone, sharpening the razor. The razor was already sharp enough to shave a beard, but he kept sharpening it. Jiang Cheng once asked him, "Master, you've been sharpening this razor for so many days, why do you still need to sharpen it?" Huang Deqing replied, "Sharpening a razor isn't about sharpening the razor itself, it's about sharpening my temperament. Once my temperament is sharpened, my work will be done well."

Jiang Cheng was busy optimizing the process parameters. He dug out all the data from dozens of past experiments and re-analyzed them. Powder feeding rate, spraying distance, current, gas flow rate, substrate temperature—he plotted the impact of each parameter on the coating performance into curves. The curves were pasted on the wall, covering one entire wall like a giant map. He would stand in front of the map for half a day at a time, sometimes drawing circles on it with a red pen, sometimes erasing them with an eraser. When Chief Engineer Chen passed by the laboratory, he glanced inside, saw the wall full of curves, paused, and didn't go in.

"Brother Jiang, look at this." Sun Deming walked over with a small sketch and placed it on the table. "It's a spray gun mounting device. I've revised it seven times. The master craftsman said this version is acceptable."

Jiang Cheng took the drawing and looked at it. The drawing was very standard, the dimensions were clearly marked, and the tolerances were reasonably selected. The structure was simple, easy to process, and low in cost. He looked at it three times but couldn't find any problems.

"That's fine. Send it to the Automation Research Institute and have them confirm the interface dimensions."

Sun Deming grinned, turned, and ran out to send the fax. His footsteps faded into the distance in the corridor, thumping like a little horse galloping. The fax machine was in the upstairs office. Sun Deming ran up and down three times, finally sending out all the drawings.

The plan has been finalized, two days ahead of schedule.

Jiang Cheng delivered the plan to Chief Engineer Chen's office. She took it and flipped through it page by page. She flipped through it very slowly, looking at each page twice. When she saw the drawings, she put on her reading glasses, pointed to each dimension with her finger, and muttered something to herself. After finishing, she took off her glasses and looked at Jiang Cheng.

"The mechanical parts are fine. The Automation Research Institute has also confirmed the electrical and control components. They'll send someone over next Monday to start modifying the equipment."

Jiang Cheng nodded. "Chief Engineer Chen, after the equipment modification is completed, will we need to redo the process verification?"

"Yes. The equipment has changed, and the process parameters need to be re-optimized, so it's a new cycle." She paused, then continued, "Comrade Jiang Cheng, this project is more complex than we anticipated. Materials, processes, equipment—each is interconnected. Every step takes time; we can't rush it."

Jiang Cheng knew she was right. But he was anxious. Not about the project, but about his family.

Zheng Yanxi is about to take an exam, Jiang Yuan is learning to speak, and there's a ton of work waiting for him at the center. He's been in Beijing for almost a month and doesn't know when he'll be able to go back. Huang Deqing says his back is fine, but he sees his master needing to lean against the wall to catch his breath when he stands up after squatting for a while.

"Chief Engineer Chen, how long will the equipment modification take?"

"The Automation Research Institute said it would take a month. Debugging will take another two weeks."

One month plus two weeks, forty-five days. Adding the previous twenty-odd days, it's almost three months. Jiang Cheng was silent for a while. In three months, Jiang Yuan would run more steadily and talk more. In three months, Zheng Yanxi's exam results would be out. In three months, the center's qualification assessment would likely have results.

"Chief Engineer Chen, could I go back to Shenyang? I've been in Beijing for almost a month, and something has come up at home."

Chief Engineer Chen looked at him, her expression suggesting she was considering something. She picked up the teacup on the table, took a sip of water—it had already gone cold. "Okay. But not for too long. You must be present once the equipment modification begins. Without you, no one can adjust the process parameters."

Jiang Cheng nodded.

That evening, he called Zheng Yanxi. The call was from the factory and had to be transferred through the switchboard. The operator, a young woman with a sweet voice, said, "I'll connect you." After a short wait, Zheng Yanxi's voice came through the phone.

"Yanxi, I'm going back next Tuesday."

"Really?" There was a rare, irrepressible joy in her voice. It was like someone who had waited a long time and finally heard a knock on the door, but dared not open it immediately, afraid of mishearing.

"Really. I'll stay here for a few days, then go to Beijing."

"A few days?"

"I don't know. We'll see."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Jiang Cheng heard her breathing, light and deep. Then she said, "Jiang Yuan can run now. Yesterday at Grandma's house, he ran from the living room to the kitchen, covering more than ten steps without falling. When he ran, he held his arms up like a little airplane. Grandma chased after him, but couldn't catch up. He looked back, smiled, and kept running."

Jiang Cheng smiled. He imagined the scene—the little guy with his arms raised to his shoulders, stumbling along, but his eyes bright, rushing in one direction. He didn't know why he wanted to run, he just wanted to run. He ran to the kitchen door, stopped, turned around, smiled, revealing two teeth.

"Wait until I get back, then I'll see how he runs."

"Um."

After hanging up the phone, Jiang Cheng stood in the corridor, looking at the moon outside the window. The moon in Beijing was still hazy, veiled by a thin layer of mist, indistinct. But he knew the moon in Shenyang was bright. It wasn't the moon that was different, but the people. He touched the letter in his pocket. The letter was still there. He took it out, unfolded it, and looked at it. The handwriting was too blurred to read, but he remembered what it said. He walked to the trash can, tore the letter up, and threw it in. The scraps of paper landed at the bottom of the can, a few covered in dust. He looked at them for two seconds, then turned and left.

Some things don't need to be written down. Some things, however, become lighter when written down.