Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Chapter 99 Slow

Sun Deming was packing up his tools when he paused. He put the wrench he was holding into the toolbox, closed the lid with a click. "What job?"

"An old production line in the workshop next to FAW's is even older than the last one. It's East German equipment, and it's been in use for fifteen years. The engine block machining line has suffered a serious drop in precision, with a scrap rate of 25%. The factory spent three months working on it itself and invited two groups of experts to come and take a look. They all said that the equipment was too old and needed to be replaced. But replacing a line would cost more than five million yuan, and the factory couldn't afford it."

Sun Deming pushed the toolbox to the corner, turned around, and looked at Jiang Cheng. His face was expressionless, but there was something in his eyes—not tension, not fear, but something more complex, like anticipation mixed with worry, the two emotions intertwined, it was hard to tell which was stronger. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his fingers tapping lightly on his arm.

"Brother Jiang, are you coming with me?"

"I'm not going. You go by yourself. Bring two people, choose from the training courses. You decide who you want to choose."

Sun Deming was silent for a moment. He walked to the window and opened it. The poplar leaves rustled in the wind, and a few fell down, floating on the windowsill; they were yellow and green, with their edges already curled up.

He reached out and picked up a leaf, twirled it in his hand a couple of times, the stem broke off, and the leaf slipped from his fingers, drifting out the window. He turned around, leaned against the windowsill, and put his hands in his pockets.

"Brother Jiang, I'm a little scared."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I'm afraid I'll mess it up. Last time in Benxi, you were there to support me, so I felt confident. If anything happened, I could just call you. This time you're not here, and I'm all alone. If something goes wrong, I won't even have anyone to talk to." His voice was low, as if he was afraid of being overheard.

Jiang Cheng stood up, walked to his side, and also looked out the window. In the courtyard, Old Zhao was leading several trainees in dismantling an old piece of equipment. The clanging of wrenches against metal was like the sound of blacksmithing. Old Zhao squatted on the ground, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, ash falling on his clothes, which he didn't bother to brush off. A trainee handed him a wrench, which he took, glanced at, and then threw back, saying, "You got the wrong one. This is a box wrench; I needed an open-end wrench." The trainee quickly gave him a replacement, which he then took and began to dismantle the equipment.

"Deming, do you remember the first time you disassembled a bearing?"

Sun Deming paused for a moment, his gaze shifting from the window to the coating equipment in the corner. "I remember. We spent the whole afternoon trying to take it apart, but we couldn't. In the end, you were the one who managed to dismantle it."

"Do you know why you can't take it apart?"

"Not strong enough?"

"No. You were afraid. You were afraid of damaging the bearing, so you didn't dare to use force. The bolt on the bearing housing was rusted, and you tried to tighten it a couple of times with a wrench, but it wouldn't budge, so you didn't dare to tighten it anymore, afraid of breaking the bolt. Later I told you that the bolt was rusted to begin with, and it wouldn't come off unless you broke it, so it wouldn't be a loss to replace it. After you heard that, you broke it in three tries and took it off."

Sun Deming fell silent. He looked out the window; sunlight shone on the poplar trees, making the leaves dazzlingly bright. A sparrow landed on the windowsill, glanced at him sideways, and then flew away, the fluttering of its wings particularly clear in the quiet room.

"It's the same this time," Jiang Cheng said. "The Changchun line was broken to begin with. If you fix it, that's your skill. If you can't, it's not shameful. We'll figure something out together when you get back. But you have to try. You'll never know if you can do it if you don't try."

Sun Deming stood there for a long time. A gust of wind blew in, knocking a piece of paper from the table to the floor, but he didn't bend down to pick it up. He looked at the poplar trees outside the window, watching the leaves flutter in the wind, watching the sunlight dance on the leaves. Then he turned around and looked at Jiang Cheng.

"Brother Jiang, I'll go. But you have to take a look at the plan for me. I've written it down, so please help me revise it. I can't let something go wrong and then come back to you; I need to finalize the plan before I leave."

"You've improved a lot, that's good. You write it, I'll revise it." Jiang Cheng smiled and praised him.

After Sun Deming left, Jiang Cheng stood alone by the window. He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and slowly exhaled. The smoke quickly dissipated in the sunlight, leaving nothing behind.

He remembered how Huang Deqing had taught him – pushing him in front of the machine, saying, "Give it a try," then standing by and watching, neither helping nor urging him, only speaking up when he was truly stuck. Back then, he didn't understand why his master did that, thinking his master was too harsh, not even offering a helping hand when he was struggling. Now he understood.

The day Sun Deming left for Changchun, Jiang Cheng saw him off at the station. The train was in the morning, at 7:15. The platform wasn't crowded. A few migrant workers carrying woven bags squatted on the ground smoking, smoke rising from their heads and slowly dissipating in the morning light. An old man carried a basket of eggs, walking carefully, each step slow and deliberate, afraid of breaking them. A young woman held a crying child, and she soothed him softly, like humming a lullaby.

Sun Deming was carrying a canvas bag containing a few changes of clothes, two notebooks, a vernier caliper, a micrometer, a feeler gauge, and a box of cold medicine bought from a pharmacy. He put the bag on the ground, took an envelope out of his pocket, and handed it to Jiang Cheng.

"Brother Jiang, this is the proposal I wrote. Take a look, what do you think?"

Jiang Cheng took the envelope, opened it, and stood on the platform to read it. The proposal was five pages long, written in neat handwriting, each stroke deliberate and carefully executed, showing it had been written with care. Some parts had been corrected, and the corrected parts had been rewritten. He read it very slowly, going over each page twice and mentally reviewing every number. After finishing, he carefully sealed the envelope and returned it to Sun Deming.

"Okay. There are a few minor issues; you can figure them out when you get to Changchun. The situation might be different after the equipment is disassembled, so be flexible. Don't be rigid; plans are static, but people are flexible."

Sun Deming nodded, put the envelope back in his pocket, and patted it as if to make sure it was still there. The train arrived, approaching from afar, growing louder and louder. He picked up his bag and boarded the train. He leaned out of the window, waved at Jiang Cheng, waved his hand a few times outside, and then withdrew it.

Jiang Cheng waved. The train started moving, faster and faster, and Sun Deming's face became increasingly blurry, finally turning into a blurry flesh-colored blur, blending into the figures in the train window. The sound of the wheels rolling over the rails rumbled, growing farther and farther away, fainter and fainter, until it was finally dispersed by the wind.

Jiang Cheng stood on the platform, watching the train disappear into the distance. A gust of wind blew by, carrying the smell of coal smoke, making him cough twice. He put his hands in his pockets, turned, and walked out of the station. In the square in front of the station, the breakfast vendors were packing up, the oil in the fried dough stick pans still hot, smoldering. He walked over, bought four fried dough sticks, and ate them as he walked. The fried dough sticks were cold, soft, and no longer crispy, but he ate them slowly.