Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

I haven't read Chapter 79.

When it was his turn, the host announced his name: "Next, please welcome Comrade Jiang Cheng from the Shenyang Promotion Center to speak."

He stood up and walked onto the stage. The audience was packed, over three hundred pairs of eyes watching him. He stood behind the podium, his hands trembling slightly. He placed his speech on the table without looking at it.

"Distinguished leaders and comrades," he said, "my name is Jiang Cheng, and I am a fitter from the Shenyang Promotion Center."

Some people in the audience laughed. He didn't seem to care and continued speaking.

"Today I won't preach any grand principles. I'll just talk about the three things we've done."

He held up three fingers.

"The first thing is repairing machines. Last year, our center repaired a total of 127 pieces of equipment. I'm not saying this to show how capable we are, but because these machines could be repaired in the first place; it's just that no one knew how before. We found the methods, fixed them, and now they can be used again."

The audience fell silent.

"The second thing is teaching people how to repair machines. To date, we have held three training courses and trained 92 workers. These workers have returned to their respective factories and taught even more people. The one who taught the most had 11 apprentices."

He paused, looking down at the audience.

"Thirdly, we've helped more people learn how to repair machines. We've established equipment files and maintenance systems for each factory. There are records of when machines need repair and maintenance. This way, we don't have to worry about machines breaking down and no one taking care of them."

He paused for a moment, then said, "That's all for these three things. That's all."

There was a moment of silence in the audience, followed by a burst of applause.

After the meeting, Old Zhou waited for him outside the crowd. Once everyone had left, he walked over and patted Jiang Cheng on the shoulder.

"Xiao Jiang, well said."

"Old Zhou, I didn't actually say anything."

"You've said the most important thing," Old Zhou said, looking at him. "You talked about 'doing.' What this country lacks now isn't theory, but people who get things done. 'Emancipate the mind and seek truth from facts' is followed by another sentence: 'Empty talk harms the country, hard work builds it.'"

Jiang Cheng didn't speak. He looked at Old Zhou, whose hair was even whiter and whose wrinkles were even deeper, but whose eyes were still bright.

"Mr. Zhou, how are you feeling?"

"I'm doing great," Old Zhou smiled. "I can work for another ten years."

Jiang Cheng smiled too.

He thought that his skills were taught to him by these old people. They passed on their skills to him, and he taught them to others. And those others learned them and then taught them to even more people.

This is what inheritance is all about.

That evening, Jiang Cheng wrote a letter to Zheng Yanxi at the guesthouse.

Yanxi: The meeting is over. I talked about three things, and everyone reacted well. I'm going back tomorrow. Is Jiang Yuan being good? Did he call me "Dad"? I miss him. I miss you too. Wait for me to come back. Okay.

He folded the letter, put it in an envelope, and placed it under his pillow. Then he lay down and looked at the ceiling. There was a crack in the ceiling, stretching from one end to the other, like a dried-up river.

-

When the train arrived at the station, it was just beginning to get light. The morning in Shenyang was cold; my breath condensed into white mist in front of me. There weren't many people on the platform. An old man was shoveling snow; the broom made a "swish-swish" sound as it swept across the concrete. Several migrant workers carrying woven bags squatted in a corner, eating dry steamed buns. They glanced up at him as he approached, then looked down again.

He walked off the platform, not taking the bus, but walking back to the factory. The snow hadn't completely melted, and it crunched under his feet. The sycamore trees along the roadside were bare, their branches adorned with icicles that glistened in the sun. He walked the road he had walked countless times—past the factory gate, past the foundry workshop, past the logistics warehouse. Every step was familiar, yet every step was different.

He stopped when he reached the entrance of the promotion center.

The door was open. Not ajar, but wide open. A gray van was parked in the yard, with the words "Provincial Machinery Industry Department" printed on it, the blue paint peeling off in some places. Two strangers stood in the yard, one on the phone, the other smoking. When the smoker saw Jiang Cheng come in, he put out his cigarette and walked over.

"Are you Jiang Cheng?"

"I am."

The man took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to him. The envelope was printed with the red header "LN Province Machinery Industry Department," and the seal was glued shut; it had dried and one corner was curling up.

"Notification. Please take a look."

Jiang Cheng opened the envelope and took out the paper inside. It was an official document with an official header, titled "Notice on Suspending the Work of Equipment Modification and Promotion Agencies throughout the Province."

He quickly glanced through it; the content was simple: In accordance with instructions from higher authorities, all local equipment modification and promotion agencies across the province are to suspend operations for re-evaluation. During the evaluation period, no business activities are permitted. Further notice will be given regarding when operations will resume.

The notice was stamped with the official red seal of the Provincial Department of Machinery Industry. The date was yesterday—while he was still on the train.

He held that piece of paper and stood there for a long time.

"Master Jiang," the man spoke, his tone neither warm nor cold, "we're just following orders from above. Could you please hand over the keys to your center?"

Jiang Cheng looked up at him. The man's face was ordinary, the kind you wouldn't notice in a crowd. His eyes weren't big, but they were bright, like two nails.

"The notice only said to suspend work, not to seal off the premises."

The man's lips twitched, it was unclear whether he wanted to laugh or say something. "Master Jiang, the door won't be sealed off, but you can't work in there anymore. This office needs to be vacated during the review period."

Jiang Cheng looked at him without saying a word. The two of them stood there, neither willing to give in. The courtyard was quiet, save for the sound of the wind rustling through the poplar branches, the dry twigs snapping and cracking against each other.

"Nariko."

He turned around and saw Huang Deqing standing in the doorway, holding the tin kettle in his hand. He was wearing an old cotton-padded jacket with the collar turned up, and his face was red from the wind.

"Give them the keys," Huang Deqing said.

Jiang Cheng looked at him. His master's expression was calm, like a still pond, without any ripples.

"master--"

"Give them to them," Huang Deqing repeated. "The key is fixed, but the technology is flexible. You can lock the door, but you can't lock people in."

Jiang Cheng was silent for a moment, then took out his keys from his pocket and handed them to the man. The man took the keys, looked at them, said nothing, and turned to leave. The bread truck started, its exhaust pipe spewing out a plume of white smoke that dissipated in the cold air. The truck drove out of the courtyard gate, turned a corner, and disappeared.

The courtyard was empty.

Jiang Cheng stood in the courtyard, looking at the locked door. The door was made of wood, painted green, but the paint was peeling off, revealing the grayish-white wood underneath. A new, bronze lock hung on the doorknob, reflecting the sunlight.

"Master, you already knew?"

Huang Deqing didn't answer. He squatted down, put the tin can on the ground, took out a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and took a puff.