mchenry-crisis.org Chapter 93 Sewing Competition
Chapter 93 Sewing Competition
When Lin Xiu'e entered the competition room, the sunlight slanted in from the east window, illuminating the wood grain on the pine planks clearly.
She placed her tool bag on workbench number two, unbuttoned the cuffs of her blue cotton jacket, and rolled them up again, just past her wrists.
There are thin calluses on my fingers from rubbing them together, and the red mark on the tiger's mouth has mostly disappeared, leaving only a faint ring.
She looked at the board first.
I picked up the pine plank, flipped it over, and looked at the grain of the wood against the window light.
The lines are straight, without scars or twists.
She pressed her palm against the board; the wood was just the right amount of dryness. When she put it down, she felt confident that this board was similar to the eighth one she had practiced with at the service station.
The tools were taken out of the toolbox one by one.
The chisel had a dark sheen on its blade; Qiu Changhai had sharpened it for her yesterday.
The calipers, Ah-Guang calibrated them for her yesterday.
Wrap the hemp fibers in a damp cloth to keep them supple.
In the notebook, I opened to a blank page and wrote the date in the top corner with a pencil.
Finally, she took out the two walnuts and placed them side by side on the right corner of the worktable.
The walnuts were polished until they were shiny and glossy, reflecting a subtle sheen in the sunlight.
The judge turned a page of the scorebook. "Number two, Moon Island Service Station. Let's begin."
She picked up the chisel.
The blade cut into the pine board, and with a flick of the wrist, the wood grain made a slight tearing sound.
The first groove must be cut perfectly straight, and each chisel stroke must be aligned with the extension of the previous chisel stroke.
Her hands moved slowly, but the force of each cut was applied to the same depth.
The chisel blade moved through the grain of the pine wood, and wood shavings rolled into thin strips and fell from the groove onto the table surface.
After finishing the first groove, she picked up the calipers.
Measure the groove at three points: left, center, and right, twice at each point.
The tolerances are 0.07 on the left, 0.05 in the middle, and 0.06 on the right, all within a tolerance range of plus or minus 0.1 millimeters.
Use a pencil to write the data in the notebook, making sure the handwriting is neat and tidy.
The second groove.
She changed direction and began scraping along the wood grain from right to left.
Her brow twitched slightly as the chisel blade cut into the wood grain.
The texture at this location is slightly harder than before, and the resistance to pushing the chisel is slightly greater.
She stopped, turned the board around, and looked at the wood grain again in the window light.
It's not that the grain is distorted; it's that the wood grain density is slightly higher in this section, and the growth rings tighten here.
She gently swirled the chisel blade on the whetstone a couple of times before starting to cut again.
This time the blade cut in smoothly, and the wood chips came out of the groove and rolled into thin strips.
The judge in the middle, with gray hair, pulled down his reading glasses and looked over the lenses, his gaze landing on her hand.
Twist the hemp fibers out of the damp cloth, rub them a couple of times in your palm, and then stuff them into the groove.
She filled the container eight-tenths full with hemp fibers, leaving two-tenths for the tung oil putty. It took her more than two years of practice to get the hang of it. Then she tapped down with the back of the chisel.
With a "thud," the force landed precisely on the hemp fiber.
Then, with a "thud".
Then, with a "thud".
During the break, other contestants were also tapping the backs of their chisels, the sounds rising and falling, but her rhythm remained unchanged, neither too fast nor too slow.
She brought the tung oil putty from the service station. After mixing it, she covered it with a damp cloth, giving the putty a thin layer of sheen.
Take a small spoonful of tung oil putty and spread it into the groove. Press it in at an angle with a scraper to spread the tung oil putty evenly and stick it together with the hemp fibers.
The third groove.
The fourth one.
The fifth one.
By the fifth stroke, a thin layer of sweat had formed on his forehead. He wiped it with his sleeve, but his hands didn't stop.
During the competition, the other contestants made different progresses. One contestant slipped on his chisel when he got to the third groove, leaving a mark on the board. He touched it with his finger and started chiseling again.
She didn't look in that direction; her eyes remained fixed on her board.
The sixth one.
The seventh one.
The tung oil residue on my fingers dried and then got wet again, and several gray-black marks were embedded in the gaps between my knuckles.
My wrist started to ache a little, and the red mark on my thumb and forefinger that had faded started to show a light red ring again.
She placed the chisel on the table and shook her hand.
He reached out and picked up the two walnuts on the right corner of the workbench, held them in his palm, and slowly twirled them twice.
The walnut shell is polished smooth, making almost no sound when turned. The cool shell is pressed against the palm of the hand and slowly warmed up.
The soreness in my wrist has eased a bit, and my fingers aren't as tight anymore.
Put the walnut back in its place. Pick up the chisel and continue chiseling the eighth groove.
The judge with gray hair took off his reading glasses, wiped them with a cloth, and put them back on.
The judge next to him turned his head and whispered something. His voice was so soft that Lin Xiu'e couldn't hear it because of the several worktables between them.
She didn't look up.
The eighth one.
The ninth one.
The tenth one.
When they reached the twelfth twist, they stopped again.
The groove is located at the edge of the pine board, where the wood grain naturally narrows and becomes denser than in the middle.
When the chisel blade cut in, I felt resistance; it was much harder than the middle.
She turned the board forty-five degrees so that the window light shone obliquely on the groove, and ran her fingertip along the bottom of the groove.
There was a slight burr at the bottom of the groove, which was caused by the wood grain being pushed against the grain slightly when the chisel was pushed in.
"Don't fight back when things don't go your way." Qiu Changhai's voice echoed in my mind, slow and deliberate, each word seeming to linger in his mouth before he uttered it. "Take a step back and try a different approach."
She pulled the chisel out, adjusted the cutting angle of the blade, and cut against the grain from the other end of the groove.
The blade gently scraped across, and the burrs were removed.
I measured the depth of the groove bottom again with calipers, and all three points were within the tolerance range.
An extra note was added to the notebook: "The wood grain density at the edge of the twelfth groove is too high. It has been treated against the grain. The groove depth has been adjusted to meet the standard."
The judge in the middle stood up.
He slowly walked to the front of workbench number two, bent down and looked at the dozen or so seams she had sewed.
After looking at it for a while, he reached out and ran his calloused fingers along the stitched seams one by one. He paused when he reached the twelfth seam and looked down at it again.
He pulled his reading glasses down a little and looked up at her.
"Who is your master?"
"Master Qiu Changhai." Lin Xiu'e placed the chisel on the table and straightened up.
The judge nodded but didn't say anything.
He pulled his hands back, put them behind his back, and walked back to sit on the bench.
I picked up a pen and wrote a few lines in the grade book.
Lin Xiu'e continued to stitch the thirteenth seam.
The sound of the chisel striking the ground was slow and steady, mingling with the sea breeze outside the window.
The sunlight moved from the window to the edge of the workbench, illuminating the wood grain on the pine planks and making it spread out layer by layer.
When she finished sizing the twentieth seam, she put the chisel on the table and straightened up.
A fine layer of sweat appeared on his forehead, which he wiped with his sleeve.
Then reach your hand to the right corner of the workbench and hold the two walnuts in your palm.
The walnuts had been warmed by the sweat in my palms, and felt warm to the touch.
She turned around twice, feeling the walnut shell gently pressing against her palm, and her knuckles slowly relaxed.
I took out the notebook and checked the data for all twenty seams again from beginning to end.
The three-point measurement values of each seam groove, the hemp fiber filling degree, and the tung oil putty ratio.
When I got to the twelfth check, I glanced at the notes section with my pencil. No problem, I closed the notebook.
The judge came over and turned the pine board over to check the back.
The back of the twenty seams was clean, with no putty seeping through.
He put the board down, reached out and picked up the two walnuts on the right corner of her worktable, looked at them, put them back, and then wrote the last few lines in the scorebook.
"Number Two is complete."
Lin Xiu'e put the tools back into her tool bag one by one.
I wiped the chisel clean with cotton yarn, but the tung oil putty on the blade wasn't completely dry yet, so I had to wipe it off after a couple of strokes.
Close the calipers and put them back in the box.
Wrap the muslin ball again with a damp cloth. Close the notebook and secure it with a rubber band.
The last thing she put back was the two walnuts. She placed them on top of the tool bag, pressed them down through the cloth, and then slung the tool bag over her shoulder.
The judge handed over the score sheet.
The twisting and sewing section scored 93 points, the average deviation of the groove accuracy was 0.05, and the density of the hemp fiber filling met all standards.
She took the score sheet, bowed to the judges, and walked out of the competition room.
The sunlight was already directly overhead, and the cement ground in the yard was bleached white by the sun.
Several contestants waiting for the next round gathered at the entrance of the sewing room. When they saw her come out, they all glanced at the score sheet in her hand. Someone whispered to the person next to him, "Who is Qiu Changhai?" No one answered.
Jiang Haiping leaned against a cement pillar outside the competition area, the loquat leaf in his hand crumpled up to just the stem.
Ding Haifeng walked over from the old parts management room, stood next to Jiang Haiping, and didn't say anything.
Lin Xiu'e handed them the rating sheet.
"Ninety-three." Jiang Haiping handed the score sheet back to her after reading it, his voice very soft, as if he were afraid of breaking something.
Ding Haifeng did not look at the rating sheet.
He pulled his hand out of his work clothes pocket and took out his enamel mug from his tool bag, handing it over.
The jar contained cooled boiled water that Hong Xiaobing had filled early that morning; it was no longer cold, but still very clear.
Lin Xiu'e took it and drank a sip.
The water was lukewarm, and as it slid down her throat, she realized her throat was a little dry.
She returned the jar to Ding Haifeng and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Hong Xiaobing ran over from the waiting tent, clutching half a bag of sesame candy in his hand. The bag was already open when he handed it over.
"Sister Xiu'e, have a piece of candy." Lin Xiu'e took a piece; the candy was cut crookedly, with slightly burnt edges, and it made a crunching sound when chewed.
Very sweet.