The old things I repaired have become fine

Chapter 35: Mo Dou, what are you trying to do in broad daylight?
Shen Le turned the backpack with the inkstone to his chest, looked straight ahead, buried his head in his meal, and pretended he heard nothing.

Oh, look at this couple. The man is wearing a very old work suit, as if he has been wearing it since the end of the last century. The collar and cuffs have been patched again and again.

My wife was wearing brightly colored clothes, with large areas of sequins on them, but the style was so old that it was basically the kind of thing that would be popular in third- and fourth-tier cities, or the kind that would sparkle in rural fairs.

Look at their feet again, each of them has a pair of Jiefang shoes, the kind that cost ten yuan a pair...

A common saying suddenly came to Shen Le's mind:
Poor and humble couples are sad.

If someone has a higher income, would they argue and quarrel like this on the street just for a hundred or two hundred dollars?

If he were an ink fountain, he would really be so annoyed that he would jump out of his tool box and draw a bunch of ink lines on the walls, the floor, and even the faces of the host and hostess to protest...

Just as I was thinking this, two screams suddenly exploded from behind. A mixture of men and women, extremely terrified, mixed with the sound of broken dishes:
"It's happening again! That thing is happening again!"

"You two, have you finished eating?" The boss finally couldn't stand it anymore and came out to chase them away:
"Just leave when you're done eating, don't start a fight in my shop! Oh, by the way, a bowl costs two dollars, and a plate costs fifty cents, I'll compensate you!"

"Look at you, making such a fuss..."

The couple argued, complained, and bargained with the boss, but in the end they only paid two dollars and left the store in a hurry. Shen Le looked down quickly and was speechless for a moment:

The zipper of the backpack was torn open at some point, and the lead weight with the ink line attached was dangling and retracting into the backpack, pretending that nothing had been done.

On the backs of the couple, one of them drew two ink lines, which crossed to form a big "X"!

Hey!
Mo Dou, take it easy!

What are you trying to do in broad daylight? Do you know that there are surveillance cameras everywhere?

He gave up the idea of shopping and hurried back. He sat down at the workbench, took out the ink fountain, shook it twice, and knocked it:
"Give me an explanation?"

The ink fountain was silent, and even the thread wheel and the ink thread connected to the thread wheel only followed the normal physical laws and swayed slightly in a regular manner. Shen Le was speechless, shook the ink fountain again, and pulled out the copper sheet:

"Pretending to be dead, huh? Not talking, huh? If you don't talk again, I have a way to deal with you!"

The inkwell was still resting steadily on the table, like a normal, ordinary woodworking tool with nothing strange about it.

Shen Le snorted and resolutely pressed the copper piece up. The moment the two touched, his ears buzzed and his eyes went dark.
“So, the factory is gone?”

Along with the question, there was a muffled "bang" sound, followed by the sound of wood hitting wood and wood hitting metal.

A middle-aged man in old work clothes stood by the table, unloading a half-worn large canvas bag and placing items one by one into the wooden box.

Shen Le looked around. It was the same house as in his previous memory, but the furnishings were much older and newer:

The TV was not a light LCD screen, but a big-butt TV less than 20 inches, carefully covered by a red velvet TV cover;
There was a gas tank under the stove, and on the dining table, a light sarong covered several bowls of food, keeping out the buzzing flies.
The bedside tables, wardrobes, desks, and various furniture in the room basically had no paint peeling, and there were fewer cracks than last time...

So, what time period is this?

Earlier than the last memory... twenty years? Thirty years? "Yes, the factory closed. We both lost our jobs - you retired early, and I bought out my years of service and found a job on my own..."

Hearing these key words, Shen Le already had an idea in his mind: It was indeed several decades earlier than the last memory. The 1990s, or to be exact, the late 1990s.

So, the man in his memory now... is the father of one of the two couples who were quarreling that he saw today?
Is it the father?

He walked a few steps closer and looked inside. The sound of the canvas bag falling to the ground and the clanging sounds inside sounded very familiar.

Looking again, I saw that there were indeed carpenter knives, carpenter chisels, saws, planes, and various other tools.

The man was very familiar with them. He turned his head to talk to his wife and put the tools into the tool box without even looking at them.

Each time he reached out and grabbed one, he put one thing down. Big and small, concave and convex, they were stacked crosswise in the tool box, making the best use of the space, without any one thing randomly crossing or occupying other people's territory.

Finally, he took out an inkwell from the small pocket of the canvas bag, held it in his hand, and sighed slightly.

"From now on...what should I do in my life..."

Shen Le stood behind the man and also sighed.

When workers of this age suddenly lose their jobs, they really don’t know where to find a job. Especially when a couple works in the same factory, if they lose their jobs, they lose their jobs together…

"I went to see Mr. Wang from Lingling Road yesterday." After a moment of silence, the wife stood up and walked over, dragged out an identical large canvas bag from behind the door, and put it on the table with a clang:

"Boss Wang said he has a job to help someone with renovations, building partitions, cabinets, etc. The salary is 20 yuan a day, food and accommodation are provided, and you have to go to Binhai... Do you want to come with us?"

As he was talking, the canvas bag was dragged onto the table with a loud clang. The man hesitated, turned his head to look at his wife, and then looked at the door:

"I'd better find a job in town first. Dad is in poor health and the children are young, so someone has to stay at home. You go to make money and I'll take care of the house. Let's divide the work and cooperate—"

As he spoke, he half turned around, stroked the inkwell, and stuffed it into his wife's canvas bag. His wife lowered her head, stroked the inkwell, and sighed softly:
"You gave me this inkwell as a gift. Fortunately, the factory was closed and I was allowed to bring these things back. Otherwise, I would have no tools to work with. Otherwise, should I stay at home?"

"It's easier for me to take care of dad than for you. Besides, your cooking skills are no worse than mine. Go ahead, it's up to you to make money. The military medal will be half yours and half mine!"

He patted his wife's shoulder. His wife bent down slightly, put her head and shoulders into the straps of the canvas bag, stood up straight, tried to carry the bag, turned her head and smiled:
"Then it's up to me! Back in the factory, you couldn't work as hard as I did!"

The middle-aged woman, who was in her forties, wore a blue cloth work suit and had her hair cut short. There were already some light silver threads on her temples, and she was not pretty.

However, this smile when she looked back, her eyes shining, sweet and proud, was exactly the same as when she was young, the young female worker who refused to admit defeat, never bowed her head, and was holding back her energy to compete with men in technology.

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(End of this chapter)