Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

In the northern suburbs of Beijing, a cold wind swirls withered leaves, slapping against a mottled red brick wall.

This is the "Third Machinery Factory," a state-owned enterprise, but it's an old factory that started operating as early as the late Qing Dynasty.

The jeep bumped along the potholed dirt road for a while before finally stopping in front of the rusty iron gate.

Shen Jinghong jumped out of the car, her leather shoes stepping on the black soil mixed with iron filings and engine oil, and her brows furrowed unconsciously.

The air was filled with a strong smell of coal smoke, mixed with the pungent chemical fumes from the pickling tank, making one's throat itch.

"Director Shen, Elder Li, Assistant Lin, welcome, welcome!"

A middle-aged man wearing faded blue overalls and with oily hands strode up to greet us. He was the factory manager, named Wang Tiezhu, and as his name suggested, he exuded a tough, iron-like aura.

"Director Wang, let's skip the formalities."

Shen Jinghong squeezed his rough, sandpaper-like hand, her gaze passing over his shoulder to the low, dark factory buildings behind them:

"Marshal Nie entrusted the initial trial production of Project 501 to your factory. I'm here today to see what we have to offer."

Wang Tiezhu's smile froze for a moment, then he gave an embarrassed, bitter smile.

"Family assets... Hey, Director Shen, you've studied abroad, so don't complain about how shabby this place is when you go inside."

He turned to the side and made a "please" gesture.

The group entered Workshop No. 1.

As soon as he stepped across the threshold, a huge roar made Shen Jinghong's eardrums buzz.

The dim light bulbs hung in mid-air, their brightness flickering due to the vibrations of the machines.

Above us were countless belt drive shafts, like a spider web. In those days, there were no independent motors; dozens of machines were driven by this single main shaft, and the acrid smell of the belts rubbing together filled our nostrils.

Shen Jinghong walked up to a lathe that was cutting steel pipes with a "crunching" sound and reached out to touch the bed covered in grease.

Cold, rough, and vibrates in the hand.

He lowered his head and, barely able to make out a line of inscription beneath the thick layer of grease:

**[Made in the 21st year of the Guangxu reign by Hanyang Arsenal]**

"The 21st year of the Guangxu Emperor's reign?"

Shen Jinghong's fingers froze.

He turned to look at Old Li behind him, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief and absurdity:

"Old Li, this...this thing is older than my great-grandmother, isn't it? Are we counting on this to build a supersonic plane?"

Old Li sighed, took off his glasses, wiped the lenses fogged up by the heat, and looked somber.

"Jinghong, this is the best equipment we have. When we retreated back then, all the good stuff was destroyed by bombing. These few machines were protected by the workers with their lives. They were carried all the way to the mountains and hidden there, and later they were brought back."

"If we can make guns, we can make guns. If we can make guns, we can fight the Japanese devils and the reactionaries."

These words sounded encouraging, but Shen Jinghong felt a tightness in her chest.

The spirit is commendable, but this is, after all, industry.

Industry demands precision and tolerances. How can you expect to manufacture aircraft engine blades with a precision requirement of 0.001 millimeters using such outdated equipment with only 0.1 millimeters of precision?

That's not a dream, that's playing with your life.

"Sizzle—sizzle—"

A piercing metallic scraping sound came from the corner.

Shen Jinghong followed the sound.

In front of a dimly lit workbench, an elderly worker with gray hair was hunched over, holding a file in his hand, and was working hard on a gear-shaped part.

He wore a pair of reading glasses with only one leg, and the tip of his nose was almost touching the parts.

Each stroke of the file was done with utmost care, as if carving a rare treasure.

"What are you doing?" Shen Jinghong asked.

"This is Master Liu, our factory's eighth-level fitter, the pillar of strength."

Wang Tiezhu spoke with respect, "The machine tools weren't precise enough, so these last few steps could only be done by Master Liu's touch, filing them out bit by bit. He was the one who oversaw the firing pins of this batch of gun bolts."

Shen Jinghong took two steps closer.

He saw Master Liu's hands.

What kind of hands were those?

His fingers were covered in calluses, his knuckles were large and deformed, and his fingernails were filled with black grime that could never be washed off.

The most shocking thing was that, due to the prolonged and intense exertion, a gash had appeared on his hand, and blood was seeping out, mixed with black iron filings, congealing into a dark red scab.

But he seemed not to feel any pain.

He just stared intently at the parts in his hands; that was his battlefield, and his life.

"If your hand shakes even slightly, this part will be ruined. If it's ruined, the soldiers on the front lines will get stuck and bleed."

Master Liu didn't even look up, muttering to himself as if he were chanting scriptures.

Shen Jinghong felt her eyes burning and a wave of bitterness rushing to her nose.

These are the workers from China.

They lacked advanced equipment, comfortable environments, and even struggled to fill their stomachs.

But with just their own hands and with their reckless spirit, they have become the backbone of this nation.

but……

"It's too bitter."

Shen Jinghong murmured softly.

He looked at Master Liu's trembling yet determined hands, and the voice in his heart grew louder and louder until it became a roar:

On what grounds?

Why should our parents have to use their flesh and blood to fill the gap in industrial development?

Why should we use such primitive methods to fight against an enemy armed to the teeth?

That's enough.

Shen Jinghong suddenly reached out and gently pressed down on Master Liu's wrist, which was still filing.

"Master Liu, take a break."

Master Liu was taken aback, then looked up blankly at the young bureau chief through his thick glasses: "Sir, this job is urgent, the front lines are waiting for it..."

"I know it's urgent."

Shen Jinghong took out a clean white handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it firmly against Master Liu's bleeding handkerchief. Her voice was a little hoarse, but it conveyed an undeniable determination:

"But starting today, we won't do that anymore."

He turned around, his gaze sweeping over the dilapidated, dimly lit workshop, which exuded an air of backwardness.

Looking at those old relics struggling to operate under belt drive.

Looking at those workers covered in oil stains, yet with shining eyes.

"Director Wang!"

Shen Jinghong suddenly let out a low shout, startling Wang Tiezhu.

"arrive!"

"Pass on my order! Empty Workshop Number One within ten minutes!"

"what?"

Wang Tiezhu was stunned. "Clear...clear? Director Shen, this production task is urgent; every minute of downtime is a loss!"

"I said clear it!"

Shen Jinghong's eyes were sharp as knives, reflecting the authority of a superior and the determination to change the world. "Have all workers evacuate immediately! Seal all doors and windows! No one is allowed to enter without my order!"

"this……"

Wang Tiezhu looked at Old Li standing to the side.

Although Old Li didn't understand what Shen Jinghong was going to do, he remembered the thick blueprints and Marshal Nie's instructions.

"Listen to Director Shen! Retreat!"

soon.

The workers, filled with doubt and confusion, gradually left the workshop.

The massive iron gate slowly closed with a heavy scraping sound.

The last glimmer of light was shut out through the door.

In the huge workshop, only Shen Jinghong remained, along with the room full of belt shafts that were still spinning idly.

"call--"

Shen Jinghong stood in the middle of the empty corridor and took a deep breath of the air filled with the smell of engine oil.

He closed his eyes, his consciousness sinking into the depths of his mind.

There, in a vast space, countless enormous objects gleaming with a cold light float silently.

That was a five-axis CNC machine tool that he brought back from Lockheed.

That was a precision grinding machine he had brought back from the port of Hamburg, Germany.

That is a crystallization of steel representing the highest level of industrial technology on this planet.

"system."

Shen Jinghong opened his eyes, a wild and arrogant smile curling at the corners of his lips.

He raised his hand and snapped his fingers crisply at the "21st year of Guangxu" inscription that filled the room.

"Show me all the goods we 'brought in' from the United States."

"Let these old geezers see what...the Industrial Revolution really is!"