1950s: After transmigrating into a capitalist, I relied on military industry to achieve a comeback.

On the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month, the snow in Harbin seemed to be trying to tear a hole in the sky, falling day and night, leaving only a dazzling, pale white expanse between heaven and earth.

Inside the Lin family's house, however, it was warm and cozy, with a roaring fire in the stove that occasionally crackled with a pop or two.

Lin Jiaoyue sat cross-legged on the heated kang (a traditional heated brick bed), with a thick woolen felt mat beneath her. The small, chipped square table in front of her was now completely covered by a huge A1-sized drawing sheet. She had half a White Rabbit milk candy in her mouth, the sweet, milky aroma melting on her tongue, slightly relieving the sugar deficiency caused by four hours of continuous high-speed brain activity.

The Parker pen in her hand—the "gift" Professor Zhou had insisted on giving her before leaving—was now moving across the paper at a dazzling speed. The ink blurred and smeared precise, cold lines on the paper.

"Click, click, click."

The crisp, rhythmic clinking of the abacus beads came from the side.

Lin Hongsheng, wearing his old reading glasses wrapped with tape around his nose, stared intently at a crumpled union ledger, as if facing a formidable enemy. Since becoming a union officer, this former head manager, who had handled millions of silver dollars without batting an eye, now had to argue heatedly with others over the distribution of a few pounds of kerosene and two baskets of rotten cabbage.

"Dad, your brows are so furrowed they could trap a fly." Lin Jiaoyue didn't even look up, her pen tip drawing a beautiful arc on the drawing paper with exceptional fluidity, and next to it, she heavily marked the essence of this stroke: "Heat exchange efficiency improved by 35%, tolerance ±0.02mm".

As she wrote those words, a slight smile curved her lips. This wasn't just data; it was the capital that forced the Red Star Factory to support the Lin family after her departure.

"What do you know, little girl? This is a political mission, even more difficult than the massive grain transport of the past." Lin Hongsheng took off his glasses, rubbed his slightly red nose, and although his tone was complaining, it also revealed a sense of enjoyment. "Zhang Dajiao's family in the east courtyard has given birth, and according to regulations, they should receive an extra two jin of fine flour, but the storeroom only has cornmeal left. I'm thinking about how to balance this out, so that it doesn't violate the rules and that her family can have dumplings during her postpartum period."

Lin Jiaoyue paused slightly with her pen, and couldn't help but smile.

This is her father. Even in his decline, he still retains the chivalrous spirit of a江湖 (jianghu, a term referring to the world of martial arts and chivalry) and the shrewdness of a businessman. It's just that before, he schemed against people's hearts for profit, and now he schemes against people's hearts for those pitiful resources.

"If all else fails, just share my rations with them. I have plenty in my storage space anyway," Lin Jiaoyue said casually.

"Nonsense!" Lin Hongsheng's eyes widened, his usually refined face now bearing a stern expression—the lingering authority of his former position as the head manager of Hengli Trading Company. "Public matters are public matters, and private matters are private matters. If we open the door to using our own resources to subsidize public funds, how will the union function? That's breaking the rules!"

He paused, a sly smile appearing on his face, and lowered his voice, saying, "I'm not without options. Old Li at the canteen still has a batch of damp noodles. They don't look good, but they're edible. I'm planning to exchange two industrial coupons for them, then dry the noodles, grind them into powder, and mix in some good flour. That way, I'll make up for the shortfall of two pounds of fine noodles, right? That's called resource exchange, understand?"

Lin Jiaoyue couldn't help but laugh out loud: "I get it, I get it, you're applying Wall Street's methods to the cafeteria kitchen."

"This is none of your business, your father has a plan."

With that, Lin Hongsheng put on his faded but still neatly pressed Zhongshan suit, put his hands in his pockets, and went out the door. His figure appeared somewhat frail as the curtain swayed in the breeze, yet it was exceptionally resolute.

Lin Jiaoyue looked at the still-swaying curtain and sighed softly. She knew all too well how much persuasion and favors her father had to expend behind his so-called "recruitment." This once powerful man was using his clumsy but effective methods to protect the dignity of his social class and the harmony of his neighbors, and was also trying to prove his worth to this new era.

She withdrew her gaze and refocused on the blueprints. Her eyes instantly sharpened, and the girlish naiveté that once belonged to her vanished, replaced by the calmness and domineering presence of a top engineer.

This is no ordinary blueprint. It is a "talisman" she left for the Red Star Factory, and also a "life-saving charm" for her parents.

She was worried about Zhao Weiguo's departure for Beijing. Although he was a man of principle and had promised to protect her parents, she understood better than anyone the fickle nature of relationships and the unpredictability of life. In this turbulent era, only by making the Red Star Factory indispensable to her technology and the entire Northeast military industrial production line dependent on the Lin family's wisdom could she turn her parents' "Achilles' heel" into a "prohibited scale" that no one dared to touch.

This image shows an improved version of the Soviet-style annealing furnace. They replaced the original bulky unidirectional air duct with a swirling heat exchange structure. While this would be standard practice in later times, it was considered cutting-edge technology, a game-changing innovation that would silence even Soviet experts.

It can not only save 30% of coal consumption, but also improve the uniformity of furnace temperature by a level. In this era of scarcity, saving coal is saving lives, and controlling temperature is controlling quality. Once this furnace is successfully ignited, anyone who wants to harm Lin Hongsheng and his wife will have to think twice about whether they can bear the consequences of the Hongxing Factory shutting down.

There's also that "Handbook for Troubleshooting Heat Treatment of Special Steel," which she wrote in plain language, even using metaphors like "the color of the fire should be like a ripe persimmon" and "the sound should be like hitting a broken gong." It's guaranteed that even a roughneck like Liu Baji can understand it and practice by following it.

This is not just about exporting technology, but also about winning people's hearts and minds.

"Jiaojiao, take a break, have some frozen pear to cool down."

Su Wanqing lifted the curtain and came in, carrying a chipped enamel basin. The frozen pears in the basin were dark and looked like a few lumps of coal, but a layer of glistening water droplets had already formed on their skins, making them look refreshingly cool.

"Mom, I'm not tired. There's just a little bit left to finish." Lin Jiaoyue carefully rolled up the blueprints, stuffed them into the tin can next to her, and solemnly closed the lid.

Su Wanqing put down the basin, her gaze falling on the tin can, her expression complex. She didn't understand what the lines represented, but she knew that it was these very things that had astonished the professor from Beijing, and it was these very things that had made Director Zhao treat their family as honored guests.

"Put all your old clothes into your space these next few days," Su Wanqing said gently as she took out a stack of newly made clothes from the deepest part of the closet. "Beijing is a big city, and the girls there are all fashionable. We can't let people laugh at us girls from the Northeast for being unsophisticated."

The top layer was a navy blue wool coat, with a clean cut and a fine velvet trim around the collar. At first glance, it looked ordinary, even a bit old-fashioned, fitting the current trend of frugality and simplicity.

Lin Jiaoyue reached out to touch it, and her heart skipped a beat the moment her fingertips touched the fabric.

This is no ordinary woolen fabric. It's Melton woolen fabric imported from England back then. It's sturdy and windproof, but Su Wanqing cleverly reversed it, exposing the rough side on the outside and attaching the smooth side to the lining.

Below were two fine cotton shirts, their stitches so dense they looked like they'd been made by a motorcycle, each stitch revealing the craftsman's care. Lin Jiaoyue lifted the hem of one of the shirts and saw a tiny orchid embroidered there with the same colored silk thread—this was Su Wanqing's unique mark, and the only "personal possession" she, as a mother, could leave for her daughter amidst the torrent of time.

"Mom, this is too thick. I look like a ball in it," Lin Jiaoyue complained, but she held onto the coat tightly.

"The wind in Beijing is bone-chilling, nothing like the heated walls at home." Su Wanqing's eyes were red and swollen as she rubbed her fingers along the collar of her coat, her fingertips covered in several bandages from needle pricks she'd gotten while rushing to finish work these past few days. "It'll keep you warm. Mother's not around, so you'll have to know whether you're warm or cold."

Lin Jiaoyue didn't speak, but buried her face deep in the collar of her coat and took a deep breath.

It was a scent that blended the smell of camphor balls, the smell of firewood, and the comforting aroma of soapberry that my mother carried.

This wasn't just clothing; it was as if her mother had meticulously sewed together half a lifetime's worth of dignity, gentleness, and unspoken worries into every stitch. She could almost see her mother, wearing her reading glasses, under the lamplight late at night, stitch by stitch, locking all her longing for her daughter into these layers of cotton.

"Mom, don't worry." Lin Jiaoyue raised her head, her eyes slightly red, but her voice was incredibly clear. "Wearing this coat feels like you're holding me. I told my classmates that this is the 'soft armor' my mom sewed for me; it's invulnerable and very warm."

"Alright, alright, you're getting carried away." Su Wanqing laughed and nudged her. "Go to sleep, you have to go to work early tomorrow morning."

The lights went out, leaving only a few flickering embers in the stove. Outside the window, the wind and snow howled, enveloping the small home in a vast expanse of white. Lin Jiaoyue lay on the warm kang (heated brick bed), listening to her parents' hushed voices next door, a smile playing on her lips as she drifted off to sleep.

……