In the 90s, you could acquire max-level skills every 14 days.

Old Zhao's hands were busy; he slowly inserted the copper wire into the carburetor's nozzle and then pulled it out.

In the corner of the shed lay an old yellow dog, its ears drooping, its tail resting on a piece of broken tire, its eyelids half-open as it sized up Zhang Yong.

"Master Zhao, I've passed my certification exam, and I'm here to learn today—"

"What's the rush?"

Old Zhao finally put down the copper wire, stood up, stretched, tilted his head, and scanned Zhang Yong from head to toe.

"Last time you noticed my motorcycle's right cylinder was leaking, I've been thinking about it for days. Are you just making things up?"

"I really could tell from it."

"Alright. I'll take your word for it." Old Zhao rubbed the oil off his hands and gestured towards the back of the shed. "Then I'll give you a serious test today."

Three engines were placed side by side on the iron frame table in the tin shed.

Each machine head was covered with a dirty canvas, on which numbers were written in chalk—number 1, number 2, number 3.

Old Zhao lifted the canvas covering No. 1, revealing a four-cylinder diesel engine.

"These were brought over by the factory for me to repair. All three can start, but they all have some problems."

He pointed to the watch on his wrist.

"You have five minutes. No disassembly, no tools. First, take a look and listen to see what's wrong."

"If you can't say anything, just ride your bicycle back. Don't keep me from getting to work."

Zhang Yong nodded and glanced at the edge of his field of vision.

[Auto Repair Lv.0 - Entry Level: 38%]

"Alright, you can light it."

Old Zhao bent down, grabbed the hand crank of machine number 1, and cranked it three times.

Thud... thud... thud thud thud...

The diesel engine emitted a plume of black smoke, shook a few times, and barely managed to start turning.

Driving a Level 6 mechanical sensory system has greatly improved Zhang Yong's hearing.

This time he heard it clearly.

Amidst the thuds, there was a faint, intermittent clicking sound. It occurred every few strikes, without any regularity.

He walked over and pressed down on the engine casing, creating a slight pause in the rhythm of the crankshaft turning.

This feels the same as when the steering wheel vibrates because the axle is loose while driving.

"This." Zhang Yong withdrew his hand. "At the crankshaft location, there's a gap between the shaft and the outer sleeve; it's loose. It wobbles when it turns, which is why it makes a clicking sound."

Old Zhao nodded, neither right nor wrong. He simply pointed to machine number 2.

"Number 2, continue."

Zhang Yong walked over and listened for more than ten seconds, his brows slowly furrowing.

The rotation speed is normal, and the vibration is also stable.

He went around to the side of the exhaust pipe, squatted down, and put his ear close to the exhaust outlet.

A blast of scalding exhaust fumes hit my face. This smell was wrong; it was too pungent.

Zhang Yong reached out and touched the exhaust pipe, and he knew what was going on.

"Number 2. The exhaust valve... it's not closing properly. It's leaking air, and the smoke coming out isn't burning completely."

"Continue, number 3." Old Zhao pointed to machine number 3.

Zhang Yong walked around the machine for a whole circle, squatted down to listen, then stood up and touched it, repeating this process twice.

The sound is normal, the vibration is normal, and there is nothing unusual about the exhaust pipe.

Time passed slowly, and Old Zhao's expression grew increasingly impatient.

This time, Zhang Yong practically pressed his nose against the engine. He finally caught a faint smell, a sweet aroma with a hint of burntness.

The time I repaired a Dongfeng truck in Tongxian, the smell was similar to the one from the time the inferior engine oil burned.

But the scent on this stand is even fainter; you have to put your face right up to it to barely smell it.

"Number 3." Zhang Yong stood up.

"The seal between the piston and the cylinder wall is not good. Gas is rising and bringing up some of the engine oil from below, which is why it smells burnt."

Old Zhao glanced at his watch.

"Okay, a little over four minutes."

He bent down and turned off the three engines one by one. The shed fell silent, with only Old Huang's heavy breathing breaking the silence.

"You're right about everything."

"Your ears..." Old Zhao rubbed his stubble and grinned.

"Your ears, are they fucking attached to the engine?!"

At that moment, Zhang Yong's screen flickered at the edge of his field of vision.

[Auto Repair Lv.0 - Beginner Progress: 38% → 52%]

The actual increase was 14 percentage points.

"But your mouth won't do." Old Zhao's smile vanished instantly. "What do you mean by 'a crack'? What do you mean by 'can't be closed properly'? If people find out, they'll think you're a blabbermouth."

"Well, I really haven't learned the proper way to say it."

"It's good that you know it won't work." Old Zhao took out his cafeteria card from the table. "Come on, it's time to eat."

"become."

......

The cotton mill's canteen was in a single-story building next to the workshop. It was just a few steps away, and the aroma of food wafted from inside.

The lady serving food at the window recognized Zhang Yong and gave him an extra spoonful of stewed vermicelli.

"Is this Old Zhang's son? Eat more, he's too thin, there's hardly any flesh on his face."

Zhang Yong and Old Zhao carried their enamel basins and sat down on a long bench in a corner.

The old yellow dog followed and lay down under the table. Old Zhao picked up a piece of fatty pork skin and threw it to the dog. The dog grabbed it in one bite, its tail swishing rapidly.

I had just sat down after getting my food when two people in blue overalls came over to me.

"Master Zhao, is this the young man from the Zhang family? The one who repairs cars for Factory Director Wei?" The tall, thin man sat down with his food bowl, his eyes darting over Zhang Yong.

"I heard from your dad this morning, is the car repair thing true?"

Another worker leaned closer to Zhang Yong, his voice booming, "I heard you even got a special driving license, and you were among the first batch in our district?"

The tall, thin man gasped, "Then I'll have to drive for the higher-ups from now on!"

"Who knows! I heard someone even reported him during the exam! And he got punished on the spot!"

"Impressive." The tall, thin man sized up Zhang Yong. "Little Zhang, could you help me keep an eye on that tricycle sometime? I can't seem to start it lately—"

"Shut up! Eat your food." Old Zhao didn't even look up.

The two immediately lowered their voices, only daring to whisper among themselves.

"Eighteen years old, repairing cars and getting certified." "You tell me, isn't that lucky?" "Sigh, it's so unfair! Why don't I have that kind of luck?"

Zhang Yong didn't say a word the whole time.

After a while, he took out the book "Fundamentals of Automobile Structure" from his canvas bag, turned to the chapter on valve mechanisms, and pushed it in front of Old Zhao.

He pointed to the cross-sectional diagram in the illustration.

"Master Zhao, look, this is the problem with machine number 1. It's written in the book, and that's where I learned it."

Old Zhao, with a bone dangling from his mouth, glanced sideways at the pages of the book.

I looked at it for two seconds and then looked away.

Zhang Yong noticed it.

"Master Zhao—don't you usually look at these things?"

Old Zhao gritted his teeth and mumbled a sound.

"What are you looking at? I can barely read. I've studied for thirty years, all by myself. I'm lucky if I can learn a few words."

He pulled the bone out and threw it to the yellow dog.

"If you ask me what the scientific name of that thing is, or what the national standard number is, I can't tell you. My master taught me step by step; who wrote the book for me?"

Zhang Yong turned to the page about the exhaust valve and pushed it in front of Old Zhao.

"The problems with Unit 2 are also mentioned in the book; it's just that my wording isn't quite standard."

Old Zhao stretched out his finger and pressed it against the exhaust valve engineering drawing on the page of the book, examining it carefully for a while. His fingertip was covered in grease and cracks, leaving a clear black fingerprint on the white paper.

Someone outside the cafeteria called out for lunch, and the clinking of bowls and chopsticks filled the air.

Old Zhao stared at the picture for a long time, his face serious.

"Reading more books is good; I've suffered because I'm uneducated."

"I've done this my whole life, relying entirely on experience. If someone could write all of this down in a book... it would definitely be much faster to teach apprentices than to train them one by one."

He withdrew his hand, his face immediately hardening again.

"But if you don't have real skills, even if you can identify the problems in a hundred engines, you won't be able to fix one."

"That's why I came to find you."

"Don't try to sweet-talk me, I'm not falling for that."

Old Zhao stood up with a stern face, picked up the basin, and walked towards the window.

"I've had the diesel engine brought out. Pick out your own tools, but don't touch anything you don't recognize."

"I'll watch you take it apart this afternoon, and if even one part is missing, I'll beat you up!"