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

"Master, whose job is this?"

"Old Ma's bread from the transport team, they say the second gear is worn out."

Zhang Yong took a look and saw that it was a gearbox assembly from an Isuzu in Japan, with an external hexagonal lock nut on it, which was not of the national standard.

Old Zhao had a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a dark expression on his face.

"I can't get any strength in this hexagonal nut, it just leaves white marks."

Zhang Yong squatted down and took out his homemade socket from his canvas bag.

"What a coincidence, sir! I've prepared the goods for you. Please try using this."

Old Zhao glanced at it.

"You think your piece of junk will even work?"

Zhang Yong didn't answer, but instead aligned the socket with the locking nut and tried it.

It was indeed a little short.

He took out a small piece of copper sheet from his bag, wrapped it around the outer ring of the nut, and put the socket back on—it fit perfectly.

"Hey!" Old Zhao's eyes lit up.

Zhang Yong gripped the socket and added a lever. He used a clever technique, leveraging his waist and legs.

"Click—"

The nut is loose.

Old Zhao snatched it away and quickly removed the nut. The subsequent gears and synchronizer were easy to handle; Old Zhao could do them with his eyes closed.

Working together, one disassembled and the other handed it over, and in less than forty minutes, the faulty gear in the transmission was replaced.

"Where did you get the idea for that copper gasket?" Old Zhao squatted on the ground, examining the sleeve over and over, clearly admiring it.

"I read it in a book. When foreign repair shops encounter incompatible tools from different brands, they often use soft metal as temporary bushings."

"It's from the book again," Old Zhao snorted. "Does the book even teach you how to use a socket wrench?"

"I learned that from you."

Old Zhao didn't reply. He lowered his head and turned the old gear over. The tooth surface was severely worn and completely rough.

"This car owner's gear shifting is too rough," Old Zhao shook his head. "What a waste of a perfectly good imported car."

Zhang Yong pulled the stack of manuscript paper out of his canvas bag and handed it over.

"Master Zhao, could you take a look at this for me?"

Old Zhao took it and turned to the first page.

Kingdom on Wheels.

"What is this now?"

"Newly written. About domestic car manufacturing."

"What can I possibly see?"

Old Zhao took it, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He didn't know many characters, but Zhang Yong kept reading and explaining as he went.

Old Zhao listened and watched slowly.

The cigarette ash fell piece by piece, landing at his feet, but he didn't notice.

Then came the line the chief engineer had written in the blank space of the blueprint: "If you don't know how to build it, learn to draw it first. The more you draw, the more your hand will know where to go."

I burned my finger with a cigarette butt.

Old Zhao hissed and flicked the cigarette butt away.

With his back to Zhang Yong, he gently placed the manuscript paper on the oil drum lid.

The iron shed remained quiet for a while.

The sound of machinery from a distant textile workshop could be heard from outside the shed, coming in bursts.

Old Zhao finally spoke.

"It's written... and it actually looks quite plausible."

He chuckled self-deprecatingly.

"I've been repairing cars for thirty years. I've handled both domestic and imported cars, and I've even seen plenty of modified ones."

"All I have left in this life is this skill I have in my hands."

Old Zhao turned around, looked at Zhang Yong, and his expression remained tense.

"Don't come here again."

"If you're so good at writing, then write properly. Don't waste your time on this old man."

Old Zhao handed the manuscript back to Zhang Yong and patted his hand on the back.

"Write! Write big! Don't just write about repairing cars, write about building cars, ships, and airplanes!"

As Zhang Yong listened to Old Zhao's words, which were neither too serious nor too light, he felt a tightness in his throat once again.

He recalled the tractor belching black smoke in his grandmother's letter, and the drilling worker's words that "the things ordinary people do deserve to be seen."

Repairing a car may provide temporary relief, but writing can save a generation.

"Master Zhao."

"Um."

"I'll come again next time, and I'll read it to you after I finish writing it."

Old Zhao turned his face away, took a new cigarette from behind his ear, and lit it with two matches.

"Stop talking nonsense, you bastard. Get on with it and don't hold me up."

……

Early that night.

The first draft of the first chapter of "The Kingdom on Wheels" is finished, with 6,200 words.

Zhang Yong put down his pen and was about to turn off the light when he heard the phone ringing in the downstairs reception room.

Grandpa Chen's tapping on the pipe quickly followed.

When they arrived at the gatehouse, Grandpa Chen handed over the receiver. "Yongzi, it's that... Liu guy again!"

"Hello, Editor Liu."

The person on the other end of the phone was breathing rapidly.

"Zhang Yong, something's happened."

"Chen Ping has grown up in Beijing."

Zhang Yong's fingers tightened slightly on the receiver.

"Chen Ping went through the talent introduction program for returning overseas students. His paperwork included a recommendation letter from his overseas supervisor and a joint guarantee from a professor at Peking University. Lin Xuechang told me that he had already reported to the joint graduate program in the Department of Literature this afternoon."

Zhang Yong remained silent.

Liu Jianguo continued, "That's not the most important thing. I also heard that he spoke at the literature department's welcome meeting today."

"What did you say?"

"He said that while he was abroad, he read 'The Ingenuity of Great Craftsmen' and found that there were errors in the parameters cited in the book about vacuum degassing casting, and that the alloy data did not conform to international standards."

"He plans to write an academic paper to refute each point."

Liu Jianguo paused.

His exact words were: "It is a desecration of the industry for an amateur author without formal education to mislead readers with incorrect data."

The person on the other end of the phone was breathing more rapidly.

"Zhang Yong, he's here for you!"

Zhang Yong leaned against the window frame of the guardhouse, his gaze fixed on the streetlights outside.

"Anything else?"

Liu Jianguo hesitated for a moment.

"I heard from the layout team that a businessman from Baoding recently asked someone to contact the magazine's GG department, saying he wanted to buy a full-page GG ad in the next issue to promote gasoline."

"A merchant from Baoding?"

"Yes. The people in GG said that person's surname is Ma."

Zhang Yong narrowed his eyes.

Baoding. Surname Ma. Supplier to the counterfeit oil distributor.

"His buying GG was fake," Zhang Yong said softly. "He wanted to establish a connection with the magazine and get information."

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

Liu Jianguo probably realized something and sighed.

"I've heard a bit about your fake oil catching incident, and now this guy surnamed Ma has popped up... You need to be careful."

"I see."

Zhang Yong switched the receiver to his other hand.

"Thanks, Editor Liu."

"What...what are you planning to do?"

Zhang Yong did not answer the question.

"Go to bed early, Editor Liu."

beep - beep - beep -

Zhang Yonggang put the receiver back.

Grandpa Chen came back after making his rounds.

"Yongzi, are you alright this late?"

"It's alright, you should go to sleep, Uncle Chen."

After saying that, he turned around, went upstairs, and went back to his room.

Zhang Yong sat at his desk and pushed aside the first draft of "The Kingdom on Wheels".

He pulled out a stack of blank manuscript paper from the drawer.

The light from the table lamp fell on the paper, a warm yellow hue.

He picked up the pen.

The pen tip hovered over the paper for two seconds.

Then it fell down.

Two words.

Errata.

Zhang Yong put his pen down on the manuscript paper, leaned back in his chair, and stared at those two words for a long time.

The night outside the window was deep. In the distance, the whistle of a train crossing could be heard, one long and two short, its trailing notes fading away among the buildings of the residential area.

there is always a solution to a problem.

If you want to come, then come.

......