Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Jiang Cheng held Jiang Yuan in his arms, standing in the living room. The little guy was restless, sometimes grabbing his nose, sometimes pulling his ears, and sometimes pointing at the tree outside the window and making "ah ah" noises. On the poplar tree outside the window, several sparrows were hopping around, jumping from one branch to another.

"That's a tree," Jiang Cheng said.

"Tree—" the little guy imitated, drawing out the last syllable as if singing.

"That's a bird."

"Bird—" The son pronounced the word "bird" as "biǎo," with a rising tone, as if asking a question. Jiang Cheng smiled and didn't correct him. He liked hearing his son speak like this; every word was new, carrying a sense of exploration. One day he would be right, but by then, he wouldn't say it like that anymore.

Zheng Yanxi came out of the kitchen carrying dishes and saw the father and son. A smile curved her lips. Her apron was stained with oil, and stray hairs hung down in front of her forehead. She blew on them, but they didn't move. She rubbed them with her elbow, but her hair still didn't budge.

"Dinner's ready."

At the dinner table, Zheng's mother kept putting food on Jiang Cheng's plate. The bowl was piled high with pork ribs, fish, eggs, and greens. The pork ribs were stewed until very tender, the bones and meat falling apart at the slightest touch.

"You've lost weight. Eat more."

"Mom, that's enough."

"Enough what? She definitely didn't eat properly in Beijing. Since you weren't here, Yanxi hasn't been eating well either, just making do by herself. Yesterday she only ate a bowl of noodles, without even any vegetables."

Zheng Yanxi stood silently beside him, head down, eating her rice. But Jiang Cheng saw that she was smiling. Not a wide grin, but a smile in her eyes, the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, like a cat that had stolen a fish. She picked up a piece of pork rib, took a bite, chewed it twice, and then picked up another piece and put it in Jiang Cheng's bowl.

After dinner, Jiang Cheng held Jiang Yuan in his arms while Zheng Yanxi cleared the dishes. Zheng's mother sat on the sofa, knitting. The yarn was gray, and she was only halfway through; it was hard to tell if it was a sweater or a scarf. The room was quiet, save for the ticking of a clock, the clattering of the knitting needles. It was an old-fashioned wall clock, its second hand clicking clearly.

"Mom, thank you for your hard work while I was in Beijing," Jiang Cheng said.

Zheng's mother put down the sweater and looked at him. "What's so tiring about it? It's my grandson, I'm happy taking care of him. You go about your business, don't worry about things at home. But you, don't overwork yourself out there, your health is important. Your father passed away early, and your mother raised you all by herself, it wasn't easy. If you ruin your health, what will she do?"

Jiang Cheng wanted to say something, but he didn't. He knew the old man was speaking from the heart.

When Jiang Cheng got home that evening, Jiang Yuan was already asleep. He put him in his crib and covered him with a blanket. The little guy rolled over, face inward, with his hands under his head, like he was surrendering. His eyelashes were long, casting a small shadow on his cheek, trembling gently with his breath. Jiang Cheng stood beside the crib, watching him for a long time.

He sat down at the table, turned on the desk lamp, and took out his notebook. He needed to write down the details of the equipment modification plan to take back to the automation research institute. He wrote slowly, word by word. The light from the desk lamp shone brightly on the paper. Outside the window, insects chirped intermittently, as if tentatively. They would chirp a few times, pause, then chirp a few more times.

Zheng Yanxi came out of the kitchen with a cup of hot water and placed it next to him. Then she sat down beside him, opened a medical textbook, and began to read. The pages were worn, the edges were curled, and some parts were highlighted with a highlighter. She used a rubber band to tie a bookmark to the inside of the cover, afraid it would fall and she wouldn't be able to find where she was looking. The bookmark was a bus ticket, with the words "SY City Public Bus" printed on it.

The two sat at the table, neither speaking. The light from the table lamp shone on them, casting their shadows close together on the wall. The shadows on the wall were motionless, like a paper cutout. Occasionally, there were the sounds of turning pages, the nib of a pen scratching paper, and the sound of a thermos being placed on the table.

"Yanxi".

"Um?"

"I'll take you to the exam the day after tomorrow."

She paused, her pen stopping in her hand. "Aren't you busy?"

"I'll deliver it no matter how busy I am."

She lowered her head and continued reading. But her ears turned red. The light from the lamp shone on her ears, and the veins were faintly visible beneath the thin skin. She drew a line on the book with a pencil, but it was crooked, so she traced it over.

Outside the window, the moon was round and bright, shining on the cactus on the windowsill. The little sprout next to it had grown a bit more, a tender green, with two small leaves that looked like a pair of outstretched hands. It might grow into another cactus someday, prickly, but it thrives on its own.

The next day, Jiang Cheng went to the provincial government office. He wasn't there to see Zhou Chuanming, but to see the document Han Zhiguo had mentioned. He wanted to see what exactly was written in that document about the "Qualification Certification of Technology Promotion Agencies."

The provincial government building was in the city center, a five-story gray building with two concrete pillars at the entrance. The paint on the pillars had peeled off, revealing the grayish-white cement underneath. He walked in; the corridor was long, the fluorescent lights casting a pale white light that made the white paint on the walls appear yellowish. At the end of the corridor was a window, open, letting in the wind that made a sign at the end of the corridor sway back and forth.

He found the office on the third floor and knocked on the door. The door was made of wood, painted dark brown, and the doorknob was made of brass, polished to a shine.

"Come in."

I pushed open the door, and there was a person sitting inside. It wasn't the one with the gold-rimmed glasses from last time; it was a young man, about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, with a round face, wearing plastic-framed glasses, and a dark blue Zhongshan suit, the collar buttoned up tightly. On the desk sat a potted asparagus fern, long and thin, crooked and twisted, as if it hadn't been exposed to the sun in a long time.

"Hello, this is Jiang Cheng from the Shenyang Promotion Center. I'd like to see the document regarding the qualification certification."

The young man glanced at him, took a document from the drawer, and handed it to him. "You can only look at it here; you can't take it away. That's the rule."

Jiang Cheng took the document and opened it. It wasn't long, only three pages. He read it slowly, reading each sentence twice. The first time he looked at the literal meaning, the second time he considered the underlying implications. After finishing, he closed the document and handed it back to him.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Jiang Cheng walked out of his office and stood in the corridor. He remembered the contents of the document—the core was one sentence: all local technology promotion agencies must undergo a recertification process. The certification standards included: staffing, equipment conditions, past performance, and financial status. Those that met the standards would be issued certificates. Those that did not meet the standards would be given a deadline to rectify the issues. Those that failed to rectify the issues would have their certificates revoked.

The regulation itself is reasonable. The problem lies in—who sets the standards? Who reviews them? Is there any room for maneuver during the review process? If so, will Zhou Chuanming exploit that space? He doesn't know. But he knows he can't do nothing. If he does nothing, once the document is approved and the standards are set, it will be difficult to change them.