Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Jiang Cheng spent three days running between the Economic Commission and the Institute of Metrology, finally receiving the appraisal report on Friday afternoon. He stuffed the report into a folder, hopped on his bicycle, and hurried back. On the way, he passed an old residential area. There was a shoe repair stall by the roadside; the old man was packing up his hammer and nails into a wooden box. The old man glanced at Jiang Cheng and said, "Young man, ride slowly, the ground is slippery." Jiang Cheng responded but didn't slow down. The bicycle wheels slipped on the snow, the handlebars wobbled a couple of times, but he steadied himself and continued riding.

Back at the center, Han Zhiguo was still in his office. A stack of documents lay on his desk, and he was on the phone, talking to someone. Seeing Jiang Cheng enter, he said into the phone, "Okay, that's settled then," and hung up. There was a red mark on Han Zhiguo's face, from sleeping on his desk, which he hadn't noticed.

"Did you get it?" Han Zhiguo looked at the folder in Jiang Cheng's hand.

"I got it." Jiang Cheng pulled out the appraisal report and placed it on the table. "It was issued by the Institute of Metrology. The data matches the actual performance of the equipment, so it's all qualified."

Han Zhiguo picked it up, looked at it, and nodded. "Okay. Now we're missing the official seal of the user unit. How many have Sun Deming visited?"

"Ansteel has it sorted out. Still no news from Benxi."

Han Zhiguo glanced at the clock on the wall; the hour hand pointed to 5:30. "Today is Friday, tomorrow is Saturday, no work at the office. Back to work next Monday." He paused, then added, "When will you be in Beijing?"

Next Wednesday.

"There's still time. Sun Deming will run to Benxi on Monday, Fushun on Tuesday, and you can get the seal back before you board the train on Wednesday."

Jiang Cheng didn't speak. He knew Han Zhiguo was calculating the time for him, very precisely, making use of every minute.

He sat down, picked up the water glass on the table. The water was already cold. He took a sip, and it was so cold that his teeth ached.

"Director Han, why do you think the review panel is trying to stop us?"

Han Zhiguo took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It's not a problem. It's the rules. They follow the rules, but we don't, and that's how we got caught. Think about it, we've repaired so many machines, modified so many pieces of equipment, but have we ever written a formal report? Have we ever hired a third-party inspector? When we're tightening screws in the workshop, we think that once the machine is running, that's it. But that's not how you look at the rules; the rules need to leave a record."

He put his glasses back on. "This isn't their fault, nor is it ours. It's because we've never been governed by the system before."

Jiang Cheng leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. There was a fluorescent light on the ceiling, one end of the tube blackened and flickering. He stared at that light for a long time.

"Director Han, do you think systems are created by people or by machines?"

Han Zhiguo was taken aback. "Why are you suddenly asking this?"

"The rules set by machines are rigid. The torque is exactly the amount; even a slight deviation is unacceptable. Rules set by humans are flexible. Sixty points is passing, fifty-nine is failing. But what's the difference between fifty-nine and sixty?"

Han Zhiguo was silent for a moment. "The problem lies with the person writing the report. A well-written report can turn a 59 into a 60. A poorly written report can turn a 61 into a 59." He stood up, walked to the window, and turned his back to Jiang Cheng. "I wrote the report for our center. I've worked in the department for eight years; I know how to write one. Don't worry, you won't lose points because of the report."

As Jiang Cheng watched Han Zhiguo's retreating figure, he suddenly realized that this bespectacled director was more reliable than he had thought. However, he also had his own helplessness. One cannot go against the tide, let alone be caught up in the system.

On Saturday morning, Jiang Cheng went to Zheng's mother's house to pick up Jiang Yuan. Zheng's mother was sweeping snow in the yard, wearing an old cotton-padded coat and a scarf wrapped around her head. When she saw Jiang Cheng come in, she put down the broom and rubbed her hands together.

"Yan Xi hasn't returned?"

"No. I have classes at medical school today."

"Oh." Zheng's mother bent down, placed the broom against the wall, and led Jiang Cheng into the house. The stove inside was burning brightly, making it warm and cozy. Jiang Yuan was sitting on the floor playing with building blocks, which had formed a crooked tower that looked like it might collapse at any moment. When he saw Jiang Cheng come in, he didn't rush over as he usually did. Instead, he first put down the blocks he was holding, then stood up, ran two steps towards him, stopped, and glanced back at the tower. The tower hadn't fallen. Only then did he run over reassured and hug Jiang Cheng's leg.

"Dad—" she called out, her voice clearer than before.

Jiang Cheng squatted down and picked him up. The little guy had gotten heavier; he felt quite substantial in his arms. He was wearing blue cotton pants, but the legs were too short, revealing a bit of his ankle.

"Mom, has he grown taller?"

"It's grown. The measurement from last month was a centimeter taller than the month before." Zheng's mother brought a bowl of porridge from the kitchen and placed it on the table. "Have you eaten?"

"have eaten."

"Eat some more. You've lost weight."

Jiang Cheng didn't refuse and sat down to drink a bowl of porridge. The porridge was made of millet, cooked very thick, with a layer of rice oil floating on top. He took a sip and hissed from the heat. Jiang Yuan watched from the side, smiled, and revealed four small teeth.

"What are you laughing at?" Jiang Cheng asked, looking at him.

The little guy didn't answer, but smiled again, then picked up a building block and handed it to Jiang Cheng.

"Give it to Dad," Zheng's mother said from the side.

"For Dad—" Jiang Yuan repeated, emphasizing each word.

Jiang Cheng took the building block; it was red with a star drawn on it. He placed it on the table, and Jiang Yuan took another block and handed it to him. The father and son took turns passing the blocks to each other, and the blocks piled up on the table.

In the afternoon, Jiang Cheng took Jiang Yuan home. He put the little guy on the kang (a heated brick bed) and let him play by himself. Jiang Yuan crawled around, pushing the pillow off the kang and pulling the quilt down. Jiang Cheng didn't stop him; he just picked up the pillow that had fallen to the ground, dusted it off, and put it back. The little guy saw him pick it up again, then pushed it off again, repeating this several times.

That evening, Jiang Cheng gave Jiang Yuan a bath. The little guy sat in the tub, splashing water everywhere. As Jiang Cheng dried him with a towel, Jiang Yuan suddenly said, "Daddy, water." Not "water," but "water—" drawn out, as if he were singing.

"Water," Jiang Cheng repeated.

"Water—" the little guy said again, this time shorter and more accurate.

Jiang Cheng lifted him out of the bathtub and wrapped him in a towel. The little guy squirmed and wouldn't stay still. Jiang Cheng held him down, put his pajamas on him, and tucked him into bed. He turned over, his back to Jiang Cheng, and said, "Goodnight, Daddy." His voice was very soft, as if he were crawling out from under the covers.

Jiang Cheng was taken aback. "Say it again."

The little one didn't answer. His breathing became even; he had fallen asleep.