Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Jiang Cheng sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), watching him. Jiang Yuan's sleeping face was peaceful, his lips slightly parted, and his nostrils twitching gently. His eyelashes were long, casting a small shadow on his cheek. He reached out and pulled the blanket up to the little guy's shoulders. Jiang Yuan stirred slightly but didn't wake up.

He stood up, walked to the table, turned on the lamp, and opened his notebook. The report was missing its final section—the conclusion and future outlook. He picked up his pen, wrote a few words, then crossed them out. He wrote and crossed them out repeatedly. Several lines of crossed-out sentences remained on the paper, the ink still wet.

He put down his pen and walked to the window. The moon outside was bright, shining on the snow, making it appear silvery white. In the distance, a dog barked, one long bark followed by one short one, echoing in the empty night. He suddenly thought of Sun Deming, wondering how his run in Benxi was going. He glanced at the clock; it was almost nine o'clock. Sun Deming should have already checked into his accommodation.

The next day, Sun Deming called. His voice was hoarse, as if he had a cold.

"Brother Jiang, Benxi is all sorted out. But there was a bit of trouble with the stamping—the factory manager wasn't there, and the deputy manager didn't dare to stamp it. I waited all day, and today the factory manager came back, signed it, and stamped it. The recommendation letter was also written; it was two pages long, saying that the ball mill we repaired works much better than before."

"You have a cold?"

"It's nothing, I took my medicine. The heating in the guesthouse wasn't working last night, I got cold."

"I've finished running in Benxi, where's my next stop?"

"Fushun. The train leaves tomorrow morning. Don't worry, Brother Jiang, I'll get all the stamps back by next Wednesday."

Jiang Cheng held the microphone, wanting to say "Thank you for your hard work," but he didn't say it. He knew Sun Deming didn't like hearing these things.

On Monday morning, Jiang Cheng went to the provincial department. Not to see the review team, but to submit the evaluation report. He left the report in the mailroom and asked the person on duty to pass it on. The person on duty was an elderly man wearing reading glasses. He glanced at the report, placed it on the table, and said, "Okay, put it down." Jiang Cheng, still uneasy, asked again, "Can I give it to Team Leader Wang?" The old man replied, "I'll give it to him when he comes," his tone somewhat impatient. Jiang Cheng stood there for a moment, then turned and left.

As he walked to the entrance of the provincial government building, he ran into someone—Zhou Chuanming.

Jiang Cheng was taken aback. Zhou Chuanming was wearing a black wool coat, a gray scarf, and carrying a briefcase. He also paused when he saw Jiang Cheng. The two stood facing each other, neither of them speaking.

The wind blew, stirring up the snow on the ground, which then hit my face, feeling cool.

"Jiang Cheng," Zhou Chuanming spoke first, his voice lower than when they last met.

"Zhou..." Jiang Cheng almost called out "Director Zhou", but remembering that he had been transferred, he changed his address to "Director Zhou".

Zhou Chuanming's lips twitched, it was hard to tell whether he wanted to laugh or say something. "I heard you've got your hands on a big project in Beijing, turbine blades?"

"Yes."

"Did it work?"

"It's done."

Zhou Chuanming was silent for a few seconds. Then he nodded, said "Okay," and turned to leave. After a few steps, he stopped but didn't look back. "Jiang Cheng, what's past is past." He paused, "I don't hold grudges."

After saying that, he left. His leather shoes crunched on the snow. The sound faded into the distance, eventually carried away by the wind.

Jiang Cheng stood at the entrance of the provincial government building for a long time. He didn't chase after him, nor did he call out to him. He simply stood there, watching that figure disappear around the street corner.

He recalled the first time he met Zhou Chuanming, in the conference room of the Provincial Machinery Department. Zhou Chuanming sat in the main seat, legs crossed, speaking without looking at anyone. At that moment, Jiang Cheng felt as if there was a wall between him and this man.

The wall is still there, but the cracks in it have widened, letting in light.

He turned and left.

On Tuesday afternoon, Sun Deming returned. He carried his canvas bag, which contained more items than when he left—more than a dozen stamped applications, all stamped, and six or seven recommendation letters written on the official red-headed paper of various factories. He dumped everything onto the table, stacking them neatly in piles.

"Brother Jiang, it's all done." His face was red from the cold, his lips were chapped and peeling, and his voice was hoarse.

Jiang Cheng looked at the materials, flipping through them one by one. Each application had an official seal, bright red, some stamped straight, some crooked. He categorized the materials by region, put them into folders, and sealed them.

"Deming, you've worked hard."

Sun Deming waved his hand, sat down in the chair, picked up his water glass, and took a big gulp. Water overflowed from the glass and dripped down the corner of his mouth; he wiped it with his sleeve.

"Brother Jiang, when are you going to Beijing?"

"Tomorrow. The train is in the morning."

"Shall I go with you?"

"No need. You rest at the center. When I get back, we'll go to the military base together to give a lecture."

Sun Deming was taken aback. "The military?"

"Yes. The troops. Their engines are waiting for coating. The first twenty, we'll teach them."

Sun Deming opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no words came out. His eyes brightened for a moment, then dimmed, then brightened again.

"Brother Jiang, I'm not tired. If you let me go, I can go."

Jiang Cheng looked into his eyes and nodded.

That evening, Jiang Cheng delivered the materials to Han Zhiguo's home. Han Zhiguo was eating—a bowl of noodles and a dish of pickled vegetables. He took the folder, placed it on the table, and didn't open it.

"Okay. I'll handle the rest. You go to Beijing and attend your meeting."

Jiang Cheng stood at the door, wanting to say something, but said nothing.

"Is there anything else?" Han Zhiguo asked.

"No. Thank you, Director Han."

Han Zhiguo waved his hand and lowered his head to continue eating his noodles.

Jiang Cheng turned and left. The lights in the stairwell were out, so he groped his way down in the dark, one hand gripping the wall. The white plaster on the wall smeared onto his hand, feeling cool.

The day before the BJ summary meeting, Jiang Cheng boarded a train to BJ.

This time, he didn't bring much luggage. A canvas bag containing report materials, two changes of clothes, and the bag of milk powder Zheng Yanxi had bought for him. There was still half a bag of milk powder left, and he couldn't bear to finish it, so he took it to Beijing to continue drinking it. He wrapped the milk powder bag in two layers of plastic bags to prevent it from leaking out and soiling the materials.

As the train started moving, he leaned against the window, gazing at the snow-covered plains outside. The North China Plain in winter was a vast expanse of white, stretching as far as the eye could see. Occasionally, a few trees would peek out from the snow, bare and like needles stuck in the ground. The power lines were covered in snow, thicker than the wires themselves; when the wind blew, chunks of snow fell, crashing to the ground and shattering into a cloud of white mist.

A young man sat opposite them, wearing an old military overcoat with a worn-out collar that revealed the cotton lining. He held an enamel mug with the words "Serve the People" printed in red on it; several pieces of porcelain were chipped, revealing the black iron underneath. Tea was brewing inside, the liquid a dark, dark black, the tea leaves drooping at the bottom. The young man looked out the window, silent, occasionally taking a sip with a gurgling sound. Jiang Cheng remained silent. The two sat like that for the entire journey.