Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

"Just passing by."

"Weren't you receiving an award in Beijing?"

"I've collected it. It's on my way."

She walked up to him and stopped. The wind ruffled her hair, a few strands falling across her forehead, but she ignored them. Her breath condensed into puffs of white mist in the cold air, quickly dissipating. Her eyes were on him, neither urging nor questioning, she simply looked at him.

"It was in the newspaper. I saw it," she said.

Jiang Cheng could see the light in her eyes—not the kind of light that comes from pride in him, but from her own choice back then. That choice wasn't rational; it was intuitive, a feeling that told her this person was different. Now, that intuition had been proven true.

"Someone reported me." He originally wanted to wait until the investigation team left before saying it. But the words got stuck in his throat.

Her expression remained unchanged. Her eyes were fixed on him, unblinking. "Report you? Report what?"

"They said I shouldn't have signed the contract myself, and I shouldn't have accepted the award myself. They said I took advantage of the country. They said I, a fitter, wasn't qualified to sign contracts for defense projects."

Silence. The wind passed between them, carrying snowflakes that felt cool on their faces. A snowflake landed on her eyelash, paused, then melted, leaving a tiny droplet of water.

She switched the book to her left hand, extended her right hand, and shook his hand. She could feel that his palms were sweaty and sticky, left by nervousness.

Did you get a good deal?

"no."

She stopped smiling. Her lips pursed slightly. "That's fine then."

She let go of his hand, turned around, took two steps into the campus, and then stopped. She didn't turn back. He watched her back as the long end of her scarf was blown by the wind, drawing an arc in the air like an unfinished stroke of a brush.

"Jiang Cheng, remember this: people are doing things, and Heaven is watching. As long as you do things with a clear conscience, right and wrong will be judged in due course."

She left. Her steps were neither fast nor slow as she stepped up the stairs, pushed open the door, and it slowly closed behind her. The door spring was pulled tight, making a loud "click" as it closed.

Jiang Cheng stood at the school gate, looking at the closed door. The glass in the door reflected the sky, a grayish-white, and was fogged up, obscuring the view inside. He stood there for a while, then smiled wryly. The meeting between the couple had ended so abruptly. It turned out that he had come here simply for peace of mind, tranquility, and reassurance.

After transmigrating, I never drink alcohol, fearing that I might blurt out the truth when drunk. When under pressure, I can only rely on the stimulation of tobacco to numb myself and stay awake.

The day the investigation team arrived, it snowed again in Shenyang, as expected.

The snow started falling in the middle of the night, and by dawn it had accumulated into a thick layer on the ground. When you stepped on it, the snow was over your ankles, and snow filled your shoes, chilling you to the bone. When Jiang Cheng arrived at the center, it wasn't fully light yet. The lights on the gate were still on, their orange glow illuminating the snow and making it seem warm, but when you reached out to touch it, it was icy cold.

Jiang Cheng swept the steps by the door and then spread a layer of furnace ash. He'd carried the ash back from the boiler room yesterday; it filled a sack, which he'd poured onto the steps and spread evenly with a shovel. He squatted down and broke up the large chunks of ash by hand, spreading them evenly across the steps. His hands were red from the cold, black ash embedded in his fingernails, and his knuckles were cracked in several places. They didn't bleed, but they hurt when he touched the ash, like being pricked with needles. He breathed on his hands, rubbed them, and continued breaking them up.

Sun Deming stood beside him, holding a broom. The broom head was planted on the ground, and the bamboo handle of the broom had been used for many years, worn smooth and dull by his hands. His face was tense, the muscles in his jaw bulging as if he were clenching his teeth. He didn't say a word, just stared at the front door.

"Brother Jiang, do you think they might cause trouble?" He finally couldn't hold back anymore. His voice wasn't loud, but it was full of energy.

"have no idea."

"What if they cause trouble?"

Jiang Cheng stood up and brushed the dust off his knees. Snow fell on his shoulders and hair, but he didn't brush it off. "Then let's continue. Whether it's scrapped or not, it's not up to him, it's up to the machine. The machine doesn't write complaint letters, it only turns or doesn't turn. If you fix the machine, that's solid evidence."

Sun Deming opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but when he saw the black sedan slowly driving in through the gate, he closed his mouth, swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed.

The wheels left two deep grooves in the snow, revealing the black tar underneath, like two wounds. The car stopped, the door opened, and three people got out. The one in front was a man in his fifties, thin and long-faced, with a pale complexion, as if he hadn't slept well, and dark circles under his eyes. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and a dark gray woolen overcoat that went past his knees, with a small wet patch of snow on the exposed trouser leg. As he got out of the car, he stepped on the ash residue, slipped, and swayed. His colleague reached out to steady him, placing his hand under his elbow. He didn't speak, but just glanced down at his feet, his brow furrowing. It was a brief frown, less than a second, but Jiang Cheng saw it. It wasn't a frown of disgust, but of surprise—he hadn't expected anyone to scatter ash residue here.

Jiang Cheng stepped forward and extended his hand. His palm was blackened by the ashes from the furnace. He tried to pat it off with his other hand, but it didn't get clean, so he gave up and simply extended his hand.

"Hello, I am Jiang Cheng."

The man squeezed his hand, then released it. His hand was dry and cold, like holding a cold, hard iron pipe in winter.

"Third Office of the Provincial Commission for Discipline Inspection, surnamed Zhao. These two are my colleagues." He gestured with his chin to the back of his head, without introducing himself, and walked straight into the building. He walked with large strides, his leather shoes making a soft, clattering sound on the cement floor sprinkled with furnace ash, like a woodpecker tapping on a tree trunk.

Han Zhiguo was waiting at the conference room door. He pushed the door open and stepped aside to let him in. "Please come in. It's warm inside."

Team Leader Zhao sat down, and when he pulled out the chair, the chair leg scraped on the ground, making a harsh scraping sound, like fingernails scratching a blackboard.

He opened his briefcase, took out a document, and placed it on the table. The briefcase was black, made of cowhide, its edges worn white, and the metal clasp a little loose. He took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with a soft cloth, and put them back on. His movements were slow, as if giving himself time to organize his thoughts. The coffee-colored cloth was neatly folded and placed in the black glasses case, which had a crease from being pressed into it.

"Comrade Jiang Cheng, someone has reported that you have engaged in irregularities in undertaking defense projects. We need to verify a few points. Please answer truthfully. Tell us everything, don't be nervous. We are only verifying the facts."

"Please speak."

"First, regarding the turbine blade project you participated in in Beijing, was the contract signed in your personal capacity or in the company's name?"

Jiang Cheng handed over the prepared materials. These materials, prepared overnight by Han Zhiguo, were clipped together, arranged chronologically, and each page was labeled. "The contract was signed in my personal name. However, the project is a collaborative project between the Shenyang Promotion Center and the Aeronautical Materials Research Institute. The technology came from our center, the equipment was manufactured by our center, and the personnel involved are also from our center. It's not just my responsibility."