Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Director Zhang was waiting for him in his office, where a stack of feedback reports lay on the table—all evaluations of the teaching materials and lectures from factories and mines across the country.

"Xiao Jiang, take a look for yourself," Director Zhang said with a smile.

Jiang Cheng opened the first document, which was from Anshan Iron and Steel: "Comrade Jiang Cheng's lecture was profound yet simple, easy to understand. It is recommended that it be promoted throughout the entire system." The second document was from Benxi Iron and Steel: "Comrade Jiang Cheng's reform plan is scientific, practical, and effective." The third, fourth, fifth... every document was full of praise, some even written with heartfelt sincerity, making him feel a little embarrassed.

"The ministry has decided," Director Zhang said, "that your experience will be promoted nationwide next year. Be prepared, next year may be even busier."

Jiang Cheng nodded: "Director Zhang, I'm ready."

It was already dark when Jiang Cheng left the ministry. Standing on Chang'an Avenue, watching the cars go by, a strange feeling suddenly welled up inside him. Just a few months ago, he was a ostracized junior fitter. Now, he was a name known throughout the national industrial system.

But he knew that it wasn't because he was particularly capable, but because he was in the right position and did the right thing. More importantly, he had a group of people supporting him—his mentor, Yanxi, Old Zhou, Director Zhang, Section Chief Wang, and Vice Minister Li.

Back at the guesthouse, Huang Deqing was sitting on the bed, staring blankly at a notebook. It contained his notes from the past few months—the condition of the machines at each stop, the modification plans, and the questions the workers asked, all recorded clearly.

"Master, why aren't you resting?"

Huang Deqing looked up at him and said, "Chengzi, come and take a look at this."

Jiang Cheng walked over and took the notebook. He turned to the last page, where a few lines were written: "On the day of the lecture in Shenyang, there was a person sitting in the audience. Not a worker, not a technician, wearing a Zhongshan suit, sitting in the last row. He listened to the whole thing from beginning to end, without taking a single word. When he left, he left with that person from the province."

Jiang Cheng's heart sank. Zhou Chuanming's men had indeed been watching him all along.

"Master, what do you think they will do?"

Huang Deqing shook his head: "I don't know. But one thing is certain—they won't let this go. The more famous you become, the more they hate you."

Jiang Cheng was silent for a moment, then laughed: "Master, let them hate. Anyway, I'm not living for them."

Huang Deqing looked at him and smiled, "You're right."

That night, Jiang Cheng wrote a letter to Zheng Yanxi. The letter was short, only a few lines:

"Yanxi, the textbook is finished, and the lessons are all done. I'll be going back in a few days. Save the fish for when I get back. Jiang Cheng."

As he dropped the letter into the mailbox, snowflakes began to fall. Beijing's first snowfall came earlier than usual.

Standing in the snow, Jiang Cheng suddenly remembered things from before he transmigrated. Back then, he was in the lab, analyzing data on his computer, with snow falling outside the window. But at that time, he was just an ordinary doctoral student whose biggest wish was to publish a few good papers and find a good job.

Now, he is a well-known technical expert in the national industrial system, a specially appointed consultant of the Ministry of Machinery Industry, and "Master Jiang" in the hearts of countless workers. These are things he never dared to dream of before.

But he knew that these things didn't come for free. They were earned through his sweat and toil, taught by his master with a lifetime of experience, and guarded by Yanxi through silent waiting.

Snowflakes fell on his shoulders, his hair, and his eyelashes. He stood in front of the mailbox for a long time, until he was covered in a layer of white.

In the distance, the whistle of a train could be heard. It was a train bound for Shenyang.

Jiang Cheng turned and walked towards the guesthouse. He needed to go back and pack his things; he would go home tomorrow.

The train travels through the snowy night, and the fields outside the window are a vast expanse of white.

Jiang Cheng leaned against the car window, clutching a newly published "Technical Renovation Manual for Old Equipment." This was the first book he had co-authored, and his name was printed on the title page—"Compiled by Jiang Cheng, Huang Deqing, and others." The day he received the sample copy, he flipped through it several times, feeling that the name seemed to be printed on someone else's body.

"Chengzi, stop looking." Huang Deqing sat opposite him, his eyes closed, and said, "Looking at that name won't make it fly away."

Jiang Cheng smiled and put the book into his bag. He didn't bring much luggage back to Shenyang this time, just an old canvas bag containing a few changes of clothes, two sample books, and a gift for Zheng Yanxi—a piece of light blue polyester fabric he bought in Beijing, which he knew she liked.

The train clattered along, the carriage filled with the smells of coal smoke and instant noodles. Across from him, a middle-aged man was snoring, his voice rising and falling like an old diesel engine. Jiang Cheng found the sound strangely comforting—it was the sound of this era, real, rough, and full of life.

"Master, do you think Yanxi will come to pick me up at the station?" Jiang Cheng asked.

Huang Deqing opened one eye: "You wrote a letter to her?"

"A telegram has been sent."

"Then she'll definitely come." Huang Deqing closed his eyes again. "Your wife, she may seem cold, but she's warm-hearted. In the two months you've been gone, she's come to the factory every few days to ask about you. She says she's not worried, but her eyes are full of concern."

Jiang Cheng felt a warmth in his heart. He remembered the day he left, Zheng Yanxi standing on the platform, wearing a new cotton-padded coat, watching him until the train drove away. He recognized that coat; it was the fabric he had bought for her last winter. She had been reluctant to wear it, saying she wanted to save it for the New Year. But that day, she wore it.

"Master, do you think I'm a bit selfish?" Jiang Cheng suddenly asked.

Huang Deqing opened his eyes again: "Why do you say that?"

"I'll be gone for two months, leaving her alone at home. I might not even be able to go back for the Chinese New Year."

Huang Deqing was silent for a moment, then said, "Chengzi, do you know what your teacher's wife told me back then?"

Jiang Cheng shook his head.

"She said, 'I won't be able to enjoy life marrying you. Because your heart isn't set on a home, it's set on those machines.' But she said she didn't regret it." Huang Deqing opened his eyes and looked at the roof of the car. "The thing I regret most in my life isn't not going to Beijing, or not becoming a cadre, but not spending more time with her when she was young."

The carriage fell silent. The snoring man turned over, mumbled a few words, and then drifted off to sleep again.

Jiang Cheng didn't speak. He knew what his master meant.

"So," Huang Deqing sat up, looking at him, "you're better than me. You still have a chance."

The train arrived at Shenyang Station at four in the morning.

Jiang Cheng jumped off the train with his bag in hand. A gust of cold wind hit him, making him shiver. There weren't many people on the platform. He stood on tiptoe and looked around, but he didn't see Zheng Yanxi.

"Don't rush, we might not be there yet." Huang Deqing slowly got out of the car, wrapping his cotton-padded coat tighter around himself.

The two walked towards the exit. When they reached the ticket gate, Jiang Cheng saw a figure standing in a corner, wrapped in a blue cotton coat, with his hands in his sleeves, stamping his feet incessantly.

It's Zheng Yanxi.