Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Spring came early in 1980. Before March was over, the snow in Shenyang had melted completely, the poplar trees in the factory area sprouted tender buds, and the gray factory buildings, when bathed in sunlight, even seemed to come alive.

On the day Jiang Cheng received his university admission letter, he was in the workshop debugging a newly modified grinding machine with Huang Deqing. The letter was delivered by Zheng Yanxi, who stood at the workshop entrance, holding a large envelope in her hand, with an indescribable expression on her face—it seemed like happiness, but also something else entirely.

"What the hell?" Huang Deqing took the notice, put on his reading glasses, and read it word by word, "Shenyang Institute of Technology, Department of Mechanical Engineering... Continuing Education Class... Admitted Comrade Jiang Cheng..." After he finished reading, he looked up at Jiang Cheng, his eyes filled with a complex light.

"That's good news," he said.

Jiang Cheng took the notification letter and looked at it several times. This was a spot that Zheng Huaiyuan had secured for him—the first "In-service Technical Backbone Training Class" at Shenyang Industrial College, a two-year program requiring full-time study, graduating with a college diploma. Only thirty people were recruited from across the province, and he was the only one with only a junior high school education.

"Chengzi, are you going or not?" Huang Deqing asked.

Jiang Cheng didn't answer. He turned to look at the workshop entrance, where Zheng Yanxi was still standing, clutching the envelope in her hand, her knuckles turning white.

"Yanxi, what do you think?"

Zheng Yanxi paused for a moment, then said, "It's your own business, you decide for yourself."

Jiang Cheng looked at her without saying a word. He knew what she was thinking—last year he had been away for almost half a year, and had only been back for a few days before he had to leave again. This time it wasn't just ten days or half a month, but two years. Although he was in Shenyang and didn't have to go to Beijing or Shanghai, being on leave for further study meant he couldn't go home every day.

"I'll go," Jiang Cheng said.

Zheng Yanxi's expression didn't change much; she simply nodded and said, "Then I'll go back and pack your things."

She turned and walked away. Jiang Cheng watched her retreating figure and suddenly noticed that the way she walked was different from before—her steps were slower, and her waist seemed thicker. He then remembered that she was already more than four months pregnant.

Huang Deqing sighed beside him, "Chengzi, your wife is feeling bad."

Jiang Cheng nodded: "I know."

"Good to know." Huang Deqing squatted down and continued adjusting the grinding machine. "Go on. Once you've mastered the skills, come back and do even bigger things. I'll keep an eye on things at home for you."

On the day Jiang Cheng reported for duty, Zheng Yanxi got up early and cooked him a pot of dumplings.

"Dumplings before you get on the train, noodles when you get off." She placed the dumplings on the table, then sat down herself. "Eat your fill before you leave."

Jiang Cheng sat down, picked up a dumpling, and put it in his mouth. It was filled with sauerkraut, his favorite flavor. He ate a few, then suddenly realized that Zheng Yanxi hadn't eaten any.

Why aren't you eating?

"I'm not hungry," Zheng Yanxi said, looking away.

Jiang Cheng put down his chopsticks and looked at her: "Yan Xi, do you not want me to go?"

Zheng Yanxi was silent for a moment, then said, "It's not that I don't want you to go. It's just that I feel..." She paused, "...you're moving too fast, and I'm afraid I won't be able to keep up."

Jiang Cheng was taken aback. He had never thought about this question before.

"I didn't even finish junior high, and you went to university, studied for two years, and came back as a university student." Zheng Yanxi lowered her head, her voice very soft. "I'll still be a nurse in a factory. What will you have to say to me then?"

Jiang Cheng put down his chopsticks and looked at her seriously: "Yanxi, you're overthinking it. I learned those things to work with. What's there to talk to you about? If I come back and tell you how to fix the machine, will you understand?"

Zheng Yanxi looked up and glared at him: "What do you mean? You think I don't understand?"

Jiang Cheng laughed: "It's not that I think you can't understand. It's that you don't need to understand. You do your job as a nurse, and I'll do my job as a fitter. We'll each do our own thing, what's there to worry about?"

Zheng Yanxi didn't speak, but her expression visibly relaxed. Jiang Cheng pressed his advantage: "Besides, it's not like you can't learn. You're a nurse; if you learn some medical knowledge, you can become a doctor when the factory's medical station is upgraded, right?"

Zheng Yanxi's eyes lit up for a moment, but quickly dimmed again: "How old am I? Why would I still be learning?"

"How old? Twenty-three," Jiang Cheng said. "I only started learning at twenty-three, it's not too late for you to start now."

Zheng Yanxi didn't say anything, and kept her head down eating her dumplings. Jiang Cheng knew she had taken his words to heart.

Shenyang Institute of Technology is located on the other side of the city, and it takes an hour and a half by bus from the factory. Jiang Cheng arranged accommodation and rented a small house near the school, only going home on weekends.

On the first day of school, when he walked into the classroom, all thirty classmates stared at him. Among them were factory technicians, workshop foremen, and government officials. The youngest was twenty-five, and the oldest was in his early forties. Jiang Cheng sat in the last row, took out his notebook, and waited for the teacher to arrive.

The first class was advanced mathematics. The teacher, surnamed Fang, was in his forties, wore black-rimmed glasses, and spoke slowly and deliberately. He walked to the podium, wrote a formula on the blackboard, and then turned around: "You are all technical backbones who have worked for many years, but your basic knowledge varies. I don't expect everyone to get high scores, but at least you should be able to understand the formulas on the drawings. Today we will start with functions."

As Jiang Cheng listened, he felt more at ease. The content wasn't difficult for him—after all, he had a doctorate. But he couldn't show it too obviously; he could only pretend to be taking notes diligently, occasionally frowning and nodding.

Sitting next to him was a man in his early thirties, wearing a faded blue overall, his hands covered in calluses. His name was Sun Deming, a lathe operator at Shenyang Heavy Machinery Factory, who had also graduated from junior high school and passed the entrance exam through self-study.

"Dude, do you understand?" Sun Deming asked in a low voice.

Jiang Cheng nodded: "It's alright."

"It's like I'm listening to gibberish," Sun Deming said with a worried look. "What functions, what variables? My brain is a complete mess."

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment and said, "Just think of it as a machine. You take something in, process it, and output something else. That processing is the function."

Sun Deming paused for a moment, then his eyes lit up: "Now that you mention it, I understand!"

From that day on, Sun Deming became inseparable from Jiang Cheng. They sat together in class, went to the cafeteria together after class, and went to the study room together in the evening. Jiang Cheng explained problems to him, and he helped Jiang Cheng get his meals. The two of them took turns teaching and learning, and they had a back-and-forth relationship.

As the days went by, Jiang Cheng's studies became increasingly smooth. He could easily handle every subject, including advanced mathematics, engineering mechanics, mechanical principles, and materials science. The teachers soon noticed this "special" student—his homework might not be the most neatly written, but his thinking was always the clearest, and his problem-solving methods were the most practical.

"Jiang Cheng," Teacher Fang called out to him after class one day, "have you studied these things before?"