Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

"Chengzi, you've changed."

"What has changed?"

"You used to be a fitter who repaired machines. Now you're thinking about teaching others how to repair machines." Huang Deqing looked at him. "You've started to transform into a technical expert."

Jiang Cheng smiled: "Master, you taught me. You said that teaching others is more important than doing it yourself."

Huang Deqing paused for a moment, then laughed: "Did I say that? I don't remember."

He got on his bike and rode away. His figure grew farther and farther away under the streetlights, finally disappearing into the darkness.

Jiang Cheng stood at the factory gate, watching his master's back for a long time. The streetlights cast a dim yellow light on him, casting his long, narrow shadow on the ground. In the distance, the machines in the workshop were still humming, a rumbling sound like the heartbeat of this era.

He pushed his cart home. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he looked up at the fourth-floor window. The light was on, the curtains were half-drawn, and he could see Zheng Yanxi's shadow moving around inside. The clivia on the windowsill was in bloom, its orange-red blossoms particularly vibrant under the light.

He went upstairs and opened the door. Zheng Yanxi was sitting at the table reading a book, while Jiang Yuan was asleep on the small bed next to him, his little mouth slightly open, making even breathing sounds.

"You're back?" She looked up.

"Um."

"How's it going at the mine?"

"It's a minor issue. It'll be fixed in three days."

Zheng Yanxi nodded and didn't ask any more questions. She stood up, went to the kitchen, and brought out a bowl of mung bean soup, placing it in front of him: "Drink this; it'll cool you down."

Jiang Cheng picked up the bowl and drank it all in one go. The mung bean soup was cold, with a small amount of rock sugar added, making it sweet and soothing to his stomach. He even missed the excessive sugar content of later generations; some milk teas, when he made them at home, even with three or four spoonfuls of sugar, weren't as sweet as the ones in stores.

"Yanxi," he put down his bowl, "do you think I was too hasty?"

"What's the rush?"

"I was in a rush to expand the business. Training courses, promotion centers, and work at various factories—one thing after another. I was afraid of making mistakes in the rush."

Zheng Yanxi looked at him, thought for a moment, and said, "You're not in a hurry. You're afraid it will be too late."

Jiang Cheng was taken aback for a moment: "What are you afraid of? It'll be too late?"

"I'm afraid I won't have enough time to teach others everything I know," she said softly. "You have too much on your mind; you're afraid you won't have enough room for it all, and you're afraid there won't be enough time."

Jiang Cheng fell silent. He had never thought about this question before. But she was right. He was afraid it would be too late.

Although he held the title of PhD, his field of expertise was too specialized. He feared that the knowledge he had acquired since his transmigration would be lost to time before he could even put it to use. He feared that the country's industry would take too many detours. He feared... that some people might become desperate and try to kill him. In an era without widespread gun control and before surveillance equipment was ubiquitous, it was all too easy for someone to be forced to bid farewell to this world.

He used to watch time-travel dramas where the protagonists were all powerful and invincible, but when it actually happened to him, he realized there were so many limitations...

"Don't think about it anymore." Zheng Yanxi held his hand. "Take your time. Do what needs to be done, teach what needs to be taught. There's plenty of time."

Jiang Cheng held her hand and suddenly felt at ease.

Outside the window, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, shining its light on the clivia plant on the windowsill. Three flowers had bloomed, each like a small trumpet, facing the moon.

He stood up, walked to the window, and opened it. The night wind rushed in, carrying the scent of poplar catkins and earth. In the distance, in the factory area, night shift workers were leaving get off work, walking in twos and threes along the road, their voices faintly audible.

He didn't know if the machines at the mine could be repaired tomorrow, he didn't know if the students in the training course would learn the skills, and he didn't know if the extension center could stay afloat...

There are so many things to worry about, but we have to face them eventually. Anxiety is pointless. Just eat well, drink well, and sleep soundly.

He returned to bed, and Zheng Yanxi's slightly suppressed moans echoed in the empty room...

After the ball mill at the mine was repaired, Jiang Cheng established a rule at the promotion center: every modified piece of equipment must not only have a dedicated maintenance and repair record, but also an archive, and regular follow-up visits.

"Just repairing isn't enough; we need to manage it," he said at the meeting. "Machines are like people; without checkups, we won't know what's wrong. We need to help each factory establish equipment maintenance systems so that every machine has someone to manage and maintain it."

Sun Deming raised his hand: "Brother Jiang, isn't this workload too much? There are only a few of us, can we manage it all?"

"We have to manage it even if we can't manage it all," Jiang Cheng said. "But we don't need to manage it ourselves. We'll train the equipment operators in each factory and let them manage it. We'll be responsible for spot checks."

Old Zhao then asked, "Master Jiang, where do the equipment operators come from?"

"We select from the workers. We choose two or three responsible and willing-to-learn workers from each factory, and we provide free training. After the training, they return to the factory to be specifically responsible for equipment maintenance."

Huang Deqing nodded in agreement: "That's a good idea. The equipment operators are like doctors; if there's anything wrong with the machine, they'll check it first. If they can't fix it, then they'll come to us."

After the plan was finalized, Jiang Cheng began a new round of tireless work. He went from factory to factory, discussing equipment operator training with the factory managers. Most of the factory managers supported it, but some did not.

The director of a large diesel engine factory in Shenyang disagreed. His surname was He, he was in his fifties, stout, loud-voiced, and had a bad temper. When Jiang Cheng went to see him, he was drinking tea in his office and didn't even stand up when Jiang Cheng entered.

"You're Jiang Cheng?" Factory Director He sized him up. "I heard you repaired a few machines and became somewhat well-known?"

Jiang Cheng replied neither humbly nor arrogantly: "Director He, I'm just a fitter."

"A fitter?" Factory Manager He laughed. "A fitter to teach me how to manage equipment? I've worked in machinery my whole life, do I need you to teach me?"

Jiang Cheng wasn't angry. He sat down opposite him and said, "Director He, I'm not here to lecture you. I'm here to help you. I've looked into the equipment in your factory. There are over three hundred machine tools, sixty percent of which were manufactured between 1958 and 1965, exceeding their service life by more than ten years. Last year, your factory was shut down for forty-seven days due to equipment failure. Did you know that number?"

Factory Director He's smile froze.

"Forty-seven days," Jiang Cheng continued, "Based on your factory's output last year, the loss is at least 300,000. 300,000—how much new equipment could you buy? How many bonuses could you pay out?"

Factory Director He put down his teacup, looked at him, and put away his disdainful expression.

How do you know these numbers?

"I've checked," Jiang Cheng said. "Director He, I'm not here to show off. I'm here to solve the problem. Give me twenty workers, and I'll train them for three months. After three months, your factory's equipment failure rate will be reduced by at least half. You don't need me to do the math for you, do you?"

Factory Director He fell silent. He stood up, walked to the window, and stood there for a long time with his back to Jiang Cheng. Outside the window was the diesel engine factory's assembly workshop, where workers were busy at work, and the faint roar of machines could be heard. Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating his bald head, making it shine.