Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

On the train back from Beijing, Jiang Cheng had a dream.

He dreamt he was standing in a huge workshop, surrounded by machines that roared and clattered. He stood alone in the middle, holding a wrench, unsure which machine to fix. Then he heard a voice, distant and soft, like the wind blowing through a wheat field: "Dad—" He woke up abruptly.

The train was crossing the North China Plain. The snow outside the window had melted, revealing lush green wheat fields that swayed in the wind. Sunlight streamed down from behind the clouds, streaks like stage lights. He rubbed his eyes and checked his watch—five in the morning. Two more hours to Shenyang.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, but couldn't fall asleep. His mind was filled with images of the BJ event. Over three hundred people, applause, handshakes, praise. They called him a "worker-inventor," a "benchmark of the new era." He knew he couldn't take those words seriously. But after a lifetime as a fitter, suddenly being praised by so many people, it was impossible not to feel flattered.

He touched the letter in his pocket—the one written by Engineer Shen. "Your skills are better than mine." These seven words carried more weight than any applause.

The story begins last month with the first batch of acceptance tests for the landing gear project.

That day, Shenyang was blanketed in heavy snow.

The snow started falling in the early morning, large snowflakes blanketing the sky, and by daybreak, the entire city was white. The rooftops, courtyards, and branches of the poplar trees in the factory area were all covered in a thick layer of snow, reaching above the ankles. The air was cold but clean; breathing it in was refreshing and carried the unique sweet, slightly fishy smell of snow.

When Jiang Cheng arrived at the promotion center, two black sedans were already parked at the entrance. One belonged to Deputy Director Zhang, and the other, whose owner was unknown, had a gleaming body and was clearly freshly washed. The wheels left two deep tracks in the snow, stretching from the entrance all the way to the street, like two black snakes.

He pushed open the door and heard voices coming from the corridor. He walked over and saw several people sitting in the office—Deputy Director Zhang, Chief Engineer Zhao, Engineer Shen, and a middle-aged man he didn't recognize, in his early forties, with a square face, thick eyebrows, wearing a dark gray Zhongshan suit, holding a black briefcase, and with a very serious expression, exuding an air of authority.

"Comrade Jiang Cheng, you've arrived?" Deputy Director Zhang stood up, shook hands with him, and then pointed to the stranger, "This is Deputy Minister Liu of the Air Force Equipment Department."

Jiang Cheng's heart skipped a beat. The Air Force Equipment Department! That was the highest-level organization in charge of all aircraft equipment. He quickly extended his hand: "Hello, Vice Minister Liu."

Vice Minister Liu shook his hand, his grip strong, like an iron clamp. He looked Jiang Cheng up and down, his gaze scrutinizing and tinged with curiosity: "You're Jiang Cheng? The fitter who repairs landing gear?"

"it's me."

Vice Minister Liu nodded and said nothing more. He walked to the window, looked at the snow outside, and turned his back to everyone.

Deputy Director Zhang coughed and said, "Comrade Jiang Cheng, please report on the situation."

Jiang Cheng took out a report from his bag and began his presentation. He spoke slowly and meticulously, every piece of data standing up to scrutiny. When he got to the low-temperature experiment, Engineer Shen interjected, "I've checked the data from the low-temperature experiment; there are no problems." When he got to the salt spray experiment, Chief Engineer Zhao also chimed in, "The data matches our institute's."

Vice Minister Liu stood by the window, listening without turning around. After Jiang Cheng finished his report, he turned around and looked at Jiang Cheng.

"Fifty pieces, all qualified?"

"All of them passed inspection," Jiang Cheng said. "Each one has an inspection report, and the data is traceable."

Vice Minister Liu walked over, picked up the report on the table, flipped through it, and put it down. He looked at Jiang Cheng, his gaze revealing something more.

"Comrade Jiang Cheng, let me tell you the truth. We've been waiting for this batch of landing gear for a long time. The reason why the planes at the military base are grounded is because there are no spare parts. Once this batch is repaired, it will be able to get at least ten planes back in the air."

He paused, then lowered his voice: "Ten aircraft, for a fighter regiment, is half of its combat power."

The office was quiet. The snow was still falling, pattering against the window with a soft, rustling sound, like countless tiny insects crawling.

"So," Vice Minister Liu looked at Jiang Cheng, "I want to thank you."

Jiang Cheng was taken aback. He hadn't expected a vice minister to say "thank you" to him.

"Vice Minister Liu, this is what I should do."

Vice Minister Liu shook his head: "It's not something we should do. It's something no one else could do, but you did it." He held out his hand, "When can the second batch be delivered?"

Jiang Cheng grasped his hand: "Three months."

Okay. I'll wait for your good news.

Vice Minister Liu left. Deputy Director Zhang and Chief Engineer Zhao followed. Engineer Shen walked last, and as he passed Jiang Cheng, he stopped, took an envelope from his pocket, and handed it to him.

"What?"

"We'll check back when we get back," Engineer Shen said. "Don't demolish it here."

He left. Jiang Cheng stood in the office, clutching the thin envelope in his hand; it seemed to contain only a single sheet of paper. He walked to the window, opened the envelope, and inside was a letter with only one line of text, written in Shen Gong's neat handwriting, each stroke precise and clear:

"Comrade Jiang Cheng, your skills are better than mine. If you ever come to Beijing, please visit me."

Jiang Cheng stared at the words for a long time. The snow was still falling outside the window, flakes landing on the windowsill and melting quickly. He folded the letter, put it in his pocket, and turned around. Huang Deqing had come in at some point and was standing in the doorway, carrying the tin kettle.

"Gone?" Huang Deqing asked.

"I'm gone."

"What did you say?"

"They said the second batch would be delivered in three months."

Huang Deqing nodded and didn't ask any more questions. He walked to the table, put down the kettle, poured himself a glass of water, picked it up, blew on it, and took a sip.

"Master," Jiang Cheng said, "Engineer Shen wrote me a letter."

"What did you say?"

"He said my skills are better than his."

Huang Deqing paused, holding his cup, then continued drinking. After finishing, he put down the cup and looked at Jiang Cheng: "Do you believe me?"

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment: "I don't believe it."

Why?

"Because he taught me my skills. I read his papers three times, and I learned something new each time."

Huang Deqing looked at him and suddenly laughed: "Your greatest skill is not your technical ability, but your knowledge of how high the sky is."

He stood up, dusted off his pants, and left.

Jiang Cheng stood by the window, watching the snow outside. In the courtyard, Sun Deming was leading several students in shoveling snow. The brooms made a "swish, swish" sound as they swept the snow, rhythmic and gentle, like some kind of ancient ballad. Wang Xiaojun followed behind, clumsily but earnestly shoveling the piled snow into the flowerbed. Old Zhao squatted under the eaves, repairing a frozen piece of equipment; his fingers were red with cold, but he worked meticulously.

The snow was still falling. It landed on their hair, shoulders, and tools, leaving a white blanket. But they didn't stop; they kept working.

Jiang Cheng stared at these people for a long time. Then he turned around, walked to the table, sat down, and began writing the production plan for the second batch of landing gear.