Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

After the first batch of landing gear was delivered, the promotion center's reputation was fully established.

Phone calls came one after another, letters poured in. Some wanted technical assistance, some wanted training, and some wanted collaborations. Jiang Cheng's notebook was filled with the needs of each factory, densely packed, like ants crawling across the page.

"Brother Jiang, we're too busy," Sun Deming said weakly, slumped over the table. "How about we hire some more people?"

"Okay." Jiang Cheng didn't even look up and continued writing his reply.

Sun Deming looked up: "Another training course?"

"Yes. The third phase. This time we're recruiting fifty people."

Sun Deming gasped, "Fifty? Can our classroom even hold them all?"

"If you can't sit, stand. If you can't stand, go outside. You still have to be taught."

Sun Deming shook his head and said nothing more. He stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the courtyard. There was a pile of coal in the courtyard, used for burning coal in the stove during the winter; it was black and stood out conspicuously against the snow.

"Brother Jiang, what do you think our center will become in the future?"

Jiang Cheng put down his pen and thought for a moment: "It will become a university."

"Big school?"

"Yes. A university that specializes in teaching people how to repair machines. They don't issue diplomas, but they do teach skills. People who come here can go back and repair machines and teach others how to repair them. One becomes two, two become four, four become eight. In just a few years, every factory in the province will have its own equipment operators."

Sun Deming's eyes lit up as he listened: "What about the whole country?"

"It's the same all over the country," Jiang Cheng said. "But this takes time. Three years, five years, ten years. It can't be rushed."

Sun Deming nodded and didn't ask any more questions. He turned around and looked out the window. The sunlight shone on his face, clearly illuminating his features. Jiang Cheng suddenly noticed that Sun Deming had lost weight. His chin was sharper, and his cheekbones were more prominent. This young man from Anshan Iron and Steel had worked with him for almost a year without taking a single day off or uttering a single complaint.

"Deming," Jiang Cheng said, "you should take a rest."

Sun Deming turned his head: "I'm not tired."

"Even if you're not tired, you need to rest. If you collapse, who will do the work?"

Sun Deming paused for a moment, then laughed: "Brother Jiang, are you imitating Master Huang?"

Jiang Cheng laughed too: "Do I imitate it well?"

"Similar. Just not as fierce as him."

They both laughed. The laughter echoed in the office, washing away much of the winter's gloom.

At the same time as the third training course started, Jiang Cheng received a phone call from Beijing.

The call was from Director Zhang, who sounded very excited: "Xiao Jiang, great news! The ministry has decided to promote your center's experience nationwide. A conference will be held in Beijing next month, and you'll be giving the keynote speech."

Jiang Cheng held the microphone and remained silent for a moment before asking, "Director Zhang, what should I say?"

"Tell me how you did it. How you trained the workers, how you established systems, how you promoted the technology. You know these things best."

"But……"

"No buts," Director Zhang interrupted him. "This is an order. Go back and prepare. See you in Beijing on the 15th of next month."

The phone call ended. Jiang Cheng stood by the window, receiver still in his hand, listening to the busy tone. Outside, in the courtyard, Sun Deming was leading his students in dismantling an old piece of equipment. The clanging of wrenches against metal was like the sound of blacksmithing.

He recalled his last trip to Beijing for a conference, where he told the story of "doing it again." What would he talk about this time?

Jiang Cheng sat down, took out his notebook, and began writing his speech. He wrote and deleted, deleted and wrote, spending the entire afternoon on it, but only managed to write three lines:

"We did one thing: we fixed the machines."

"We taught them one thing: how to fix machines."

"We also did something else: we taught more people how to repair machines."

He stared at those three lines for a long time. Then he smiled. That's enough. I've only told you these three things.

That evening, he returned home and told Zheng Yanxi about his trip to Beijing. She was feeding Jiang Yuan; the little guy was sitting on a small chair with rice cereal smeared around his mouth, making him look like he had a white beard.

"When are you leaving?"

"The meeting will be held on the 14th and 15th of next month."

"How many days will you be gone?"

"About three or four days."

She nodded and didn't ask any more questions. She scooped a spoonful of rice cereal and brought it to Jiang Yuan's mouth. The little guy opened his mouth and ate it, then stretched out his hands, wanting her to hold him.

"Stop fooling around, you haven't finished eating yet." She gently pressed his hand down.

Jiang Yuan resisted, squirming and almost slipping off the chair. Jiang Cheng caught him and held him in his arms. The little guy snuggled in his arms, then quieted down, looking at him with his bright black eyes.

"Dad—Dad—" he called out.

"Yes," Jiang Cheng replied.

"Dad—Dad—" he called out again.

"Why."

The little guy was satisfied, nestled in his arms, and nibbled on his fingers.

Zheng Yanxi looked at them, a slight smile playing on her lips. She stood up, cleared the dishes, and went into the kitchen. The tap gurgled, and the clinking of bowls was as crisp as wind chimes.

Jiang Cheng carried Jiang Yuan to the window. The moon outside was round, shining on the snow, making it appear silvery white. In the distance, a few lights were still on in the factory area, like stars fallen from the sky.

On the 14th, Jiang Cheng boarded the train to Beijing.

It was still the same old green train, still a hard seat, still by the window. But this time, he wasn't so anxious. The snowfield outside the window stretched as far as the eye could see, a vast expanse of white, like a sea. Occasionally, a few trees would peek out from the snow, bare, like sentinels.

He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He mentally reviewed his speech—three pages, three points. That was enough.

It was already dark when the train arrived in Beijing. Chen Siyuan met him on the platform, wearing a military overcoat, his face red from the cold.

"Brother Jiang, over here!" he waved.

Jiang Cheng walked over, and Chen Siyuan took his bag: "Old Zhou asked me to pick you up. Let's have dinner first, then go to the guesthouse."

"How is Mr. Zhou?"

"I'm fine. Just busy. I'm working on a new project lately, so I'm working overtime every day."

The two walked out of the station and got into a jeep. The car drove along Chang'an Avenue, and the night view outside the window flashed by frame by frame—Tiananmen Square, Xinhua Gate, the Telegraph Building—every building was lit up, resplendent in gold.

"Brother Jiang, do you know how many people will be attending the meeting tomorrow?" Chen Siyuan asked.

"have no idea."

"More than three hundred. Leaders from industrial departments of provinces and cities across the country, heads of major factories and mines, and experts from the ministry."

Jiang Cheng nodded without saying a word. More than three hundred people, double the number from last time.

"Are you nervous?" Chen Siyuan asked, looking at him.

"A little."

Chen Siyuan laughed: "You said the same thing last time. When you finished speaking last time, the whole audience applauded. It will definitely be the same this time."

Jiang Cheng didn't respond.

The following morning, a national conference on equipment modification experience exchange was held in the auditorium of the Ministry of Machinery Industry.

Jiang Cheng sat in the audience, listening to the speeches of the first few people. Some talked about their experiences, some about their achievements, and some about their difficulties. Everyone spoke very well, but he always felt that something was missing. What was missing? He couldn't quite put his finger on it.