Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

"They came yesterday afternoon. You weren't there, so they looked for me."

Why didn't you tell me beforehand?

Huang Deqing looked up at him and said, "Let me tell you, what can you do? Rush back from Beijing? Even if you do, it won't change anything."

Jiang Cheng squatted down next to his master. The two of them squatted in the yard, just like they used to in the workshop. The sunlight shone on them, casting long and short shadows on the ground.

"Master, do you think this matter has anything to do with Zhou Chuanming?"

Huang Deqing took a drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled: "I don't know. Whether it's there or not, the result is the same."

"Aren't you angry?"

Huang Deqing turned his head and looked at him. On that wrinkled face, there was something Jiang Cheng had never seen before—not anger, not helplessness, but something deeper and heavier, like a stone at the bottom of a river, worn round by the water for so many years, but still there.

"Chengzi, I've been in this business for thirty years. I've seen much bigger storms than this. Factories have closed, workshops have stopped, machines have been sealed off. But what happened after that? They all reopened, they all started running again, they all started making noise again." He stubbed out his cigarette, stood up, and said, "This thing is the same. It stops for a while, but it'll be back up and running again."

He picked up the tin kettle and walked towards the courtyard gate. After a few steps, he stopped and didn't look back.

"Don't just stand here. Go back and check on Yanxi, your wife, and the kids. Jiang Yuan has been missing you terribly since you left.

He left. Jiang Cheng squatted in the courtyard, watching his figure disappear into the alleyway. The sunlight shone brightly on his gray hair.

Jiang Cheng stood up, dusted off his pants, and walked home.

He went downstairs and looked up at the fourth-floor window. The curtains were drawn, so he couldn't see inside. The clivia on the windowsill was still there, but the flowers had faded, leaving only a few green leaves that shone brightly in the sunlight.

He went upstairs and pushed open the door. The room was quiet. The fire in the stove was almost out; only a few pieces of charcoal were still glowing faintly. Several books were open on the table, the chapter on the "Respiratory System" from "Internal Medicine." Next to them was an enamel mug, the water long since cold, the tea leaves drooping at the bottom.

The bedroom door was ajar. He walked over and gently pushed it open. Zheng Yanxi and Jiang Yuan were both in bed. The little one was sleeping in his crib, the blanket kicked up to his feet, revealing two chubby little feet. Zheng Yanxi was sleeping on the big bed, turned to her side, her face towards the crib. Her hair was spread out on the pillow, a strand hanging down to the edge of the bed like a piece of black silk.

He stood in the doorway, watching them for a long time. Then he gently closed the door and left.

He went into the kitchen, turned on the stove, and added a few pieces of coal. Flames leaped up, licking the bottom of the pot and making a "whooshing" sound. He put the kettle on the stove, then sat on a small stool in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil.

On the stove sat a bowl of leftovers, covered with gauze. He lifted the gauze; it was stir-fried cabbage, already cold, with oil congealed on the leaves, glistening white. He picked up his chopsticks, took a bite, and put it in his mouth. The cabbage was cold and salty, but he chewed it slowly.

The water boiled. He filled a kettle with hot water, poured a cup, and carried it to the window. The sunlight outside was bright, shining on the wall of the building opposite, making the slogan on the wall appear white—the words "Learn from Daqing in Industry"—the red paint had faded, but they were still legible.

He drank his water, his mind a jumbled mess. The notice mentioned "re-review"—how long would that review take? A month? Six months? A year? Once the review was over, could things be reinstated? If not, what would happen to the promotion center? What about the fifty trainees? What about the second batch of landing gear?

These questions swirled in his mind like a swarm of headless flies. He placed the cup on the windowsill and put his hands in his pockets. There was a piece of paper in his pocket—the notice. He took it out and read it again. He recognized every word, but together they formed a wall.

"Jiang Cheng?"

He turned around, and Zheng Yanxi was standing in the bedroom doorway, rubbing her eyes. She was wearing an old sweater, the sleeves of which were too long, covering her fingers. Her hair was messy, and there were pillow marks on her face.

Did I wake you up?

"No. I heard noises in the kitchen and thought a thief had broken in." She walked over and looked at the notice in his hand. "What's this?"

Jiang Cheng handed her the notice. She took it, read it, and then looked up at him.

"Is it paused?"

"Um."

"how long?"

[At this point, I hope readers will remember our domain name: 10 ...

"have no idea."

She remained silent for a moment, then folded the notice and returned it to him.

"You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

Before Jiang Cheng could reply, she went straight into the kitchen, turned on the stove, and started heating up the food. The sound of the spatula hitting the wok, mixed with the sizzling of the oil, was particularly clear in the quiet morning.

"Yanxi, aren't you going to ask why?"

Without turning her head, she said, "Even if I asked, you wouldn't be able to answer. You just found out yourself."

Jiang Cheng leaned against the kitchen doorway, watching her back. She was wearing those old cotton slippers, with a patch on the upper made of blue cloth that didn't quite match the gray upper. She bent down, took two eggs from the cupboard, cracked them on the rim of a bowl, and let the egg liquid slide into the bowl. She stirred them quickly with chopsticks, making a "clattering" sound.

"Yanxi, do you think my life has been too smooth?"

Her hand paused for a moment, then continued stirring.

"Since I joined the factory, although there have been people who caused trouble, I've managed to get everything done. Landing gear, hydraulic press, ball mill, training courses... I almost thought there was nothing I couldn't do."

She poured the egg mixture into the pan, and with a "sizzle," oil splattered everywhere.

"And now?" she asked.

"I only realize now that some things are beyond a person's control."

She didn't say anything. The eggs in the pan puffed up in the oil, curling at the edges and turning golden brown. She flipped them over with a spatula, fried them for about ten seconds, then scraped them out and placed them on a plate.

"Let's eat." She placed the plate on the table and went to the kitchen to heat up the two bowls of leftover porridge from yesterday.

The porridge was heated up quickly.

Jiang Cheng sat down and looked at the plate of fried eggs. The eggs were fried perfectly, golden brown at the edges and tender white in the middle. He picked up a piece and put it in his mouth. The egg was hot and the saltiness was just right.

"It's delicious," he said.

She sat opposite, picked up the bowl of porridge, blew on it, and took a sip.

"Jiang Cheng, what are you planning to do?"

He thought for a moment: "Let's wait and see what they say."

"How long will it take?"

"have no idea."

She put down her bowl of porridge and looked at him: "You don't seem like the type to wait."

Jiang Cheng paused, taken aback. She was right. He didn't seem like the type to wait. But this time, what could he do besides wait? Go find Director Zhang? Go find Old Zhou? Even if they could help, it would take time. Besides, this wasn't someone sabotaging things; it was a policy adjustment.

Who can stop policy adjustments?

"You're right," he said. "I can't wait. But I can't act recklessly either. The notice says that business cannot be conducted during the suspension period. If I insist on doing it, it will be a violation. Then I'll be in an even more passive position."