Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Jiang Cheng took a sip of his drink but didn't say anything.

"Master Jiang, do you think my factory can survive?"

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment and said, "Yes."

How did you know?

"Because there are people here. As long as there are people, the factory will exist."

Sun Desheng looked at him, remained silent for a moment, and then smiled. He picked up his enamel mug, clinked it against Jiang Cheng's, and drank it all in one gulp.

Two weeks later, the C620 lathe was repaired. On the day it was started up, everyone in the factory came. The motor roared, the spindle spun smoothly, the guide rails glided, and the gearbox made no noise. The old worker placed a blank and began cutting. Iron filings flew out, landing on his apron, his shoes, and his face. He stopped the machine, picked up calipers to measure, then looked up at Jiang Cheng.

"qualified."

A cheer erupted in the workshop. Some shouted "Bravo!", some clapped, and some wiped their eyes with the back of their hands.

Jiang Cheng stood in the crowd, watching the lathe start turning again, and suddenly felt a sense of peace. He remembered Huang Deqing's words—"As long as you are here, there are still people." Now, he understood.

That evening, Sun Desheng treated everyone to dinner. Two tables were set up in the factory canteen, and the entire factory was invited. There wasn't much food, but plenty of alcohol. An older worker, quite drunk, approached Jiang Cheng with his glass, slurring, "Master Jiang, I've worked my whole life and never seen anyone like you. I toast you!"

Jiang Cheng picked up his wine glass, clinked it with his, and drank it all in one gulp.

It was quite late when the meal ended. Jiang Cheng walked out of the canteen and stood in the courtyard. The moon was round and bright, shining on the old factory buildings and clearly illuminating the cracks in the tiles. The distant barking of dogs echoed through the empty night, a series of long and short barks.

He took out his notebook and wrote a line on the last page: "Liuhe Agricultural Machinery Repair and Manufacturing Plant, C620 lathe repair. Worker training: seven people. Capable of independent operation: four people."

After finishing writing, he closed the notebook and put it in his pocket.

He didn't know how long the factory could last.

I wonder if those workers will leave after they learn the skills.

I don't know if Wang Xiaojun staying was the right or wrong decision...

This trip to Liuhe made him realize one thing—some things are more important than official documents, more important than certificates, and more important than audits. These things reside in machines, in hands, and in people's hearts.

The wind can extinguish a flame, but it cannot extinguish the embers in the ashes. As long as there is a single ember, there is a possibility of reignition.

He turned around and walked back to his dormitory. The moonlight cast his shadow on the ground, long and narrow.

Tomorrow, he will go to repair the next machine.

After the C620 lathe at Liuhe Agricultural Machinery Repair and Manufacturing Plant started running, the way people in the plant looked at Jiang Cheng changed.

It wasn't the polite "You're really amazing," but something more genuine—they started calling him "Master Jiang," not "Comrade Jiang," not "the one from Shenyang." When the old worker, Master Zhang, handed him a wrench from his toolbox, he no longer said "Here," but "Take this." The way he handed things changed, so did his tone of voice; the tone changed, and so did the relationship.

The day after the lathe was repaired, Sun Desheng took a walk around the factory and pulled Jiang Cheng aside.

"Master Jiang, there's one more."

"What equipment?"

"It's a punch press. A 63-ton one, it's so old. The clutch won't engage, it doesn't respond when you press the pedal. We've taken it apart three times, but it still doesn't work when we put it back together."

Jiang Cheng followed him into another workshop. This punch press was even older than the lathe; the words on the nameplate were worn away, and only the numbers "1956" could be vaguely made out. The paint on the machine body was badly peeled off, revealing the cast iron underneath, which felt as rough as sandpaper. A thick layer of black ash had accumulated on the flywheel; if you rubbed it with your finger, you could see the original color of the cast iron underneath.

Jiang Cheng squatted down and examined the clutch. He'd seen this type of pneumatic friction clutch before; there was a similar one at the Shenyang Heavy Machinery Plant. The problem was likely in the air circuit.

"Do you have compressed air?"

"Yes. The air compressor is old, but it still works."

"aspirated."

A worker turned on the air compressor, and a sputtering sound, like a tractor, filled the workshop. Compressed air was sent to the air tank of the punch press. Jiang Cheng placed his hand on the clutch, checking for leaks. No. He pressed the pedal again; the clutch moved slightly, but didn't fully engage.

"The air intake is fine." He stood up. "Disassemble the clutch."

Several workers gathered around and hurriedly began disassembling the clutch. Sun Deming directed the operation, while Wang Xiaojun handed them tools. Jiang Cheng didn't participate; he stood by and watched. It wasn't that he didn't want to help, but he wanted to see if these people knew how to disassemble it. After half an hour, the clutch was removed. The friction plates were worn very thin, and in some places, the rivets were exposed.

"The friction plates are worn out," said Mr. Zhang. "Just replace them with new ones."

Jiang Cheng didn't say anything, but flipped the clutch over and looked at the other side. Upon looking, he discovered the problem.

"Look here." He pointed to a groove on the clutch pressure plate. "This groove was originally round, but now it's worn off-center. Replacing the friction plates didn't help; the pressure plate isn't parallel, and the clutch isn't engaging properly."

Several people gathered around to look. Master Zhang put on his reading glasses, looked for a long time, and his expression changed.

"That's true. What should we do then? Can the pressure plate be repaired?"

"Yes. Go on the lathe and cut the end face to level it."

"One cut? Wouldn't that be too thin?"

"Add a pad if it's too thin. The key is to make it flat."

Master Zhang glanced at Jiang Cheng, then at the pressure plate, and nodded. Several people lifted the pressure plate onto the lathe, and Jiang Cheng operated it himself. He adjusted the feed rate, started the lathe, and the tool post slowly approached the end face of the pressure plate. Iron filings swirled up, bluish-green, and fell onto the lathe bed, making a soft crackling sound. With one cut, the end face revealed its metallic color, gleaming brightly. He measured it with a micrometer; it had been machined down by 0.3 millimeters.

"Add a 0.3mm shim," he said.

Sun Deming found a 0.3 mm copper sheet, cut it into a shim, and placed it under the friction plate. He reassembled it and put it back on the punch press. Everyone was on tenterhooks, staring at the old, worn-out machine.

Jiang Cheng took a deep breath and stepped on the pedal.

"Bang—" It crashed down like a muffled thunderclap, shaking the entire workshop.

He stomped on it again. "Bang—"

Step on it again. "Bang—"

Three quick, clean clicks, without hesitation or pause. The sound of the clutch engaging was as crisp as snapping a dry twig.

A burst of laughter filled the workshop. Master Zhang walked over and patted Jiang Cheng on the shoulder with such force that it made Jiang's shoulder ache. "Master Jiang, you're not just fixing machines, you're bringing them back to life!"

Jiang Cheng rubbed his shoulders and smiled.

That noon, Master Zhang brought a bottle of liquor from home, saying it was homemade with goji berries and red dates, good for health. He poured the liquor into an enamel mug and handed it to Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng took a sip and winced from the spiciness. Master Zhang looked at him and burst into laughter.

"Master Jiang, you're a skilled driver, but you can't hold your liquor."

"I never said I had a high alcohol tolerance."

"So what's good about you?"

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment and said, "Repairing machines is good."