Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

The next day, he went to the Provincial Machinery Department. It was the same office, and the same three people.

This time, however, there were no documents on the table, only a cup of tea in front of each person. The tea had gone cold, the tea leaves sinking to the bottom of the cup, drooping listlessly.

"Comrade Jiang Cheng, please sit down." The man in the middle with gold-rimmed glasses gestured to the chair.

Jiang Cheng sat down.

"Your center's review results are in." The man took a document from his drawer and placed it on the table. "After review and approval by the provincial department, the Shenyang Promotion Center will be retained. However, it will undergo restructuring and be incorporated into the unified management of the Provincial Machinery Department. The head of the center will be appointed by the provincial department."

Jiang Cheng was taken aback. "So, my current job—"

"You will continue to serve as the technical lead. However, administratively, there will be a director sent by the provincial department."

Jiang Cheng was silent for a moment. He understood. The center was saved, but it was no longer the original center. It had become a "formal" institution, with staffing, systems, and leadership.

He is no longer the one who makes the decisions.

"When will the handover take place?"

"The new director will come to see you next month."

As I stepped out of the hall, it started to rain. Not a heavy rain, but a fine, dense drizzle, like needles pricking my face, cool and refreshing. People on the street hurried along, umbrellas in hand, splashing water onto their trousers, soaking them.

Jiang Cheng didn't bring an umbrella. He stood under the eaves at the entrance of the hall, watching the rain. Raindrops fell from the eaves, one after another, like beads from a broken string. He reached out and caught a few drops; they were cool and swirled in his palm.

He recalled Huang Deqing's words: "Some things can't be done the way you want them to be." He remembered what the promotion center was like when it was first established—three rooms, a few old tables and chairs, a few people, and a dream. Now, the dream is still there, but the rooms are no longer the same. He didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. But he knew that some things had changed.

He stepped into the rain. The rain wasn't heavy; if he walked quickly, he wouldn't get soaked. He walked slowly, step by step, as if measuring the length of the street. People walked past him; some glanced at him, some didn't. The rain felt cool and pleasant on his face.

When he reached the bus stop, he stopped and waited for the bus. An elderly man on the platform, carrying a basket of vegetables, saw him getting wet in the rain, took a newspaper from his pocket, and handed it to him. "Young man, let this shelter you from the rain."

Jiang Cheng took the newspaper and said thank you. He held the newspaper on his head, and it quickly became wet, sticking limply to his hair.

The bus arrived. He boarded and sat in the last row. Leaning against the window, he watched the rain outside. Rainwater streamed down the glass, cutting the world outside into countless small pieces.

By the time we got back to the center, the rain had stopped. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, shining brightly in the wet courtyard. The poplar leaves, washed clean by the rain, were a vibrant green, each one looking as if it had just been pulled from the water. The puddles on the ground reflected the sunlight like tiny mirrors; stepping on them, they would shatter with a soft "plop."

Huang Deqing was squatting at the laboratory door, smoking. He looked up when he saw him come in.

"You're back?"

"Um."

"What do you mean?" He could tell that Jiang Cheng wasn't in a good mood, and the result would definitely be disappointing, but he still had to face it.

Jiang Cheng squatted down next to his master. He explained the decision made in the hall.

Huang Deqing listened without saying a word. He took a drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled. The smoke dissipated slowly in the humid air, like a thin veil.

"That's a good thing," he said.

"Good news?"

"Yes. Think about it, if the center were still like before, relying on you alone, how long could it last? Now it's under the management of the department, it has official positions, it has money, and it can hire people. This is a good thing."

Jiang Cheng looked at his master. His master's face was expressionless, but there was a light in his eyes.

"But Master, from now on, I won't be the one making all the decisions."

Huang Deqing looked at him and suddenly laughed. "You think you were in charge all by yourself before? Did you ever really have the final say? There was Director Zhou above you, the department head, the ministry head. When did you ever have the final say all by yourself?"

Jiang Cheng paused for a moment, then smiled. His master was right. He had never been the only one in charge.

"Chengzi, remember this," Huang Deqing stubbed out his cigarette, "No matter who becomes the director, the technology is still in your hands. With the technology, you have the final say. Without the technology, you have no say."

Jiang Cheng nodded.

The air after the rain was fresh, carrying the scent of earth and grass. Water droplets still clung to the poplar leaves, rustling down in the wind, landing coolly on hair and shoulders. In the distance, on the factory rooftop, the red flag, soaked through, clung motionless to the flagpole.

Jiang Cheng stood up, dusted off his trousers, and walked into the lab. He sat down, took out his notebook, and began writing his work plan for the second half of the year. No matter who was the director, the work still had to be done.

The machine needs repair, the person needs to be taught, the road needs to be walked. He wrote slowly, one word at a time. The sky outside the window gradually darkened, and he turned on the desk lamp. The light shone brightly on the paper.

He stopped writing on the last page. On the last line of the plan, he wrote: "No matter who is in charge, the standards cannot be lowered. Every machine, every process must be done with a clear conscience."

After writing the last word, he put down his pen and leaned back in his chair.

He closed his eyes, and an image appeared in his mind—not a machine, not blueprints, but a face. It was Liu Tiezhu's face, the apprentice he had taken in Liuhe. He held the book "Fundamentals of Mechanical Engineering," his eyes shining as if he were holding gold.

He opened his eyes, stood up, and turned off the lamp. Outside the window, the moon had already risen, but it wasn't full; a corner was missing, as if someone had taken a bite out of it. The moonlight shone into the yard, making the puddles gleam like shattered mirrors.

He put on his coat, locked the door, and headed home. The street was quiet, with only the streetlights still on, one after another, like a string of beads. His footsteps echoed in the empty street, each beat like a beating heart.

He went downstairs and 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 cactus on the windowsill was still there, round and thorny, gleaming with a faint green light under the lamp.

He went upstairs and opened the door. Zheng Yanxi was sitting at the table reading a book, while Jiang Yuan was playing with a tin box at her feet, shaking it back and forth, making a rattling sound. The room was warm, the stove was burning brightly, and the iron kettle sat on top, bubbling and steaming.

"You're back?" She looked up.

"I'm back."

"Have you got a meal yet?"

"I ate it. The steamed buns from the cafeteria."

She frowned, stood up, and went into the kitchen. The sound of the spatula hitting the wok, mixed with the sizzling of cooking oil, was particularly clear in the quiet night.

Jiang Cheng squatted down and picked up Jiang Yuan. The little guy snuggled in his arms, then giggled and reached out his hands to grab Jiang Cheng's nose.

"Mom—Mom—" he called out twice, his words unclear, but Jiang Cheng heard him clearly.

"Mom is cooking. She'll be out in a bit."

The little guy resisted, twisting and turning, wanting to get down. Jiang Cheng put him down, and he wobbled into the kitchen, hugged Zheng Yanxi's leg, looked up, and called out "Mommy" again.

Zheng Yanxi lowered her head, looked at him, and smiled.

That smile was a million times more beautiful than the cactus on the windowsill.