Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

His gaze held scrutiny, but not the kind of distrustful scrutiny. It was more like an outsider trying to understand something he didn't know, like someone standing in front of an unfamiliar machine, not knowing what the buttons did, but wanting to figure it out.

"Comrade Jiang Cheng, the department appointed me as the director, not to reap the rewards. I'm here to help you. You have technical skills, and I have some administrative experience. Only by combining our expertise can we run the center well."

These words were spoken very politely. Jiang Cheng looked at him, trying to find something in his expression—politeness? Perfunctoriness? Or sincerity? Han Zhiguo's face didn't have any extra expression, but his eyes were honest. That honesty wasn't something he deliberately put on; it came from within, like a lamp that was always lit, whether you wanted it to or not.

"Director Han, what are your plans?"

"First, establish the system. Training should have certificates, equipment should have records, and expenses should be accounted for. These are all essential for a formal institution, don't you think?"

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment. Certificates, files, accounts—these words reminded him of the office in the Provincial Machinery Department, of the endless forms to fill out, and of the man with the gold-rimmed glasses who asked him, "How can you prove a trainee has passed the training without a certificate?"

He took a deep breath; the air smelled of bitter poplar leaves.

"Director Han, you're right. Rules are necessary, but they shouldn't interfere with our work. If a machine breaks down, it needs to be repaired; we can't let it break down just because the approval process isn't complete."

Han Zhiguo looked at him, his gaze now containing something more—not dissatisfaction, but more like a reassessment of the young man standing before him. He was silent for a few seconds, then lightly tapped his fingers on the table twice. "Are you afraid the system will strangle you?"

"I'm afraid the system will become an excuse. I'm afraid that before I can even fix the machine, I'll have to fill out a form, and by the time I finish filling it out, the machine will be completely broken."

The two stared at each other for a few seconds.

The courtyard was quiet, with only the rustling of poplar leaves in the wind. A sparrow landed on the windowsill, glanced at them with its head tilted, and then flew away, the sound of its wings fluttering clearly in the quiet courtyard.

Then Han Zhiguo smiled. The smile wasn't deep, but it was genuine. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were gathered together, like an open fan, and each wrinkle held something indescribable.

"Okay. I'll set up the system, you keep doing the work. If there are conflicts, we'll discuss them. If we can't reach an agreement, then I'll listen to you."

Jiang Cheng was stunned. He hadn't expected Han Zhiguo to say that. In that office at the provincial government, he had heard "You need to rectify this," and "Without a certificate, it's not considered formal training." And this man was saying, "I'll listen to you." He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something. "Director Han, you—"

"I'm not here to argue with you," Han Zhiguo interrupted him, his tone flat, but every word clear, like nails driven into a board. "I'm here to make this center bigger and stronger. No matter how good your skills are, how many machines can one person repair? Without systems, without staffing, without money, how will you train people? How will you promote your technology?"

Jiang Cheng fell silent. He knew Han Zhiguo was right. He had thought about these issues, but hadn't fully grasped them. Every time he thought about the words "staffing" and "money," his mind felt stuck, like a rusted machine. It wasn't that he didn't want to solve them; he just didn't know how.

In his past life, he only stayed in the laboratory and was well protected by his mentor. He could only repair machines, not computer programs.

"Director Han, I'll listen to you."

Han Zhiguo waved his hand. "It's not about listening to me. It's about listening to reason. If the reasoning is right, then listen. If it's wrong, tell me, and we'll discuss it further."

That morning, Han Zhiguo called a meeting with everyone. The meeting room wasn't big, and the ten people were crammed together, arm in arm and knee to knee. Sun Deming was sitting between Lao Zhao and Li Zhiqiang, so squeezed that he couldn't move. He simply moved his chair back half a foot and leaned it against the wall.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, illuminating the clivia on the table—the one Zheng Yanxi had brought over. Even after the flowers had faded, the leaves remained green and glossy, as if coated with wax.

Growing a clivia well is no easy task.

Han Zhiguo sat in the main seat, a notebook open in front of him, a fountain pen clipped to his pocket, its cap polished to a gleaming shine. He took the pen off, unscrewed the cap, and placed it next to the notebook, his movements slow, as if preparing or giving himself time to process.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "my name is Han Zhiguo, and I will be the director of the center starting today. I don't understand technology, so I won't get involved in technical matters. But from today onwards, administrative matters will be standardized."

Sun Deming sat in the corner, his face expressionless, but his fingers tapped on his knees, one tap at a time, as if counting beats. Jiang Cheng glanced at him, and he stopped, only to start again after a while. This was an old habit of Sun Deming's; he would tap his fingers when he was nervous, and he probably wasn't even aware of it himself.

"The first thing," Han Zhiguo opened his notebook, his handwriting neat and tidy, each line straight and upright, as if printed, "is for the center to be officially registered. The sign at the entrance needs to be changed to 'LN Province Equipment Modification Technology Promotion Center,' white background with black lettering, and there can't be any typos. I've already had someone make it, and it will be up the day after tomorrow. The sign is made of brass, not wood, and the funding was specially approved by the department."

"The second thing is that the center needs to be formally established. Right now, you are all on secondment, which is not a long-term solution. I will try my best to convert you all to formal positions, with guaranteed salaries, benefits, and professional titles. I have already submitted the list, fifteen people, no one missing. The department has agreed in principle, it's just a matter of going through the formalities."

Sun Deming's fingers paused for a moment. Old Zhao and Li Zhiqiang exchanged a glance. Old Zhao's eyes were a little red, whether from the light or something else, it was hard to tell. He rubbed his eyes, and when he put his hand down, his fingers were trembling slightly.

"The third thing is that the center needs to establish archives. Every piece of equipment that has been repaired and every trainee who has been trained must be recorded. Both paper and electronic records are required. Paper records should be kept in cabinets, and electronic records should be stored on computers."

Old Zhao raised his hand. "Director Han, what is electronic?"

"A computer," Han Zhiguo said casually, as if he were talking about something very ordinary, like a "wrench" or a "screwdriver." "The department promised to provide us with one. A Great Wall 0520, ordered from Beijing, it will arrive next month. This computer is worth more than ten thousand yuan, we have to make good use of it."

The meeting room erupted in excitement. A microcomputer! They'd only ever seen those in newspapers; nobody's ever actually touched one. Sun Deming was the first to ask, leaning forward, almost standing up, his knuckles white as he braced himself on the table: "Director Han, what can a microcomputer do?"