Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

That evening, he returned home just as Zheng Yanxi was coming back from the hospital. She had been working the night shift this week and had been catching up on sleep during the day; she had faint dark circles under her eyes. She had lost some weight, and her complexion was a little pale, but she was in good spirits, and her voice was still as clear as ever. She hung her white coat behind the door, took a copy of the "Emergency Room Handbook" from her bag, and placed it on the table. The cover of the handbook was slightly curled, the corners were worn, and it was clear that it had been read many times; some pages were almost falling out and were held together with tape.

"Is your advanced training almost over?" Jiang Cheng asked.

"Next month. It will be over after the exams. There are three parts: theory exam, practical exam, and interview. They will all be taken in one day, from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m."

"Do you think you can pass the exam?"

She glared at him. "What do you mean? Are you looking down on me?" Her eyes were wide, but the corners of her mouth were curved; she knew he didn't mean that.

Jiang Cheng smiled. "It's not that I look down on you. I'm asking if you're confident."

She lowered her head, flipping through the manual, her finger tracing the table of contents, pausing on one page, then moving to another. "It's there. It has to be there, even if it isn't. We've already made it through three months, one last hurdle won't make a difference."

Jiang Cheng looked at her without speaking. He walked over, took the handbook from her, and flipped through it. It was filled with dense notes, the handwriting neat and tidy, each character written precisely and legibly. Some parts were underlined in red, the lines drawn as if measured with a ruler. Small notes were pasted in other places, marked with the words "Important" followed by an exclamation mark. Every page bore the marks of her reading, the warmth of her presence.

"Yanxi, do you know, you're better than me."

She looked up. "What's so great about it?" Her eyes held a hint of curiosity and anticipation.

I learn things because I like them. You learn things because you need them. Liking something is easier than needing it.

She paused for a moment, then lowered her head and continued flipping through the manual. But her ears turned red, from her earlobes all the way to the base of her ears, as if they were burning.

Outside the window, the moon was round and bright, shining on the cactus on the windowsill. The little sprout next to it had grown a bit more, tender green, with two small leaves, like a pair of outstretched hands, as if asking for something, or as if receiving something.

The diesel engine factory project was the first major project Han Zhiguo had taken on since arriving. That morning, Han Zhiguo called Jiang Cheng to his office and closed the door. He took a document from his drawer and handed it to Jiang Cheng. The document was stamped with the red seal of the Provincial Machinery Department, and below the seal was the title, a line of regular script: "Emergency Notice Regarding the Technical Upgrading of the Production Line at Shenyang Diesel Engine Factory."

"Jiang Cheng, are you in or not for this job?"

Jiang Cheng took the equipment and flipped through it. More than twenty machines, the entire production line, from raw materials to finished products—every single one had a problem, and each problem was different. Some had worn spindles, some had deformed guide rails, some had hydraulic leaks, and some had aging electrical components. The factory had been trying to fix it for six months, but things only got worse; production had dropped by half, and the scrap rate had doubled.

The factory manager's name was Meng Fanlin. Jiang Cheng had heard of this person before—he had a bad temper and a loud voice, but he was very capable. He was the kind of person who "does what he says and doesn't sleep until he finishes his work." He was quite famous in the system.

"Let's do it," Jiang Cheng said.

"What do you need?"

"We need people, money, and time."

"The personnel will be borrowed from various factories. The department has approved the payment of 20,000 yuan. You decide on the timing."

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment. There were more than twenty pieces of equipment, each of which needed to be disassembled for inspection, each required a solution, and each needed to be assembled and debugged. Even if everything went smoothly, even if everyone worked non-stop, it would still take two months.

He held up two fingers. "Two months. Not a day more." Jiang Cheng gave an absolute limit. Han Zhiguo was somewhat surprised, but seeing the resolute look on Jiang Cheng's face, he didn't say anything.

"Okay. Two months. I'll help you coordinate with Director Meng. Just tell me what resources you need; no need to write a report, just make a phone call."

Jiang Cheng looked at him. "Director Han, aren't you going to the site?"

"What would I do there? I don't understand it. I'd only cause trouble." Han Zhiguo leaned back in his chair, took off his glasses, and wiped the lenses with the corner of his shirt. A thin layer of dust was on the lenses. "You guys do the technical work, I'll handle the logistics. Materials, equipment, coordination, errands, meals, sleep—I'll take care of all that. You just focus on the work; you don't need to worry about anything else."

Jiang Cheng stood there, clutching the document in his hand, its pages crumpled from his fingers. He suddenly realized that this new, bespectacled director was far more reliable than he had initially thought.

It's not because he can say nice things, but because he knows what he should and shouldn't do. Many things go wrong because he is not worthy of his position, and because an outsider directs an expert.

Jiang Cheng, along with Sun Deming, Lao Zhao, Li Zhiqiang, and ten other people borrowed from various factories, drove into the diesel engine factory. The diesel engine factory was located in the north of the city, twice the size of the Hongxing factory, with taller buildings and larger windows, but several pieces of glass were broken and covered with plastic sheeting. When the wind blew, they made a whooshing sound, like a broken drum being struck.

The cement road at the factory gate was full of potholes, puddles of rainwater pooling around it. Stepping on it would splash your trousers, leaving mud splattered on your shoes, which would then dry into patches. Inside the factory, workers squatted at the workshop entrance; some were smoking, some were lost in thought, and some were repairing a pair of worn-out rubber shoes—the soles of which were worn through, patched with a piece of old tire leather, nailed on, and if one nailed it crooked, it would be pulled out and nailed on again.

Jiang Cheng had seen that look in Liuhe. It was the look that workers had when a factory was on the verge of collapse—not anger, not complaints, not resentment, but a blank, indifferent expression.

Like a stagnant pool, if you throw a stone in, not a single bubble or ripple will appear; the stone will sink to the bottom without a sound.

Meng Fanlin, the factory manager of the diesel engine plant, was waiting in the workshop. He was in his early fifties, broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, standing there like a wall. He wore an oil-stained work uniform, the collar open, revealing a faded vest underneath, with a hole in the chest area. His fingers were short and thick, with black dirt embedded in his fingernails, and a long scar on the back of his hand stretched from the base of his thumb to his wrist, like a centipede crawling there.

"You're Jiang Cheng?" He reached out his hand, gripping it so tightly that Jiang Cheng's knuckles cracked as if he were being clamped by a pair of pliers.

"Director Meng, it's me."

"I don't care who you are. If you can fix my machine, you're my father. If you can't, you're a fraud." His voice was loud, like thunder, echoing throughout the workshop and making the overhead lights sway.

Jiang Cheng wasn't angry. He'd met people like that before. The more genuine a person was, the more honest they were. The tougher they were on the outside, the softer they were on the inside.

He nodded. "Director Meng, please show us the equipment first."

Factory Director Meng led them on a tour, examining each machine one by one, from lathes to milling machines, from milling machines to planers, and from planers to grinders.