Courtyard House: Starting with a 28-inch motorcycle

"Grandpa, what's it like in the Northwest? Tell us about it!"

There were too many people, so he just nodded slightly and gave a perfunctory smile; if he really agreed to each one, he wouldn't even be able to finish washing his face and brushing his teeth.

Just then, Liu Haizhong, his belly protruding, strolled over, stopped by the pool, and said with a grin, "Old Yi, why are you back early? Didn't you say the reconstruction would last at least seven or eight years before people were released? What's going on here...?"

"Old Liu, he couldn't keep up with the team's progress, injured his leg, and was sent back to recuperate."

Yi Zhonghai's gaze sharpened as he stared directly at Liu Haizhong, a barely suppressed fire burning in his eyes—many people had been stealing glances at his limp leg, but Liu Haizhong had shown no mercy, publicly reopening his recently scabbed old wound.

"Sigh, your leg, at least, was injured while risking your life for the country! Old Yi, what are you planning to do later? If you're going to the steel mill, can I give you a ride?"

Liu Haizhong sighed deeply, deliberately straightening his back and trying to imitate the tone of a leader's greeting. However, his posture was stiff and his tone was superficial, making him look like a clumsy supporting actor on a stage. He had no intention of being sarcastic, but it still came across as somewhat ridiculous.

"No need, I'll be leaving late and I'm afraid I'll miss your shift."

Yi Zhonghai's voice was deep and sharp, each word angular. After speaking, he turned and left, his back as stiff as an iron rod.

Liu Haizhong's face fell, and he muttered, "Hey, this old Yi, he's really putting his heart into this and getting nothing in return!"

As soon as he finished speaking, he turned on the tap and started washing his face. As dawn broke, footsteps echoed through the courtyard—people were leaving for work one after another. Only Lou Xiao'e, who had just finished her postpartum confinement, remained inside, gently rocking her infant. The scent of milk mingled with the morning light, quietly floating between the windows. She had taken half a month of maternity leave and wouldn't be back at the neighborhood office until next week.

After most of the steel mill workers had left, Yi Zhonghai, leaning on his cane, finally left the courtyard.

The cane was borrowed by the old lady from the deaf old lady—the old lady never left the courtyard, so the cane was usually left unused; the old lady also promised to buy a new one on the way back today.

He walked into the steel rolling mill gate with a cane, took out his work permit and transfer order and handed them over. The gatekeeper glanced at them and let him through.

Yi Zhonghai went straight up to the second floor, stood in front of Director Yang's office, knocked three times, and pushed the door open before anyone could answer.

"You...you're Master Yi? Why are you back?"

Factory Director Yang looked up in surprise, his pen pausing.

A bitter smile appeared on Yi Zhonghai's lips, and his voice was hoarse: "Factory manager, something went wrong in the Northwest. I broke my leg. The project schedule is tight, and I couldn't keep up, so they sent me back."

"Oh dear... what a pity."

Factory Director Yang gently tapped the table, his expression slightly somber. He used to be indifferent to Yi Zhonghai, but now, seeing the man standing before him with a crippled leg, the slight distance between them was quietly covered by a genuine feeling of pity.

"Master Yi, what are your thoughts now? Your aid relationship can be directly transferred back to the factory, and your staffing and job placement will be easy to arrange... but your health..."

Letting a lame worker go back to his old job as a fitter? If word gets out, people will gossip behind his back, saying the factory is using injured workers to make up the numbers and doesn't care about the workers' lives.

"Factory manager, I want to go back to my old position."

Yi Zhonghai made his decision decisively, without the slightest hesitation. His job as a fitter was his livelihood, his only asset; the factory didn't buy into moral pressure or favors—if he was going to do something, he'd do what he knew best.

Moreover, he had worked with a group of top-notch master craftsmen in the Northwest, honing his skills to a higher level. After returning and reflecting for a while, he was already confident about passing the Level 8 fitter exam.

When he actually arrived at the workshop, even the head of the vehicle technicians had to give him some leeway—the difference between level eight and level seven wasn't just one or two levels, but precision, confidence, and the weight of whether the factory dared to take on top-secret missions.

"Master Yi, I understand your concern. But fitter work is delicate and strenuous, and with your leg... if something were to happen to you, who could bear the responsibility?"

Factory Director Yang tapped the mahogany tabletop twice with his fingertips, his brow furrowing slightly. "By the way, there was an accident at the factory before the New Year—a worker got caught in a roller and lost both his legs. I heard... he was your apprentice?"

"How about you consider being a warehouse manager or a security guard? It's easier and more secure."

"Factory manager, I know about Dongxu's situation. But the fitter's job is the one that requires the most steadiness, precision, and ruthlessness of all, and it doesn't rely on running, jumping, or dodging. My leg may be weak, but my hand skills are still top-notch."

Seeing that Director Yang was still frowning, Yi Zhonghai took half a step forward, his voice deep and powerful:

"I worked with several experienced level 8 engineers in the Northwest to disassemble and reassemble the calibration module of the 'Dongfeng-3' missile, and repeatedly polished the precision gear grooves. If the factory is willing to test me, I am fully confident that I can pass the level 8 test."

"Huh? It can really work?"

Factory Director Yang sat up abruptly, his eyes lighting up: "Master Yi, are you willing to make a solemn pledge in person?"

An eighth-grade fitter may sound like only one level above seventh, but in reality, it's a world apart. Those tiny gyroscope bearings, no bigger than a fingernail, in military factories can only be handled by someone of eighth grade. The number of confidential processing orders sent from above determines how many eighth-grade fitters the factory can receive. This number is not only a form of hard currency, but also a reflection of the factory's prestige.

"dare."

Yi Zhonghai nodded, "Please have the workshop director examine my hands first."

Although the foreman wasn't as seasoned as him, he had trained senior workers for many years. By observing their movements, listening to the filing sounds, and weighing the parts, he could immediately tell the quality of the work. As for testing level eight parts? That was a top-secret mission, and he knew in his heart that the factory director would never easily reveal it.

Factory Director Yang was silent for a moment, then finally nodded: "...Alright. Since you insist, then go back to your old position in Workshop One. However, no safety regulations can be broken; you must attend the safety drill at the end of the month."

As soon as he finished speaking, he picked up a pen, wrote a note, and handed it to Yi Zhonghai: "Go and report to Director Liu."

But along the way, Yi Zhonghai became the focus of attention.

He leaned on a cane, his left leg slightly bent, each step firm yet unable to conceal the slight hesitation in his steps. Passersby stopped, some reaching out to help, others asking if he needed assistance—

He politely declined all offers with a smile and a wave.

He is disabled, but he doesn't want to live as a "weakling" in other people's eyes; but without crutches, he has to drag his legs and shuffle along, which is truly embarrassing.

As he entered the workshop, a deafening roar greeted him. Several familiar faces recognized him immediately and gathered around, their voices filled with surprise.

"Master Yi? You're really back?!"

"Master Yi, hang in there! Make way, give Master Yi some space, don't let this place get completely blocked!"

"Master Yi, you endured this injury while working on the country's aid projects; it was earned through real battles. I admire you from the bottom of my heart!"

Yi Zhonghai smiled and nodded in agreement, but inwardly he was wondering: Admiration? Was this the kind of empty respect he wanted? He had fallen down from the Gobi Desert, braving the sandstorms and standing on steel scaffolding—that was the real deal!

"Everyone, scatter! Those who need to swing the hammer, swing the hammer; those who need to tighten the screws, tighten the screws. Don't huddle together here and waste time!"

The workshop foreman was so anxious that he kept stamping his feet outside the crowd. When he shouted, the workers immediately retreated to their posts like the receding tide. After all, the clock hands were still pointing to the start of the workday, and who would dare to actually quit in front of everyone?

Once everyone had left, Director Zhang took a few steps closer and asked in a low voice, "Master Yi, what's today...?"

"Director Zhang, reporting for duty." Yi Zhonghai deftly pulled out a note personally approved by Factory Director Yang from his pocket, the edge of the paper still warm from his body, and handed it over.

Several experienced fitters nearby glanced at his stiff, dragging right leg and couldn't help but exchange knowing looks—with that leg bent into a bow shape, how could he possibly hold a vise steady or a file? Fitting work isn't just about nimble fingers; it also requires a steady stance and agile movement. Judging by his condition, without a skilled apprentice to lend a hand, he probably wouldn't even be able to stay at his workstation for a full day.

After scanning the approval slip, Director Zhang asked bluntly, "The factory manager has given his approval to return you to your original post. But what about the workload..."

"Director, please go ahead with the schedule. My arm isn't useless, and my hands aren't rusty. If I don't meet the targets, I'll accept any punishment, including deducting work points or stopping my allowances."

Upon hearing this, Director Zhang slapped his thigh and exclaimed, "Excellent! You truly deserve to be called a model worker in the reconstruction effort! Then let's put you back in your old position—by the way, should we assign you an apprentice?"

"Director Zhang, what a coincidence, isn't Jia Dongxu's wife Qin Huairu taking over his job in the workshop?"

As soon as Yi Zhonghai finished speaking, the accidental bump at the courtyard gate last night resurfaced in his mind. He paused, then continued:

"Dongxu and I live in the same courtyard. Yesterday, he specially brought a bottle of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) to wait for me, and we drank to our hearts' content. If it's convenient, could Qin Huairu learn the craft from me? I will definitely teach her step by step and will not hold back anything."

Director Zhang immediately understood—Jia Dongxu, seeing his master return, was rushing to send his wife to a higher position. Yi Zhonghai may be lame, but his skills as a level seven fitter are still there. He can read blueprints thoroughly, sharpen drill bits accurately, and keep tolerances to a minimum. If Qin Huairu really wants to learn skills, following this old hand is better than following anyone else.

"Okay, I'll go ask right away. She's currently learning lathe operation from Wang Aiying, but it makes sense for you to do it too. You go get your meal tickets and work clothes first. Do you need me to ask someone to go with you?"

Yi Zhonghai's face tightened slightly, and he quickly waved his hand: "No need, no need, Director Zhang, I just walk a little slowly, but my mind isn't dull, my hands aren't shaking, everything else is fine."

"Alright, you can take your time with it. I'll go clear out my workstation first—and I'll also ask a couple of young men to help you put the vise and toolbox in their proper places."

No matter what, the title of a level seven fitter isn't given lightly. Even if he's on one leg, he can't skip a single task, and he can't miss a single apprentice.

"Xu Damao, have you rested enough? Three or four days of lying down is enough, right? Tomorrow there's a session at the steel rolling mill, the day after that at the machine repair shop, and after that, it'll be the turn of several key units in the city."

Section Chief Zhao from the Publicity Department shoved a densely packed screening schedule into Xu Damao's hand. The latter glanced at it, his face immediately contorting into a grimace, and he gritted his teeth, yelling:

"Section Chief, that guy surnamed He is going too far..."

"Don't give me that!" Section Chief Zhao said without even lifting his eyelids. "Who told you to be so cheeky and provoke the deputy section chief? Now, nobody in the entire section wants to talk to you."