Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

Half a month after the application forms were sent out, replies began to arrive sporadically. He Yuzhu opened the mail every day, and when he opened the thirty-seventh letter, Ma Yuejin pushed open the door and asked if everyone was present. He said there was still one person missing. Three more days passed before the last letter arrived from Gansu. The envelope was stamped with a red "urgent" seal, and inside was only a piece of paper with three words written on it: "Person arrived, but tickets were not bought."

He Yuzhu handed the paper to Ma Yuejin. Ma Yuejin glanced at it, said nothing, folded the paper, and stuffed it into his pocket.

The day the trainees arrived, Beijing experienced its first snowfall of the winter. Two trucks were parked in front of the research institute, their canvas awnings covered with a thick layer of snow. People jumped off the trucks; some were wearing cotton-padded coats, some were wrapped in overcoats, and some were only in work clothes, shivering from the cold. They carried canvas bags, and some even had bedding rolls on their backs, standing in the courtyard looking around, their breath forming puffs of white vapor.

Ma Yuejin stood on the steps, holding a notebook, and began taking attendance.

"Ansteel, Wang Jianguo." No one answered. He called again, and a dark-faced man squeezed through the crowd, his cotton-padded jacket buttoned up wrong, the collar uneven. "Here. Train delayed, just got off." Ma Yuejin glanced at him, said nothing, and ticked it off in his notebook.

"Li Zhiqiang, Daqing Oilfield." A tall, thin man raised his hand. He stood straight, like a telephone pole, and everyone around him was half a head shorter than him.

"Zhao Xiuying, North China Pharmaceutical Factory." A short-haired female worker squeezed out of the crowd, her face red from the cold, her hands cracked and bandaged with frostbite. She switched her canvas bag to her left hand, rubbed her right hand on her trousers, and held it up. Ma Yuejin nodded.

"Liu Dehou from Gansu." No one answered. Ma Yuejin called out again. A man in his fifties, with gray hair, pushed his way through the crowd. He wore a faded work uniform with a patch on the elbow, the stitches crooked and uneven, as if he had sewn it himself. He carried a canvas bag with a broken strap, which had been fixed with hemp rope. He stood in front of Ma Yuejin, not saying a word, but simply nodding.

Ma Yuejin glanced at him and ticked it off in his notebook.

Two hundred people filled the research institute's courtyard to capacity. They spoke with different regional accents, wore work uniforms of different colors, and ranged in age from young to older. Ma Yuejin stood on the steps and cleared his throat.

"Starting today, you will stay here for a month to learn how to operate the new equipment and apply the new processes. Once you've learned well, go back and become mentors, teaching the people in your factory."

No one spoke. Some rubbed their hands, some stamped their feet, and some switched their canvas bags to the other shoulder. Ma Yuejin pointed to the workshop.

"Go in."

Two hundred people surged into the workshop, completely surrounding the Swiss-made machine tool. Some reached out to touch the machine bed, withdrew their hands, and then stretched them out again. Some squatted down to look at the base, and lay on the ground to examine the anchor bolts. Liu Dehou from Gansu didn't push forward; he stood at the back of the crowd, tiptoeing to see inside. He was short and couldn't see, so he tiptoed again, but still couldn't see. He didn't move; he just stood there, waiting for the people in front of him to slowly disperse.

During the first week of training, Ma Yuejin stood in front of the blackboard lecturing on theory. The workshop had no heating, and everyone shivered from the cold. The trainees sat on small stools, notebooks propped on their knees, taking notes stroke by stroke. When someone's hands froze and they dropped their pen, they picked it up, breathed on it, and continued writing.

Liu Dehou sat in the first row, closest to the blackboard. He took notes slower than others; by the time Ma Yuejin erased the blackboard, he hadn't finished copying. He looked up at Ma Yuejin, his mouth opened, then closed again. Ma Yuejin saw this, said nothing, turned around, and wrote the formulas again. Liu Dehou lowered his head and quickly copied them. After finishing, he looked up again, his mouth opening, this time not closing.

"Teacher Ma, what does that symbol in the third line mean?"

Ma Yuejin turned around and pointed to the symbol. "The differential symbol. Used for differentiation."

Liu Dehou stared at the symbol for several seconds, then traced it across his notebook. He traced it slowly, stroke by stroke, as if practicing calligraphy. A young man next to him turned and glanced at him, his lips twitching, but he remained silent.

The second week involved hands-on machine operation. There were only five machine tools in the workshop: one new Swiss machine tool, one used Swiss machine tool, and three domestically produced ones. Ma Yuejin divided the two hundred people into ten groups of twenty, taking turns operating the machines. When it was Liu Dehou's turn, he stood in front of the machine tool, his hand on the control panel, but didn't move. Ma Yuejin walked over and stood beside him.

"Press Start".

Liu Dehou pressed a button. The screen lit up, and the cursor blinked. He then stopped moving. Ma Yuejin waited a few seconds, then pointed at the screen.

"Enter the coordinates. X = 0, Y = 0."

Liu Dehou stretched out his hand, his index finger hovering over the button, but he didn't press it. His hand was trembling; his finger touched the button, then he pulled it back. Ma Yuejin didn't urge him. After a few seconds, he pressed it down, quite hard, with a click. Numbers appeared on the screen; he stared at them for several seconds before pressing one.

He only entered three lines of commands all morning. The young man next to him had already cut out a part. Liu Dehou didn't look at the young man, keeping his head down and continuing to enter commands. When he got to the fourth line, he pressed the wrong key. The screen flashed and a red warning popped up. He froze, his hand hanging in mid-air, afraid to move. Ma Yuejin walked over, pressed the clear button, and the screen returned to normal.

"Let's start over."

Liu Dehou nodded. He took a deep breath and typed again. This time there were no mistakes; he typed slowly, line by line. After finishing the last line, he turned to look at Ma Yuejin. Ma Yuejin nodded.

"Press Start".

Liu Dehou pressed the button. The machine tool started turning, the blade slowly approaching the workpiece, metal shavings swirling up and falling, piling up on the worktable. He stared at the blade, motionless. After the workpiece was cut, he picked up calipers to measure, measuring the first dimension and then the second. His hands were still trembling, but he gripped the calipers steadily. He handed the workpiece to Ma Yuejin without saying a word.

Ma Yuejin took the workpiece, didn't look at it, and first touched the surface with his hand. Then he picked up calipers, measured a dimension, and without saying a word, measured another. Liu Dehou stood beside him, unsure of what to do with his hands. Ma Yuejin put down the calipers and picked up a micrometer. After measuring, he placed the workpiece on the table.

What do you think?

Liu Dehou was taken aback. He picked up the workpiece, examined it several times, and then measured it with calipers.

"The tolerance... should be within the acceptable range."

Ma Yuejin didn't speak. After a few seconds, he pushed the workpiece back. "If you think it's okay, then it's okay."

Liu Dehou gripped the workpiece tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no words came out. The young man next to him turned and glanced at him, this time without moving his lips.

In the third week, some people started cutting complex parts. Ma Yuejin distributed the blueprints, one for each person, and let them program, clamp, and process the parts themselves. The workshop was filled with the hum of machines, flying metal shavings, and coolant splashing everywhere. Liu Dehou spread the blueprints on his workbench, looked at them for a long time, but didn't write anything. He picked up a pen, wrote a line next to the blueprint, then crossed it out. He wrote another line, then crossed it out again. He looked up at the ceiling, and after a long while, he looked down and started writing again.

He finished writing the program, input it into the machine tool, aligned the cutting tool, loaded the workpiece, and pressed the start button. The machine tool began to turn, and the cutting tool slowly approached the workpiece. He stared at the cutting tool, watching it cut in bit by bit. Once the workpiece was cut, he picked up calipers to measure. The first measurement was acceptable. The second, acceptable. The third, also acceptable. He held the workpiece in his hand, not handing it to Ma Yuejin. He stood in front of the machine tool, head down, his shoulder twitching slightly.

Ma Yuejin was standing at the other end of the workshop, teaching the young man how to adjust the parameters. He wasn't looking this way.

By the fourth week, Ma Yuejin's voice began to hoarse. It wasn't sudden; it grew hoarse from shouting. The machines in the workshop were loud, so he had to yell at the top of his lungs. By the third day, his voice was cracking. He drank water, vat after vat, but his voice remained hoarse. On the fourth day, he had to get very close to people and speak almost directly into their ears. On the fifth day, he simply stopped speaking and started gesturing. The trainees watched his gestures; some understood, some didn't. For those they didn't understand, he wrote them on the blackboard.

When Liu Dehou didn't understand, he neither raised his hand nor shouted. He sat there, waiting. Ma Yuejin noticed his gaze, walked over, leaned close to his ear, and said something in a hoarse voice. He nodded, lowered his head, and continued working.

On graduation day, the workshop was packed with people. Two hundred people were crammed together, quieter than when they arrived. Ma Yuejin stood at the front, holding a stack of graduation certificates, handing them out one by one. His voice was completely hoarse, and he couldn't speak while handing out the certificates, only nodding. The trainees received their certificates; some flipped them open to look at them, while others simply put them in their pockets.

When the item was handed to Liu Dehou, he stood in front of Ma Yuejin without reaching out. He took something out of his pocket and stuffed it into Ma Yuejin's hand. Ma Yuejin looked down and saw it was a lathe tool, one he had made himself, with two characters engraved on the smooth handle. Ma Yuejin stared at it for several seconds before looking up. Liu Dehou didn't say anything, turned, and left.

Ma Yuejin stood there, clutching the knife in his hand. He Yuzhu walked over from the doorway and stood beside him.

"Is your voice hoarse?"

Ma Yuejin nodded.

Is it worth it?

Ma Yuejin opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He held up the knife for He Yuzhu to see. The two characters on the hilt were carved crookedly, but every stroke was deep—"Teacher's Kindness".

He Yuzhu looked at it and handed the knife back to him. "Worth it."

Ma Yuejin tucked the knife into his pocket, stood at the workshop entrance, and watched the people leave one by one. Some rode bicycles, some walked, and some boarded the trucks that had come to pick them up from the factory. The trucks drove away, leaving the yard empty. The snow stopped, and the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, shining on the courtyard wall, casting patches of shadow on the ground from the large-character posters.

He Yuzhu turned and walked towards the office. After a few steps, he stopped. He remembered Liu Dehou from Gansu, a man in his fifties with gray hair, whose bag strap had broken and was being mended with hemp rope. He remembered how that man's shoulder twitched when he lowered his head, clutching the workpiece. He remembered how that man had handed the knife to Ma Yuejin without a word, then turned and left.

He continued walking. The corridor was dark, except for the green lights at the emergency exits. He pushed open the office door, sat down at the desk, and took the list out of the drawer. Turning to the "Training" page, he wrote a few lines after the words "Skilled Workers."

The first batch of two hundred people graduated. Ma Yuejin's voice became hoarse. Liu Dehou from Gansu gave him a lathe tool, with the words "Teacher's Kindness" engraved on the handle.