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

When the call came from Ansteel, He Yuzhu was looking at Ma Yuejin's newly written training materials. He answered the phone, and there was a commotion on the other end. Someone shouted "Make way!" and there were sounds of metal clashing. Then a rough voice came through, with a heavy Northeastern accent, as if it had just been scraped from his throat.

"Where is the training director? I am Wang Defa from Ansteel. I was in the first batch of training students."

He Yuzhu pushed the lesson plan aside. "I remember. How's your reformation going?"

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. Wang Defa seemed to be hesitating about something, or perhaps he was just switching hands to hold the microphone. When he spoke again, his voice was lower.

"Director He, I have something to tell you. Please don't laugh."

"explain."

"My old grinding machine... I added a linear scale to it and replaced the CNC system. Guess what? The accuracy is now 0.002." He paused, "Only 0.0005 less accurate than the imported one."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He waited. Sure enough, Wang Defa spoke again, this time his voice was louder, as if he had finally poured out words he had been holding back for a long time.

"Director He, what do you think...? Could we build one ourselves, just like the ones imported?"

He Yuzhu held the microphone, looking out the window. Another corner of the large-character poster on the courtyard wall had been blown off by the wind, the edge of the paper fluttering in the air, unnoticed. He didn't answer immediately, waiting a few seconds before speaking.

"Yes. You wait here, I'll have Ma Yuejin bring the documents over."

There was no sound from Wang Defa's end. After several seconds, he gave a muffled reply and hung up. He Yuzhu heard a very soft sound, like someone wiping their face with their sleeve, coming from the receiver. He put down the phone, sat down at the table, took the list out of the drawer, and turned to the "Equipment" page. After the word "Training," he added a line: Ansteel Wang Defa, old grinding machine successfully modified, accuracy 0.002mm.

Ma Yuejin spent seven days at Anshan Iron and Steel. When he returned, his face was sunburned, his lips were chapped, and he carried a bulging canvas bag. He opened the bag and poured out several photos and a work notebook. The photos were of the old grinding machine, dusty and gray, with large patches of paint peeling off, revealing the rust underneath. The linear encoder, mounted on the machine bed, was silvery-white and reflected the fluorescent lights in the workshop. The CNC system screen was lit up, displaying a line of machining program.

He Yuzhu picked up the photo and looked at it for a long time. In the photo, Wang Defa was standing next to a machine tool, his hand on the workbench, his eyes fixed on the camera. He wasn't smiling, but there was a kind of light in his eyes. He had seen that kind of light before—in Sun Xiuying's eyes, in Zhao Deming's eyes, in Ma Yuejin's eyes.

"What did he say?" He Yuzhu put the photo down.

Ma Yuejin sat down in the chair, picked up the enamel mug and took a sip. The water was already cold, but he didn't care.

"He said he wants to copy one. To build it himself, based on the imported one." Ma Yuejin put down the tank and looked at He Yuzhu. "Dean, his old lathe is still in good condition, but the guide rails are worn out. To copy it, we'd have to remake the guide rails, replace the lead screws, and reinstall the CNC system. It's almost like building a new one."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He stood up, walked to the wall, and looked at the map that had been hanging there for almost two years. Ansteel was in Liaoning, circled in red on the map, with the words "Precision Grinding Machine Modification" marked next to it, the writing already faded.

"Can he handle it?" He Yuzhu turned around.

Ma Yuejin thought for a moment. "It's doable. But someone needs to oversee it. The blueprints, the process, the materials—anything can go wrong."

"You help him."

Ma Yuejin nodded. "Okay. I'll go once a month."

He Yuzhu walked back to the table, took out the list again, and turned to the "Equipment" page. After the name "Wang Defa," he added a line: "Plan to replicate imported precision grinding machines; Ma Yuejin will go to Ansteel every month to assist."

After finishing writing, put the list back and lock the drawer.

During those six months, Ma Yue went to Anshan Iron and Steel six times. He Yuzhu didn't go, but each time Ma Yue returned, he would leave photos and notes on his desk. The first set of photos showed an old grinding machine that had been half-disassembled, with parts scattered all over the floor. The guide rails had been removed, and there were worn grooves on them, the depth of which could be felt with a finger. The second set of photos showed the newly cast iron bed, which hadn't been machined yet, with a rough surface and a grayish color. The third set of photos showed the grinding of the guide rails, with the grinding wheel slowly moving along the guide rails, the sparks leaving thin lines in the lens. The fourth set of photos showed the assembly of the lead screw, with workers gathered around the workbench, some using wrenches to tighten, others using dial indicators to measure, and Wang Defa standing at the very edge, holding blueprints in his hand, his eyes fixed on the dial indicator pointer.

He Yuzhu looked through the photos one by one without saying a word. On the fifth trip, Ma Yuejin didn't bring any photos, but he brought a recording. He placed the recorder on He Yuzhu's desk and pressed play. First, there was a hissing background noise, then the steady hum of a machine running. Then someone spoke; it was Wang Defa's voice, hoarse and weary.

"Listen to this, Mr. He. That's the sound of the new bed running. Is it stable?"

He Yuzhu listened for a while. The voice was indeed steady, without any noise or tremors, like an old machine that had been running for a long time, unhurried and calm.

"Stable," he said.

There was a few seconds of silence from the tape recorder, then a very soft laugh came through, like a hum from a nose. Then the recording stopped, the tape whirred, and He Yuzhu pressed the stop button.

On his sixth trip, when Ma Yuejin returned, he was carrying a small wooden box nailed shut, with the words "Fragile" written on the outside. He pried it open with a crowbar, and inside was a piece about the size of a palm, cylindrical, with a polished surface so shiny that it reflected a person's image.

"Dean, this is the first part cut from the new machine. Wang Defa asked me to bring it to you to take a look."

He Yuzhu picked up the part and rubbed its surface with his thumb. It was cool and slippery; his fingernail slipped on it without leaving a mark. He turned the part over to look at the bottom, then tapped it with his finger; the sound was crisp. He placed the part on the table, took out calipers from the drawer, and measured it. 0.0018 millimeters.