Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Chapter 89 Turbulent Waves

Whether it's worthwhile or not doesn't depend on the size of the factory. It depends on whether he can do the job there.

Sun Deming didn't speak, turned his head, and continued looking out the window.

The scenery outside the window changed from wilderness to countryside, and then from countryside to city. The road grew wider, and the number of cars increased, the dust kicked up seeping in through the cracks in the window, making one's throat tight. Jiang Cheng leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His mind was filled with images of Liu He—the way Master Zhang handed him the wrench, the way Liu Tiezhu drew the diagram, Wang Xiaojun's flushed face when he said, "I want to stay." These people, these events, were imprinted in his mind like a negative, indelible.

He couldn't judge whether Wang Xiaojun's choice was right or wrong, he didn't know how long Liuhe Agricultural Machinery Factory could survive, and he didn't know when the promotion center's review would end...

But he knew that the seeds of hope had already been sown.

In May, Shenyang is unpredictable, with temperatures fluctuating between hot and cold.

The poplar leaves had fully grown, a glossy green, but a sudden cold snap brought the temperature back to early winter. People pulled out their cotton-padded coats that they had just put away, wrapped them around themselves, and walked with their necks hunched. The wind was strong in the factory area, making the old factory buildings creak and groan as if they were about to fall apart.

After returning from Liuhe, Jiang Cheng went to work at the factory every day as usual, and continued working in the technical innovation team. The office of the promotion center was still locked; the brass lock on the doorknob had rusted from wind and rain. The laboratory was still in use, but no one knew how long it would last, or if it would stop working one day.

Huang Deqing's back is getting worse. He used to be able to squat for a whole morning, but now he has to stand up after half an hour, holding onto the wall and slowly straightening his back. Jiang Cheng advised him to go to the hospital to get it checked out, but he waved his hand and said it was nothing, just an old problem.

"Master, you can't keep pushing yourself like this."

"What if we don't hold on? Who will do the work?"

"I'll do it. You just watch."

Huang Deqing glanced at him but didn't say anything. But that afternoon, he unusually left early. When he left, he wiped the scraper clean, put it back in the toolbox, and locked it.

As Jiang Cheng watched his retreating figure, an indescribable feeling suddenly welled up in his heart—his master had grown old.

It's not the kind of old age that comes from "getting too old," but the kind that comes from "being unable to work anymore." These two kinds of old age are different.

A fitter's career is actually not very long, and the golden age is limited to a few years.

The next day, Jiang Cheng went to the factory office to borrow a phone and called Zheng Yanxi. She was doing further studies at the city hospital, living in the dormitory, and came back once a week.

"Yanxi, it's me."

"What's wrong?" Her voice was a little hoarse, as if she had just woken up.

"It's nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Then she laughed, a soft laugh like a gentle breeze rustling through the leaves.

"Is Jiang Yuan being a good boy?"

"Good girl. You learned to say 'Mama' yesterday."

"real?"

"Really. I called out to your picture. I called out several times."

She laughed again. This time, her laughter was louder.

"Don't tease him, wait for me to come back."

"it is good."

After hanging up the phone, Jiang Cheng stood at the factory office entrance, looking at the poplar trees in the yard. The leaves rustled in the wind, and the sunlight shone on them, dazzlingly bright. He stood there for a while, then turned and walked back to the workshop.

In the afternoon, someone came to the promotion center.

It wasn't someone from the province or the ministry; it was someone he didn't know.

He was in his forties, tall and thin, wearing a gray jacket and carrying a black briefcase. He walked into the lab, looked at the equipment, and then asked, "Who is Jiang Cheng?"

"I am."

The man took a letter from his briefcase and handed it to him. "I'm a reporter from the provincial newspaper, my surname is Zhou. Someone asked me to interview you."

Jiang Cheng took the letter and opened it. It was from Director Zhang, and contained only a few lines: "Jiang, this reporter Zhou is an old classmate of mine. He wants to write a report about the renovation of old equipment. Please cooperate."

Jiang Cheng folded the letter and put it in his pocket. "Reporter Zhou, what would you like to know?"

"I want to know everything. What you've done, the people you've led, the places you've been. Tell me everything you can."

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment and said, "Let's go to my office."

When he reached the door of the locked office, he realized that he had already handed in the key.

"The office is locked, let's talk here." Jiang Cheng brought him a stool from the lab.

Reporter Zhou glanced at the locked door, then at Jiang Cheng, but didn't ask why. He took out his notebook, sat on the bench in the lab, opened it, looked up, and waited.

Jiang Cheng picked up a small stool and sat down as well.

He thought for a moment, wondering where to begin. Should he start with the rolling mill? The hydraulic press? The landing gear? The Liu River? He talked for a full hour and a half.

He talked about every machine he had repaired, every worker he had trained, and every factory he had visited. When he talked about Liuhe, he mentioned Liu Tiezhu, Wang Xiaojun, and Master Zhang.

As reporter Zhou listened, his pen never stopped. He didn't ask many questions, only occasionally nodding or humming in response. His handwriting was very small and dense; he would fill one page and turn the page, only to fill another and turn the page again.

After confirming that Jiang Cheng had said enough, Reporter Zhou closed his notebook and looked up.

"Comrade Jiang Cheng, I have a question for you."

"Please speak."

Do you consider yourself an engineer?

Jiang Cheng thought for a moment: "No."

"What is that?"

"fitter."

Reporter Zhou looked at him and smiled. "You're an interesting person."

He stood up and extended his hand. "Thank you. The article is finished; I'll send it to you."

Jiang Cheng grasped his hand. "Reporter Zhou, I have a request."

"you say."

"Could you please not write my name? Highlight the promotion center; I didn't do all the work myself."

Reporter Zhou paused for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. I'll think about it."

he's gone.

Jiang Cheng stood at the lab entrance, watching his figure disappear into the alley. Sunlight shone on his gray jacket, brightening it briefly before quickly dimming.

He didn't know if the article would be published, or what the consequences would be. But he felt that some things needed to be known.

It's not about letting people know what Jiang Cheng did, but about letting people know that there's a group of people doing something, doing something seriously.

One day in late May, Jiang Cheng received a phone call. It was from the Provincial Machinery Department, and the voice was as businesslike as ever: "Comrade Jiang Cheng, the results of your center's review are out. Please come in tomorrow."

"It's approved?"

You'll find out when you get here.

After hanging up the phone, Jiang Cheng stood by the window, looking at the sky outside. The sky was overcast, the clouds hung low, as if it were about to rain. The leaves of the poplar trees were turned over by the wind, revealing the grayish-white down on their undersides. On the roof of a factory in the distance, a red flag fluttered in the wind, making a rustling sound.

The tide of policy is surging, and the torrent of the times is rolling forward. Some are washed away on the shore, while others stand at the forefront. Jiang Cheng will definitely not be the former. He will rely on the experience of later generations to strive to be the latter.