PDLP Chapter 55 A series of loud noises
Chapter 55 A series of loud noises
A young technician raised his hand and asked, "Master Jiang, what should we do if we don't have a torque wrench?"
Jiang Cheng glanced at him: "Use your sense of touch. Tighten it first, then turn it back a quarter turn. Practice more, and you'll get the feel for it."
The installation was completed in the evening. Jiang Cheng straightened up, his body covered in sweat, his hands trembling.
"Test drive," he said to Director Sun.
Factory Director Sun waved his hand: "Start!"
The motor roared to life, and the massive ball mill slowly began to turn. At first, the sound was a bit muffled, and Jiang Cheng's heart tightened. But after a few rotations, the sound became steady, with a uniform rhythm, like a heartbeat.
"Add more ingredients!" shouted Factory Manager Sun.
The ore was fed into the ball mill by the conveyor belt. The machine's sound changed slightly, but quickly returned to normal. The pressure gauge, temperature gauge, and flow meter all had their pointers within the normal range.
It ran for an hour and everything was normal.
A cheer erupted in the workshop. Factory Director Sun rushed up and hugged Jiang Cheng tightly: "Good lad! You did it!"
Jiang Cheng was so tightly hugged that he could hardly breathe. He patted his back and said, "Director Sun, loosen your grip."
Factory Manager Sun released him, his eyes red-rimmed: "Master Jiang, do you know, if this machine had been shut down for another half a month, our factory would have had to close. You saved our entire factory!"
Jiang Cheng shook his head: "It wasn't something I did alone. Everyone did it together."
That evening, Factory Director Sun insisted on treating Jiang Cheng to dinner. Jiang Cheng couldn't refuse, so he went. At the dinner table, Factory Director Sun drank heavily and, holding Jiang Cheng's hand, said, "Master Jiang, I agree to your condition. Starting tomorrow, our factory's technicians will learn from you. Once you teach them, they won't be afraid anymore."
Jiang Cheng nodded: "Director Sun, that's right. Just modifying the machines isn't enough; we have to teach the people how to use them."
It was almost ten o'clock when the party ended. Jiang Cheng walked out of the factory gate, the night wind blowing, the alcohol kicking in, and he felt a little dizzy. He stood by the roadside, waiting for a bus, but after waiting for a long time, he realized that in this day and age, buses didn't run at night at all, so he had no choice but to walk home.
The moonlight was bright, shining on the asphalt road like a layer of frost. The poplar trees by the roadside cast dappled shadows, which swayed in the wind, as if they were alive. In the distance, a train passed by, its whistle echoing through the night sky, long and desolate.
He walked for more than forty minutes before reaching his apartment building. Looking up, he saw the light was still on on the fourth floor. He went upstairs, opened the door, and saw Zheng Yanxi sitting at the table reading a book, holding Jiang Yuan in her arms. The little guy wasn't asleep yet; his bright black eyes were wide open, and when he saw him come in, he grinned, revealing two tiny baby teeth.
"Why aren't you asleep yet?" Jiang Cheng walked over and took the child from her arms.
"If he doesn't sleep, I can't sleep either." Zheng Yanxi rubbed her eyes. "Have you been drinking?"
"I had a little. Director Sun insisted on treating me."
Zheng Yanxi didn't say anything, got up and went to the kitchen, bringing out a bowl of hangover soup: "Drink this, or you'll have a headache tomorrow."
Jiang Cheng held the child in one arm and drank soup from a bowl in the other. The soup was hot, with ginger and brown sugar in it, slightly spicy, and warmed his stomach after drinking it.
"Yanxi, do you think I've been neglecting you guys because I'm so busy?" he suddenly asked.
Zheng Yanxi was taken aback: "Why are you suddenly bringing this up?"
"I just feel... sorry for you all."
Zheng Yanxi looked at him, remained silent for a moment, and then said, "Jiang Cheng, do you know why I chose you in the first place?"
Jiang Cheng shook his head.
"Because you're so earnest," she said. "You're earnest in everything you do. You're earnest in repairing machines, earnest in writing books, and even with me... you're earnest too." Her face flushed. "You go ahead and do your thing, I don't blame you. As long as you have us in your heart, that's enough."
Jiang Cheng looked at her, a feeling he couldn't quite describe welling up inside him. He reached out and took her hand. Her hand was warm and soft, with calluses on the first joint of her fingertips—from holding syringes.
Jiang Yuan snuggled into their arms, babbled twice, then yawned and closed his eyes. The little guy was asleep, a glistening drool still hanging from the corner of his mouth.
Outside the window, the moon slowly moved behind the clouds, and darkness fell. In the distance came the calls of night birds, one long call followed by another short, as if calling for something.
Jiang Cheng put the child in the crib and covered him with a blanket. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the child's peaceful sleeping face, and suddenly felt that all the hard work had been worth it.
Meanwhile, in another corner of Shenyang, someone was plotting something. Their faces were devoid of smiles, their eyes filled with calculation. They wouldn't let it go easily, because every success Jiang Cheng had achieved was a slap in the face to them.
A slap is the most likely thing to make someone hold a grudge.
The news of the successful ball mill modification spread like wildfire throughout the entire Shenyang industrial system.
A reporter from the provincial newspaper came to interview Jiang Cheng. Jiang Cheng didn't want to go and declined several times, but was finally forced to go by the director of the promotion office. The reporter was a young woman wearing glasses who spoke very quickly, asking one question after another. Jiang Cheng answered very simply, answering only what was asked, without saying a word more.
"Master Jiang, what do you think is the key to your success?" the reporter asked.
Jiang Cheng thought for a moment: "Seriously."
"That's all?"
That's all. Work hard, think things through. Nothing else.
The reporter paused for a moment, then scribbled a few lines in his notebook. The article was published on a day titled "A Diligent Man—A Profile of Young Technical Expert Jiang Cheng." Jiang Cheng read it, and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He felt the word "diligence" was too light, too light to support an article. But readers didn't see it that way. After the article was published, he received over a dozen letters from readers—some asking for technical advice, some expressing admiration, and some—confessing their feelings.
Zheng Yanxi saw the letters, said nothing, simply folded them neatly, and put them in the drawer. Jiang Cheng asked her, "Aren't you angry?"
Zheng Yanxi didn't even look up: "Why are you angry? They don't know you have a wife."
Jiang Cheng smiled: "Then tell them."
Zheng Yanxi ignored him and continued reading.
But the bigger the tree, the more the wind will blow against it. The more famous Jiang Cheng becomes, the more people will be watching him.
One afternoon in mid-May, Jiang Cheng was organizing documents in the marketing office when he suddenly received a phone call. It was Factory Director Zhou calling, and his voice was urgent: "Xiao Jiang, come back right away. Something's happened at the factory."
Jiang Cheng's heart sank: "What is it?"
"The accounts of the technology innovation team have been investigated. People from the province have come, saying that someone reported you for embezzlement."
Jiang Cheng tightened his grip: "I'll be right back."
He hung up the phone, told the people in the office, and rode his bicycle to the factory. In Shenyang in May, the sycamore trees had already grown palm-sized leaves, forming a green canopy overhead. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the leaves, casting patches of light on the ground like scattered gold. But he had no time to look at any of that. He pedaled furiously, the chain rattling loudly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.