Chapter 20: Zhao Jianguo's Covert Observation

Dong Xu shut the yellowed 《Machinist's Manual》 and set it under the oil lamp. The wick crackled, the flame trembled, and the old scar on his face caught a faint gleam. He stayed still, gazing at the tabletop for a moment, then pushed the book to the bedside corner and tucked the blanket edge over it.

Outside the door, the alley was so quiet you could hear a cat stepping on tiles somewhere.

He had just lain down when the courtyard gate creaked open.

He snapped his eyes open.

The footsteps were unhurried, leather soles striking the blue stone slabs, one after another, as if treading on a forehead. He recognized them as Yi Zhonghai's.

Those steps paused at the Jia Family Gate, then came two soft knocks on the door—not heavy, but carrying an insistence that demanded a reply.

"Dong Xu, open the door; I have something to discuss with you."

Dong Xu sat up, threw on a jacket, slipped his shoes on, and went to open the door. As it opened, Yi Zhonghai stood outside, holding a gray cloth bundle, his face wearing a friendly smile, but his gaze swept the room like a searchlight, scanning him from head to toe.

"It's so late, Master..."

"It won't keep you from sleeping." Yi Zhonghai stepped inside, casually closing the door behind him, "I just recalled the few technical questions you asked the other day, and I brought some reference material back for you to look over."

Dong Xu took the cloth bundle; his fingers brushed the rough fabric, and his heart skipped a beat—"Just in passing"? It's nearly eleven; Yi Zhonghai's working this late, not rushing home to sleep—who could "just happen" to go this far out of their way?

But he said nothing, only nodding: "Thank you, Master."

Yi Zhonghai didn't rush to leave; instead he took two more steps inside, his eyes sweeping the desk. Seeing the manual just closed, he raised his brows: "Oh, still reading those old things?"

"Just flipping through when I'm bored." Dong Xu replied in an even tone.

"Old stuff—you might feel nostalgic about it, but that doesn't mean it's still useful." Yi Zhonghai said leisurely, "Back when your father was around, technology was a flash of insight, but he loved to get stuck in ruts. The factory has its own rules; it's not that whatever you figure out on your own is automatically right. If you only read these, you'll end up going off track, and I won't be able to cover for you."

Dong Xu's fingers tightened, and he didn't respond.

Yi Zhonghai chuckled again: "I know you've been feeling unsettled lately. After all, with those family matters, outsiders gossip, and it's hard being a son. But remember who you can rely on? Qin Huairu is your wife—she has to tend the home; your mother's getting older, a bit of muddle is normal. But in the factory, I truly treat you as one of our own."

He patted Dong Xu's shoulder with noticeable force: "The second-grade worker assessment is entirely up to my word in the whole workshop. Others who want to advance must grind through the ranks year by year, but you're different—I'll personally guide you. The condition is—you have to listen to me."

Dong Xu lowered his head, his Adam's apple shifting slightly.

"There's another matter." Yi Zhonghai lowered his voice a bit, "I've heard you've been getting close to Zhao Jianguo lately?"

Dong Xu jerked his head up.

"He's a smart fellow, good at handling things, and I appreciate him." Yi Zhonghai's tone remained gentle, but his words carried a hook, "But you need to think clearly—who is he? Just an outsider in a clean shirt, looking presentable, with a slick tongue, and he's supposed to make decisions for you? If your father had listened to me back then, things wouldn't have come to this..."

He paused, leaving the sentence unfinished, but the meaning was clear.

"You have me now, so you must trust me. No matter what others say or how they 'reason,' they're outsiders. In our factory, we go by rules, seniority, and having someone speak up for you. If you throw your own formation into chaos, don't blame me when I don't help you later."

After saying that, he patted Dong Xu's shoulder twice, turned and left, pulling the door gently shut behind him.

The room fell silent all at once.

Dong Xu stood still, still gripping the cloth bundle, his knuckles whitening.

Outside the window, a slant of moonlight sliced in, landing on the wooden box under the bed; the copper lock on its corner flashed briefly.

Right by the low wall outside the Jia Family Gate, Zhao Jianguo leaned against the wall base, holding a half-smoked cigarette in his hand, unlit.

He hadn't arrived early, nor late—just in time to see Yi Zhonghai bring the cloth bundle inside and hear those two phrases "in passing" and "materials." He remained hidden, silent, leaning there, ears pricked, eyes fixed on the faint yellow glow seeping through the window crack.

He turned over every sentence he'd just heard in his mind.

"The second-grade worker assessment needs my signature," "Others aren't reliable," "Listen to me"… Those words sounded caring, but the flavor was off—like a stew with oil floating on top while the bottom is all salt.

This wasn't the first time he'd encountered such a person.

In his previous life at the workplace, there had been just such an old section chief, constantly saying, "Little Wang, I'm doing this for your own good," while behind the scenes he blocked people's staffing, suppressed their bonuses, mouthing benevolence and righteousness but gripping others' lifelines and refusing to let go.

Yi Zhonghai's tactic was even more ruthless.

What he was after wasn't money, but people.

A docile apprentice, a reliance for his old age, a "son" who could work for him in the factory and uphold his reputation outside. Dong Xu was of good character, rather reserved, and his family still owed him a favor—he was practically a perfect pawn.

Zhao Jianguo pressed the cigarette butt to the ground, unlit, and crushed it.

He turned and walked toward his own room, his steps light, soles scraping the earth without a sound.

Back in his room, he didn't turn on a light; he sat in the dark at the desk, pulled out a scrap of paper from the drawer, and uncapped a steel pen.

The pen tip scratched across the paper a few times, and he wrote three words:

Technical monopoly.

He knew the "leave a two‑millimeter gap" rule Yi Zhonghai taught was wrong. The factory standard was clearly 1.2 to 1.5 mm, which he'd seen on the bulletin board a couple of days earlier. Yet Yi Zhonghai insisted on teaching the opposite, calling it "insurance." This wasn't a technical issue; it was a means of control—making you feel you couldn't get by without him.

Emotional binding.

"If your father had listened to me," "I truly regard you as one of our own," "Others aren't reliable"—these words sound warm, but they're actually driving nails into your heart. They make you feel weak, make him look strong, and in the end even your breath depends on his expression.

Interest‑based coercion.

The assessment requires his signature, the job grade needs his nod, even whether he can get work hinges on a single word from him. This isn't a master‑apprentice relationship; it's personal dependence.

Zhao Jianguo ran through those three points in his mind, then suddenly laughed.

Yi Zhonghai thought he was playing a game of chess, but he had already revealed his hand.

What this man fears most isn't having his technology exposed, nor a disobedient apprentice—it's losing control.

As soon as Dong Xu begins to doubt, to compare, to look up information on his own, that authority begins to wobble.

And Zhao Jianguo is just the one to give it a push.

He doesn't need to step forward and shout "Yi Zhonghai is a bad person," nor directly win over Dong Xu. He only needs to do three things:

First, talk more about technical standards in the factory—for instance, while eating, casually remark, "Doesn't our factory have a clear regulation on gear‑gap?" Let others hear it, let Dong Xu hear it.

Second, unintentionally leak the correct technical parameters—for example, when fixing a radio, say, "This part needs a bit of play, the same principle as adjusting the factory's press machine," letting him make the connection himself.

Third, puncture the façade of "selfless assistance"—for instance, one day in the courtyard say, "Master Yi's two sons (Sha Zhu and Dong Xu) have their elder‑care shifts clearly scheduled," prompting Dong Xu to wonder: would he really end up caring for his master in old age?

He isn't in a hurry.

This kind of thing should be like simmering congee—low heat, slow cooking. Too high a flame and it burns; too low and it never cooks through. You need him to figure it out himself, rather than having someone enlighten him.

Only when he understands it for himself is it truly understood.

Zhao Jianguo folded the written note, slipped it to the bottom of the drawer, and weighed it down under a stack of old grain coupons. He stood, stretched his wrist, walked to the door, and pulled it open a crack.

Outside the Alley was already pitch black, wind swept in from the Hutongkou, carrying a hint of coal dust.

He was about to close the door when he suddenly heard a slight noise from the neighboring courtyard wall.

The door was opening.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, didn't move.

Yi Zhonghai walked out, still holding that gray Cloth Bundle in his hand; the amiable vigor on his face had long faded, his brows furrowed, his steps quicker than when he came.

Zhao Jianguo gently closed the door, without locking it.

He returned to the desk, took out a small notebook from the drawer, flipped open a page, on which a few lines were written:

"June 3: Yi Zhonghai proactively gave a book to Dong Xu; the timing was abnormal, the motive suspicious."

"June 3: Yi Zhonghai mentioned that Zhao Jianguo was getting too close, showing his close monitoring of Dong Xu's ideological trends."

"June 3: Yi Zhonghai used the 'evaluation signing authority' to apply pressure, confirming his means of power control."

He added today's new situation, then drew a circle at the end, encircling three words:

Pension plan.

He stared at the circle for two seconds, closed the notebook, and blew out the lamp.

The room went dark, but he didn't sleep.

He knew that from tonight on, things would be different.

Yi Zhonghai thought he was stabilizing Dong Xu, but in fact he was slowly driving a nail into his own coffin.

Zhao Jianguo leaned against the chair back, his fingers lightly tapping twice on the tabletop, as if keeping a beat.

"Tomorrow the factory will hold a meeting; he needs to find an opportunity to discuss the 'equipment maintenance manual' with everyone."

After all, black-and-white words carry more weight than anyone's spoken promises.

He was thinking when suddenly a sound of Footsteps came from outside.

Not leather shoes.

They were cloth shoes, hurriedly stepped, with a bit of a drag.

His ear twitched.

It was Dong Xu.

He got up, walked to the door, and pulled it open a crack.

Dong Xu was just coming out of his own doorway, clutching a flashlight, its beam wobbling on the ground, his gait a little unsteady, as if he had a stone in his heart.

He didn't head toward the alley entrance; instead he turned a corner and walked toward Zhao Jianguo.

Zhao Jianguo closed the door a bit more, without making a sound.

Dong Xu walked up to his door, raised his hand, as if to knock.

His hand hung in midair, paused for two seconds, then slowly lowered.

He turned to leave.

Zhao Jianguo suddenly pulled the door open.

"Brother Dong Xu, anything up?"

Dong Xu jumped in surprise, snapped his head back, nearly dropping his flashlight.

"I... I just..." he opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"Zhao Jianguo didn't press further, just smiled: 'So late, is there another problem with the factory blueprints?'"

Dong Xu blinked, his eyes flashing.

"How do you know......"

"Zhao Jianguo leaned against the doorframe, tone relaxed: 'Just a guess. That pressure machine in your workshop—its Gear Set keep slipping, isn't it just that the clearance isn't adjusted right?'"

Dong Xu stared at him, his lips moving.

"Jianguo......" his voice low, "If...... someone teaches you something that differs from the factory standard, do you trust him or the standard?"