Chapter 21

Zhao Jianguo closed the door, casually pushed the latch into place, and a light clack sounded. Jia Dongxu walked away, and the Footsteps were no longer heard; the room again returned to that night‑time quiet, and even the sound of a mouse rummaging the grain store in the corner of the wall seemed especially clear.

He didn't rush back to the table, first went to the stove side, picked up a pot of cool water, glug‑glug poured half a bowl. In just those few minutes he hadn't said much, but his mind turned faster than a lathe in the factory. He wasn't lecturing Dong Xu on technique; he was giving him a step up—if you really want to understand, sooner or later you'll still have to come find me.

He set the bowl down on the table, the porcelain base knocked against the wood, making a sound.

Alright, let's drop this for now. What's most urgent right now isn't how others act, but how I can run faster.

He sat back at the desk, opened the drawer, took out the small notebook where he recorded Yi Zhonghai's movements, flipped to a blank page, dipped the pen in ink, and scribbled a few lines:

"Three years of high school, four years of college—seven years total. Can we afford to wait?"

"Does the Steel Rolling Factory lack college graduates? It lacks technicians who can repair machines, adjust equipment, and draw schematics."

"I have a system, I have a foundation—why must I follow someone else's pace?"

After writing, he stared at those lines for two seconds, then heavily drew a circle, circling the two characters "vocational school".

Exactly, that's it.

After finishing junior high, go straight to vocational school. Study machinery, study equipment; three years later you can enter the factory as a technical worker, earning more than a second‑grade laborer. Unlike high school, where you still have to grind for the college entrance exam—if you don't get in it's wasted, if you do you still wait four years—maybe you can wait, but the family can't.

His mother's health worsens year by year, his sister is about to start primary school, the family's meager savings can't afford him to linger in studies. He needs to be quick—quick to gain ability, quick to earn money, quick to prop up the household.

Moreover, he harbors a stubborn drive inside.

Isn't Yi Zhonghai trying to control people? Isn't he choking progress with his technology? Fine, then I'll learn the technology to a point you can't catch up to. What you teach is wrong; what I learn is right. You pass it by word of mouth; I rely on the system to pour it straight in. When I someday stand on the workshop lectern, holding blueprints to teach the crew, you can tell me again who the real teacher is.

He set the pen down, leaned back in the Chair, and curled the corners of his mouth up.

That's what a counterattack looks like.

Early the next morning, as dawn just broke, Zhao Jianguo left the door. He didn't go to the cafeteria, tucked two steamed buns in his pocket, and headed for school. Today was the final trial assessment for second year; passing meant direct promotion to third year—no room for mistakes.

He walked, flexing his wrists, running physics formulas through his mind. Lately he's put in a lot of effort, especially on Mechanical Principle Lesson; the textbook material has been chewed over, but he knows that merely solving problems isn't enough—you need to make it obvious at a glance—this kid is different from the rest.

Arriving at school, he headed straight for the Laboratory. This place usually sees no one, the door locked, but he knows the keeper, Old Sun, opens it on schedule at seven for ventilation. He timed his arrival, and sure enough, the old man was crouched by the door scrubbing a hot water bottle.

"Little Zhao? You're here this early?"

"Uncle Sun, I'm borrowing the lab to study, just an hour—I won't touch the equipment or mess with the power."

Old Sun lifted his head, glanced at him, then went back to scrubbing the bottle: "You kid, you've been coming a lot lately, and you don't seem like you're just cramming. Alright, here's the key—you must leave by eight."

Thanks!

When the door opened, a rush of machine oil, iron rust, and alcohol hit his face. Zhao Jianguo inhaled deeply, feeling refreshed. This smell was far stronger than the cafeteria's stewed‑pot odor.

He walked to the check‑in point, stood still, and silently muttered: "System, Directed Sign‑in—Hongxing Steel Rolling Factory Affiliated Middle School Laboratory."

【Ding! Check-in Successful!】

【Detected high‑density technical scene, triggering advanced reward!】

【Acquired "Intermediate Mechanical Mastery" skill pack—covering core knowledge such as Gear Set transmission, shaft assembly, tolerance fit, mechanical drawing standards, etc., already automatically integrated.】

【Extra reward: "Introductory Agricultural Skills"—includes basic tillage, crop rotation, soil identification, etc.; currently no applicable scenario, advised to plan usage later.】

Zhao Jianguo stared blankly for a moment.

Intermediate Mechanical Mastery?

He closed his eyes, and his brain boomed as if someone had poured an entire Mechanical Design Handbook into his skull. Module, pressure angle, fitting tolerances—everything crystal clear, as if he'd personally taken apart a hundred machines.

He opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the Gear Set teaching aid on the lab bench, and instantly spotted the problem—this simulated transmission set had the module of the third gear mismatched, efficiency dropping by at least 15%.

He casually picked up nearby paper and pen, swiftly sketched a correction diagram, marked the parameters, even the lettering carrying the neatness of an engineering drawing.

Old Sun came in to return the key, saw his drawing, and froze: "This… this is you who drew it?"

"I just tweaked it; that gear set's ratio was off."

"You… you've studied mechanical drafting?"

"Self‑taught, just messing around."

Old Sun stared at the drawing for a long while, then muttered: "Weird—this level is sharper than the new college grads in the factory's technical section."

Zhao Jianguo didn't respond, gathered his pen and paper, and left the lab on time.

In the morning physics exam, as soon as the papers were handed out, he glanced at them and smiled.

The final big question, multi‑stage gear transmission efficiency calculation, winding this way and that, looking intimidating, but actually just testing whether you can deconstruct the drive chain.

He picked up his pen, started from the power input end and pushed forward, each step following the engineering standards from the "Intermediate Mechanical Mastery" set, even factoring in lubrication loss and micro deformation, arriving at a final answer precise to two decimal places.

When he turned in the paper, the proctor gave him a deliberate look.

In the afternoon, the homeroom teacher called him for a talk.

"Jianguo, in this exam the physics teachers all noticed you. Your solution for that problem differed from the standard answer, yet the result was more accurate. Have you… been looking at college textbooks?"

"No, I just worked it out my own way."

The teacher sighed: "With your level, getting into a key high school is no problem. Though your family is tight, the school can apply for aid—are you really not considering the college entrance exam route?"

Zhao Jianguo shook his head, pulled a sheet from his bag: "Teacher, I've thought it through. This is my 'Vocational School Employment Prospects Analysis'—take a look."

The paper densely listed several columns: school name, major direction, program length, graduate assignment unit, starting salary, technical growth path. Each entry cited its source—some from factory announcements, some from newspaper info, even a recruitment brochure he'd gotten from a contact at the municipal technical school.

"Our city's mechanical vocational school: three‑year graduation, guaranteed placement; last year eight went to the Steel Rolling Factory, two of whom now have apprentices. Wages are one grade above peers of the same age, plus a technical subsidy."

He pointed to one line: "Whereas high school to college—four years of undergrad, not even guaranteed admission. Even if you get in, you might not end up in a matching job. I've calculated: taking the vocational route, in three years I could earn forty‑five yuan a month and still subsidize the family; taking high school then college, seven years, the family would have to support my Meal Ticket wear clothes."

The teacher stared at the table, silent for a long while.

Finally, she pushed the paper back, nodding: "Alright, I respect your choice. But you must guarantee your third‑year grades won't drop. Vocational school admission is competitive too—not just anyone who wants in can get in."

"Don't worry," Zhao Jianguo said with a smile, "I'll aim for first place in every subject."

Leaving the office, he didn't go straight Go Home but turned to the reading room, borrowing a copy of "Vocational School Entrance Exam Mechanical Lesson basics mock questions." The cover was worn fuzzy, the borrowing card densely signed with many names, the most recent being last July.

He flipped through it; the question types were outdated, the solutions crude, even tolerance markings weren't standardized.

He closed the book, thinking: Once I get in, I'll suggest the school update its teaching materials.

On the way back to the Siheyuan, he passed the Steel Rolling Factory gate and saw a few workers squatting at the Wall Base smoking. One of them complained: "Damn, the press jammed again—fixed for three days, and Master Yi says we still need to wait for parts."

Zhao Jianguo's steps paused for a moment.

He now understands that it isn't a lack of parts, but that someone fundamentally failed to locate the machine's root cause. Yi Zhonghai's claim of an "insurance gap of two millimeters" is pure misguidance. The standard is 1.2 to 1.5; leaving it larger reduces transmission efficiency, causes greater vibration, and within half a year a major overhaul is required.

He didn't stop long, and kept walking home.

He knows that saying this now is useless. He must wait until he has the qualification to stand on the workshop podium, to sign the maintenance orders; only then can he establish the proper rules.

At night, he sits under the lamp, opens the newly borrowed book, and begins solving problems.

The pen tip rustles, like a spring silkworm eating leaves.

He no longer thinks about Yi Zhonghai, nor does he wonder whether Jia Dongxu will knock again. Those matters aren't urgent.

Right now the most urgent thing is to get through the ninth‑grade hurdle and solidify the path to the technical secondary school.

After finishing a problem, he looks up at the calendar hanging on the wall. The twenty‑third day of the twelfth lunar month, Little New Year.

In three more months, it's time for the preliminary high‑school entrance exam registration.

He closes the book, pulls a small notebook from the drawer, flips to a fresh page, and writes:

"Goal: City Mechanical Technical School, Mechanical Manufacturing major."

"Path: Maintain a top‑three rank in ninth grade, strive for perfect scores in Physics and Mathematics."

"Capability support: Intermediate mechanical mastery (systems), junior electrician (already mastered), junior agricultural skills (to be developed)."

After writing, he draws an arrow pointing to the final line:

"Destination: In three years, become an independent technician at the Steel Rolling Factory, with authority to sign off on equipment repairs."

He stares at that line for a few seconds, then closes the notebook and blows out the lamp.

The room goes dark, but he does not lie down.

He knows that from today onward, he is no longer the time‑traveler who relied on system check‑ins to snag cheap deals.

He will now be a person who earns a living by his own ability.

Outside the window, wind whips coal slag across the courtyard wall, and with a 'pop' it strikes someone's laundry line.

Zhao Jianguo gets up, goes to the Kitchen, and fetches a bowl of cold water to drink.

Just as he sets the bowl down, the Courtyard Gate creaks.

He looks up; a beam from a flashlight slips through the Door Gap, flickers, and rests at his room's doorway.

Then, someone raises a hand and knocks twice on the door.

Not heavy, but steady.

Zhao Jianguo stands, walks to the door, and places his hand on the latch.