Chapter 237: Vocational School Graduation, Great Feats—Mechanical Repair Spreads Far and Wide

The morning light had just crept over the wall top, Zhao Jianguo stood at the Courtyard Gate, still clutching the children's creative report he had organized last night. The projector had already been put away, and a faint imprint lingered on the stone table.

He was thinking about the flying houses and underground cities the kids had drawn when a bicycle turned in from Hutongkou. A bulging luggage bag was tied to the rear seat, and the rider wore a blue canvas work uniform, his hair a little ruffled by the wind.

It was Sha Zhu's son.

Zhao Jianguo walked over to help unload the luggage. The two said little, but their movements were natural, as if they had cooperated many times before. The luggage was moved into the East Room storage; the box opened to reveal a complete set of tools, neatly arranged, along with a thick notebook whose cover read "Fundamentals of Mechanical Manufacturing".

"I'm back," Sha Zhu's son said.

"Hmm," Zhao Jianguo nodded, "What do you plan to do?"

"Open a school," he said lightly, but his tone was steady, "Teach people to repair machines."

Zhao Jianguo gave him a glance, neither smiling nor asking, simply placed the report in a drawer, slid open a cabinet, took out a palm‑sized projector, and set it on the table.

"Use this."

Sha Zhu's son's eyes lit up; he took it, examined it, and skillfully powered it up for a test. A three‑dimensional diesel engine materialized in the air, its components peeled away layer by layer, with the oil‑flow paths clearly labeled.

"This can serve as a teaching aid," he said.

After noon, the Courtyard became lively. Twelve young people arrived one after another—factory apprentices, technicians from the agricultural machinery station, and neighborhood kids who were idle at home. They had heard that the Siheyuan was starting a Mechanical Lesson and had rushed over early in the morning.

San Daye, leaning on a cane, also arrived, stood at the edge of the crowd, glanced around, and shouted, "Who's teaching? With what will they teach? Don't end up with not even a Lesson Plan, just blowing smoke?"

The surrounding people began to discuss.

Sha Zhu's son wasn't in a hurry, turned toward the Kitchen, and a moment later came back carrying an old wok spatula. The handle was polished to a shine, the edge slightly deformed, clearly having been used for a long time.

He lifted the spatula and said, "This belonged to my father. He cooked in the cafeteria for thirty years and never replaced the spatula. It wasn't that he couldn't afford a new one; he believed that as long as it still works, it shouldn't be thrown away."

He paused, then continued, "Repairing machines is the same. It's not just swapping a part; it's about convincing people that a broken thing can be fixed again. We study technology not only to earn a living, but also to make life a little easier for others."

No one spoke.

He turned on the projector and started the lesson demonstration. The first class covered common faults of electric motors; the model spun in the air, showing exactly where it heated up or jammed. He then produced a handwritten handout, opened to a page that displayed a circuit diagram, with densely written notes of problems and solutions beside it.

"These are machines I repaired during my internship; each case I tested at least three times," he said, "I may not be a great teacher, but I can be an honest person and teach honest things."

San Daye, after listening, hummed, took two steps, then suddenly stopped, turned back and said, "Teach welding next class? My Iron Gate is crooked, perfect for your students to practice on."

The crowd laughed.

The opening ceremony was set that way. The twelve trainees registered their names on the spot and received a Listening Certificate. The Classroom was set up in a corner cleared from the warehouse; the Blackboard was borrowed, the desks and chairs were makeshift, but the equipment was complete, even an oscilloscope.

That night, Zhao Jianguo sat at the stone table in the Courtyard, looking at the empty projection spot. The wind fluttered a piece of paper on the table—it was a few teaching suggestions he had written during the day, not yet handed to Sha Zhu's son.

He whispered, "If everyone willing to learn had someone to guide them, what would happen in the future?"

The words barely left his mouth when his phone vibrated.

The Sign-in Interface automatically popped up, golden text appearing: 【Education inheritance level reached critical point, "Master‑Apprentice System" unlocked】.

The interface expanded, showing three functions: skill transmission record tracking, apprentice progress evaluation, and master‑apprentice achievement linked rewards.

Finally a line popped up: You have become the first certified mentor; would you designate a first apprentice?

Zhao Jianguo stared at the screen for a long time, his finger hovering over "Confirm," and ultimately tapped "No."

He looked up toward the East Room. A lamp glowed in the window; Sha Zhu's son was bent over his desk writing, his silhouette unmoving. The desk lamp illuminated the handout beside him, pages turning one by one, the pen tip rustling on the paper.

Early the next morning, the first batch of lessons officially began.

The trainees gathered around the projected model, listening to Sha Zhu's son explain gearbox principles. Some took notes, others jumped straight into disassembling practice machines. Zhao Jianguo walked around the side, said nothing, but noticed a trainee over‑tightening a screw and gently tapped the person's wrist.

"Slow down; distribute the force evenly so it won't break easily."

The person nodded, loosened it half a turn and tried again.

Three days later, the course entered the hands‑on stage. A scrapped tractor was pulled into the Courtyard, its engine completely dead. The trainees split into groups to inspect; some checked the oil lines, others tested the circuits, working for two hours before finally identifying the problem—an aged high‑pressure pump seal.

They replaced it with a new part, ignited it, and the machine roared to life with a bang.

The watching neighbors gathered around, clapping and cheering. Xiao Pang rushed in from outside, pointing at the machine and shouting, "This isn't any worse than Uncle Xu's robot!"

Sha Zhu's son wiped some sweat, smiled and said, "That's just the beginning; when you can modify parts yourself, you'll truly be at the entry level."

A month later, the graduation day arrived.

All twelve trainees passed the assessment and received graduation certificates. Some were headed to Shanxi to repair agricultural machinery, others to a factory in Inner Mongolia for onboarding, and one signed up for a technical support team in Xinjiang.

Before departure, Zhao Jianguo organized a discussion. He played a video showing a village in Xinjiang; on the day the tractor was repaired, villagers gathered around the machine and danced, with someone shouting at the camera, "Teacher Zhao, send a few more of you over!"

The room was quiet for a while.

Sha Zhu's son stood up and said, "What we learn isn't just technique; it's making people believe that even the most broken machine can be fixed. As long as someone is willing to act, nothing is truly beyond repair."

Ten minutes later, the trainees filed out one by one.

Zhao Jianguo escorted them to Hutongkou. As each left, they said something—some said "Thank you," others "I'll be back," and one handed him a hand‑drawn card.

The card depicted a wrench lodged in the middle of a gear, with the caption below: "The seeds you sow will bloom elsewhere."

The last trainee left, and the Hutong fell silent again.

Zhao Jianguo stood still, still clutching the card. The wind blew, causing his coat's hem to flutter.

The East Room lamp was still on, and Sha Zhu's son had already begun preparing the second‑term Lesson Plan. The window glass reflected his silhouette; his hand, bent over his writing, did not stop.