Chapter 27

Zhao Jianguo put his school bag down on the table, then casually pulled out that notebook with frayed edges from the drawer, flipping to the middle page. On it were a few rough sketches of parts, with the words "axis bushing fit precision 0.02mm" written beside them. He stared for two seconds, closed the notebook, and looked up to see Zhao Erniu squatting in the courtyard wiping tools, his brows furrowed tight enough to trap a fly.

"Dad." He walked over, squatted down, and said in a voice neither too loud nor too soft, "Has the factory recently been nominating candidates for eighth-level worker again?"

Zhao Erniu didn't even lift his head: "What, you heard the wind too? It's been spreading all over the workshop; the team leader even talked to me about it a couple of days ago."

"So are you going to apply?"

"This isn't just a matter of applying or not." Zhao Erniu snorted, rubbing the rust off the wrench with a corner of the cloth, "If you pass, it's ability; if you don't, you still have to accept it. But speaking of which, these days having good skill means having backbone—who wouldn't want a proper title?"

Zhao Jianguo didn't respond, just took out half a roasted sweet potato from his pocket, broke off a small piece, and handed it over: "Have some to tide you over. Yesterday I went to the western production team and saw them boiling pot after pot of white rice in the canteen, while sweet potatoes had become a side dish. Guess what? The grain warehouse hit bottom in just three months."

Zhao Erniu took a bite, his frown tightening: "Really? Didn't the higher-ups say there was a huge grain harvest?"

"A huge harvest?" Zhao Jianguo chuckled, "I saw with my own eyes that one mu yields less than five hundred jin, yet they boast of ten thousand jin. Now it's all-you-can-eat, but come winter, even the cellar will have nothing left to scrape."

Zhao Erniu froze, the sweet potato pausing at his lips.

"I'm not trying to scare you." Zhao Jianguo lowered his voice, "If you really do get rated as an eighth-level worker, there's an eighty or ninety percent chance you'll be drafted to the northwest for some 'key project'. Gone for three to five years—what will happen at home? Mom's health isn't great, I'm still in school, and if you leave, who will hold things together?"

Zhao Erniu stayed silent, the sweet potato in his hand deformed from his grip.

"I'm not stopping you from advancing." Zhao Jianguo patted his shoulder, "Just… wait two years. Let the fuss die down, then we'll try again—won't be late."

Zhao Erniu stared at the pile of sweet potato peel on the ground for a long moment before muttering, "You little brat, why do you worry more about factory affairs than I do?"

"I'm not worrying about the factory." Zhao Jianguo grinned, "I'm just afraid that if you leave, the old bench vise at home will break again and there'll be no one to fix it."

Zhao Erniu finally laughed, raising a hand to flick Zhao Jianguo's forehead: "Get lost—your skills aren't bad either, you could hold your own for a while."

Zhao Jianguo gave a couple of heh-hehs, didn't reply. He knew this matter was basically settled.

Early one weekend morning, Jia Dongxu showed up at the Zhao family's door holding an oil-paper bundle. Zhao Jianguo opened the door and saw two scallion-oil pancakes, still steaming.

"For Uncle and Aunt." Jia Dongxu rubbed his hands, a bit uneasy, "My mom said thanks to your son Jianguo's guidance, I finally managed to fix that eccentric wheel properly in the workshop."

"Oh?" Zhao Jianguo took the pancake and gestured inside, "Come in and sit a spell? My dad's in the garage, tidying up tools."

Jia Dongxu hesitated for a moment, then followed him into the courtyard. Seeing him arrive, Zhao Erniu didn't ask much, just pointed at the bench vise: "Since you're here, might as well help me true this bushing. It's newly made, but I feel it's off by a hair."

Jia Dongxu's eyes lit up at once. He leaned in, carefully clamped the part, and measured it again and again with a vernier caliper, his hand trembling slightly.

"Don't panic." Zhao Erniu handed him a fine file, "Your filing technique was wrong before—wrist too stiff. Come, do it like this—hand guides the file, not the file guiding the hand."

He demonstrated once, the motion light as peeling an apple. Jia Dongxu watched without blinking, tried twice, still couldn't get the feel.

"Slow down." Zhao Erniu pressed his wrist, "Didn't Master Yi used to tell you to 'use force'?"

"Yeah… he said you need strength to hold the file steady."

"Nonsense." Zhao Erniu snorted, "Filing isn't about brute force—it's about feel. The harder you push, the more likely you'll drift. Come on, relax, like stroking a cat's tail."

Jia Dongxu blinked, almost laughing, but he did as told. This time the file glided smoothly.

Zhao Erniu said nothing more, just watched from the side. Three hours later, Jia Dongxu removed the bushing, measured it with a micrometer—0.018mm, the error almost negligible.

"All right." Zhao Erniu nodded, "This work could serve as a sample in the workshop."

Jia Dongxu's eyes reddened, his voice a little shaky: "Zhao Uncle, I… I never thought I could actually do it."

"You weren't incapable." Zhao Erniu patted his shoulder, "You were just taught the wrong way."

Zhao Jianguo listened from the side, didn't interject. He knew this step, at least, had been taken.

Third workshop of the factory, noon mealtime.

Yi Zhonghai carried his aluminum lunch box, strolling over to Jia Dongxu's workstation, glancing at the processing log on the desk.

"Hey, today's job was done pretty neatly?" He casually flipped a page, "Eccentric wheel on the press, fixed in one go? Before you'd need to fiddle for two days."

Jia Dongxu was chewing a steamed bun, quickly swallowed: "Uncle Zhao gave me a few pointers, I tried following them."

"Uncle Zhao?" Yi Zhonghai's eyelids twitched, "Which Uncle Zhao?"

"Zhao Erniu, Master Zhao." Jia Dongxu answered honestly, "He taught me how to adjust the clearance and showed me the standard filing method."

Yi Zhonghai's lunch box paused in his hand.

"He… often teaches you?"

"Not really." Jia Dongxu scratched his head, "Just weekends when I go to his place to fix a tool, I casually ask a couple of things. Uncle Zhao is generous, doesn't hoard knowledge."

Yi Zhonghai didn't press further, smiled faintly, turned and walked away. But that smile felt like a needle prick, frozen on his face.

Back at his workstation, he pulled out his own labor log, flipping page by page. Jia Dongxu's attendance, hours, pass rate over the past three months… line by line. Last month it was ordinary, this month it suddenly seemed to have clicked—even the team leader praised him for "rapid progress".

He closed the log, stared blankly at the ceiling.

Back when he taught Jia Dongxu, he'd held back a full thirty percent. In this trade, teaching the apprentice well enough to starve the master—he wasn't afraid of Jia Dongxu becoming strong, just afraid he'd become too strong. But now look, others just point a couple of times and the guy's already up to speed?

He shot to his feet, strode to the tool rack, pulled out the old file he'd used for ten years. The blade had worn into a curve, the handle cracked. He rubbed it, suddenly feeling the thing heavy enough to weigh down his hand.

That evening, Zhao Erniu had just entered the courtyard when Yi Zhonghai slipped out from next door, holding half a cigarette.

"Old Zhao, busy?"

"Just got off work." Zhao Erniu replied, continuing toward the house.

"Hey, wait a sec." Yi Zhonghai caught up two steps, "Heard… you've been mentoring Dongxu lately?"

Zhao Erniu stopped, turned: "Mentoring? Nothing of the sort. Just the kid coming over to fix a tool, chatting a bit."

"Oh?" Yi Zhonghai narrowed his eyes, "Then how did he suddenly get… so adept so fast?"

"He's diligent." Zhao Erniu said lightly, "Besides, Dongxu's foundation isn't bad—he just lacked practice before."

Yi Zhonghai gave a dry chuckle: "True, true… but Old Zhao, you know the factory rules—taking on an apprentice requires registration, no private teaching. If word gets out and the higher-ups ask…"

Zhao Erniu glanced at him, eyes calm: "Master Yi, I haven't taken a single cent from him, never signed any contract, never said I'd take him as an apprentice. He comes to ask, I answer—that's natural and proper. If you think it's inappropriate, you're free to go to the workshop supervisor and file a complaint against me."

Having said that, he pushed the door open and went inside, leaving Yi Zhonghai standing in the courtyard with the unlit cigarette stub still in his hand.

A few days later, Zhao Jianguo was drawing diagrams in the laboratory when Jia Dongxu sneaked in, mysteriously pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket.

"Jianguo, take a look at this."

Zhao Jianguo took it—it was a part drawing, finely detailed, even the heat-treatment process written down.

"You drew this?"

"Hmm." Dong Xu felt a bit embarrassed. "I followed Uncle Zhao's lesson that day and tried to draw a transmission shaft. Could you take a look and see if there's any issue?"

Zhao Jianguo examined it carefully, then looked up: "Your dimension chain calculation is pretty accurate—where did you learn it?"

I borrowed a copy of *Mechanical Lesson Drawing Basics* and read it at night. Uncle Zhao said, just knowing how to repair isn't enough; you need to understand design.

Zhao Jianguo laughed: "Not bad, you've started self-studying?"

Dong Xu scratched his head: "I was thinking... if I could truly master the technique, I wouldn't be at anyone's mercy later."

Zhao Jianguo didn't respond, just folded the drawing neatly and slipped it back into his pocket: "Keep it, don't let anyone see it."

Another evening, Yi Zhonghai squatted at the courtyard gate smoking, his eyes occasionally glancing at the Zhao family's windows. The lights were on inside; Zhao Erniu was teaching Dong Xu how to read the drawings, their shadows cast on the window paper, moving and still, like a shadow puppet show.

He stubbed out the cigarette, went back inside and sat down, pulling out his own yellowed copy of the *Fitter's Handbook*. The pages were curled at the edges, densely filled with the "secrets" he'd accumulated over decades—for example, how to make a leadscrew last half a year longer, or how during inspection to "coincidentally" discover faults others couldn't fix.

He flipped through page by page, and suddenly felt the words were like ants crawling, making him anxious.

He closed the book, looked up at the wall clock. It was 6:47, and the light in that Zhao family room was still on.

He stood up, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains shut tightly.

The room went dark all at once. He sat at the table, his fingers unconsciously tapping the tabletop—once, again.

Suddenly, he took out a steel pen and wrote on his notebook: "Dong Xu, the workpiece qualification rate has risen 37% over the past three months."

After writing that, he crossed it out and rewrote: "Zhao Erniu, number of contacts with Dong Xu in the past half month: 5 times."

The pen tip paused, then he added: "Something's not right."

He stared at that line, his throat bobbing as if he had swallowed a mouthful of iron.

Outside the window, the Zhao family's light was still on.