Chapter 28: Yi Zhonghai

Zhao Jianguo shoved the notebook into the drawer, just about to pour a glass of water when he heard a few coughs from beyond the courtyard wall, followed by Yi Zhonghai's characteristic slow, leisurely tone: "Old Zhao has been really diligent lately, even teaching Dong Xu so properly."

His hand holding the cup paused.

The words sounded like praise, but the flavor was off.

He peeked out; Yi Zhonghai was squatting at his own doorway peeling garlic, head never lifted, yet his words seemed aimed at the passing Wang Shen. Wang Shen indeed replied: "Yo, Master Zhao is still taking apprentices? Why haven't I heard about it?"

"Taking? That's not called taking," Yi Zhonghai said with a grin that didn't reach his eyes, "It's just teaching hand‑by‑hand in private, the component drawings are already done. Would you call that 'taking'? In our factory, Level‑7 workers are evaluated by public assessment, not by forming cliques, passing down skills privately, and then emerging."

Zhao Jianguo frowned, set the cup down, and felt a sudden thump in his heart.

If this got back to the workshop, it wouldn't be just a family‑like gossip.

Early the next morning, Zhao Erniu just entered the workshop and sensed the atmosphere was a bit odd. The young fellow who usually called him "Brother Zhao" now lowered his head to wipe his tools, not even looking up. When the foreman passed by, he gave Zhao Erniu an extra glance and even deliberately flipped through his work‑record book from last month.

Zhao Erniu stayed silent, opened the Toolbox as usual, unscrewed the bench vise, clamped the raw blank for today's machining. His movements were steady, his hands didn't shake, but his mind was as clear as a mirror—someone was scheming behind his back.

At lunch, a few veteran workers gathered to bite on steamed buns, their voices drifting: "Did you hear? Someone says Old Zhao's technique is 'watered‑down'; Dong Xu's jobs can only be fixed because he's secretly fed him Meal Tickets."

"Feeding Meal Tickets?" another chimed, "That also requires the other party to be willing to eat it. If you let Master Yi teach, would he really teach the real thing? Last time I saw him file a flat surface and somehow filed a dent, then claimed it was 'a process requirement'."

"Sigh, they no longer earn a living by skill, but by their mouths."

When the talk reached this point, everyone laughed, but the laughter was edged with thorns.

Zhao Erniu sat in the corner, chewing a corn‑flour pancake bite by bite, never looking up, never replying. He knew this wind hadn't started blowing in a day. Yi Zhonghai's little scheming, he had already seen through— the less capable the apprentice, the more the master appears "precious". But now, with Jia Dongxu soaring, that "preciousness" had become a joke.

After the Meal Ticket, he dunked his lunchbox in water, turned and walked toward the lathe.

Someone muttered behind him: "What's he going for?"

"What else could he be doing? Practicing his hands. Could he really let people say his 'technique is watered‑down'?"

On the third morning, Zhao Erniu proactively approached the foreman and handed over a sheet of paper.

"Foreman, I'm signing up for this week's Level‑7 worker standard part spot check."

The foreman was taken aback: "You? This job isn't easy; the gap tolerance is 0.01 mm, any deviation fails."

"I know," Zhao Erniu said calmly, "but I need to show everyone what 'watered‑down technique' really looks like."

The foreman stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded: "Fine, I'll add you to the list."

The news spread, and the workshop instantly erupted.

"Old Zhao is up for spot check? That's the factory's highest standard!"

"Sure enough, I heard this time it was Master Yi himself who suggested it, saying we must 'strictly guard the technical gate'."

"Strictly guard? I think he just wants to see people look foolish."

On the day of the spot check, the whole workshop fell noticeably quieter. The usually chattering female workers stopped their sewing machines, the male workers set down their Wrenches, and groups drifted toward the lathe area. Even the factory director, passing by, deliberately turned in to take a look.

Zhao Erniu wore a washed‑out work uniform, sleeves rolled to the elbows, exposing sturdy forearms. He stood before the lathe, first calibrated the tool, then measured the blank's diameter with a micrometer; his motions weren't fast, but each step was as steady as a weight.

Yi Zhonghai stood behind the crowd, notebook in hand, pretending to note something, but his eyes never left Zhao Erniu's hands.

"If he can really achieve a 0.01 mm gap, I'll eat this notebook right here," he whispered to the person beside him.

The person beside him gave no reply, only a smile.

Zhao Erniu ignored everyone, started the machine, fed the tool, cut the thread; each step was like carving a flower. The lathe hummed, metal shavings spiraled into fine threads, drifting down. He paused twice midway, used a feeler gauge to check the gap, his brows never furrowed.

Three hours later, the part came out.

Zhao Erniu measured it himself with a micrometer; the reading stopped at 0.009 mm.

He handed the part to the peer‑inspector, who passed it to the specialist inspector. The specialist took a Magnifying Glass, examined it for ages, and finally wrote on the record sheet: "Pass, actual measurement 0.009 mm, best of this round's factory‑wide spot check."

When the foreman announced the result on the spot, the workshop was silent for a few seconds, then exploded with a "Wow—".

"Holy crap, really did it?"

"Even an eighth‑level worker wouldn't dare claim it's steadier!"

"Master Yi didn't say 'technique is watered‑down'? I think his pot has no soup!"

Yi Zhonghai's face flushed red then white, the knuckles of his notebook‑holding hand turning white. He tried to say something, but as soon as he opened his mouth, an old worker beside him cut in: "Old Yi, can I borrow your 'Clamp Handbook'? I want to learn how to file a part to 0.009."

Everyone burst into laughter.

Zhao Erniu didn't look at anyone, just packed the tools back into the box, tightened the screws, then grabbed his lunchbox and turned to leave.

Just before exiting, he paused, turned back and said: "The work in my hands is the best mouth."

No one answered.

That night, the Zhao Family's lights burned bright.

Jia Dongxu came again, clutching a freshly drawn blueprint, his face flushed: "Uncle Zhao, could you take a look at the shaft sleeve I drew this time? I left the thermal expansion allowance as you said, could you check it for me?"

Zhao Erniu took the blueprint, squinted, and nodded: "Fine, better than last time."

"I… I'm just afraid I won't master it, and people will say I 'got it through connections'." Jia Dongxu's voice lowered, "Today in the workshop, many said you entered the spot check just to prove yourself."

Zhao Erniu smiled: "So what? I do my work, they talk with their mouths. As long as the part doesn't speak, the data speaks for itself."

Zhao Jianguo stood nearby, handed over a cup of hot water: "Dad, the piece you worked on today, the foreman said it'll be kept as a sample archive."

"Store it if you want," Zhao Erniu blew on his tea, his tone as light as if he'd only had a few bites of Meal Ticket, "Anyway I don't rely on that thing for a living."

Zhao Jianguo laughed, thinking, this old man, doesn't say it out loud, but his heart's door is clear.

Yi Zhonghai didn't go home for dinner.

He squatted at the factory gate smoking, one after another, the butts scattered on the ground. The last one he smoked to the filter tip, he didn't toss it, just held it, until the tip burned his tongue and he spat it out violently.

Back inside, he sat at the desk, opened that 'Clamp Handbook'. The pages were already yellowed, edges curled, filled with his "secrets" — how to make a lead screw last six more months, how to "just right" discover a flaw others can't fix during acceptance.

He flipped page by page, suddenly felt each character was crooked, as if they were laughing at him.

He closed the book, looked up at the wall clock: 7:43.

The Zhao Family's house still had its lights on, shadows flickering on the paper‑covered windows, Jia Dongxu was bent over his drawing, Zhao Erniu pointing beside him, gestures steady.

He reached out and dimmed the desk lamp a bit; the room instantly darkened in a circle.

Yet that light still slipped in through the window crack, landing on the back of his hand, like an indelible shame.

He suddenly snatched up the pen and wrote on the notebook: "Zhao Erniu, the technique isn't adulterated, counter-verification succeeded."

After writing, his hand trembled slightly, a drop of ink fell on the paper and spread out.

He stared at that line, then fiercely crossed it out, poking a hole in the paper.

Outside the window, the Zhao Family's lights were still on, and Jia Dongxu's voice faintly came: "Uncle Zhao, did I calculate this chain size correctly?"