Chapter 30: then translation of chapter title

Jia Dongxu's voice fell at the Courtyard Gate not long after, Zhao Jianguo heard his family's squeaky broken door being gently lifted. He didn't move, just sat at the table, fingers unconsciously tapping the notebook's edge. The line "Is my size chain calculation correct?" still echoed in his ears, but what concerned him more was the meaning behind it—Jia Dongxu had already started drawing his own diagrams and calculating data, no longer the disciple who only nodded "yes".

At daybreak, Zhao Jianguo slung the Toolbox over his shoulder and went out. He didn't take the main road, but went around the Jia family's Courtyard, looked up at the roof. It had rained recently, and Qin Huairu's Main Hall had several enamel pots that dripped all night. Now the tiles were even more crooked, and grass sprouts had poked through several gaps. Without a word, he fetched a ladder, set it up, gave it a few kicks to check stability, and flipped onto the roof.

"Who is it?!" came Qin Huairu's voice from the Courtyard, sounding a bit panicked.

"Sister-in-law Qin, it's me, Zhao Jianguo," he said, squatting on the roof ridge, already pulling out a piece of oil felt, "Yesterday Dong Xu brother said the roof was leaking badly, so I fixed it on the spot."

"Oh my, how can you do that!" Qin Huairu hurried out, still clutching a rag, "You're just a student kid, both graduating and interning, how can you have time for this? Come down quickly; when it clears up I'll have my Dong Xu do it himself."

Zhao Jianguo ignored her, pulled several iron nails from the Toolbox, bit one, held the oil felt down with one hand and hammered it in with a "dong dong" using a hammer. This oil felt was obtained through the system's sign‑in, waterproof and crack‑resistant, far superior to what the supply‑and‑marketing cooperative sold. As he nailed, he said, "I've been idle these past few days; if you keep postponing your roof, the beams will rot. I've also seen Dong Xu's hoe; it's rusted and about to break, I'll grind it for him later."

Qin Huairu stood below, opened her mouth, but said nothing more. She wasn't foolish; she knew who nowadays would voluntarily repair a house and bring their own materials. She silently went back inside, poured a bowl of hot water, carried it to the Courtyard Gate, and waited to hand it to Zhao Jianguo when he came down.

"You're welcome," Zhao Jianguo took the bowl, drank half in one gulp, the heat scorching from his throat down to his stomach, "Dong Xu is now eager to learn, it's easy for me to teach him. Craftsmanship isn't afraid of slowness, only of stopping. If he keeps digging like this, he'll eventually surpass some people."

Qin Huairu sensed an ulterior meaning, rubbed the edge of her apron, didn't reply. Yet her gaze softened. She knew that Yi Zhonghai had taught Dong Xu for three years without even touching a third‑grade worker's edge, whereas after only a few sessions with Zhao Erniu, he could already repair a pressure machine. This difference wasn't about effort.

Zhao Jianguo placed the hoe on the whetstone, pushed it back and forth a few times, sparks crackling. As he sharpened, he said, "Don't worry about offending anyone. Dong Xu is his own person, not someone's dog; you can lead him or scold him as you wish. If he truly has talent, he'll eventually support you and Uncle Jia."

Qin Huairu's nose tinged with sourness, she quickly turned and went back inside, pretending to look for a rag.

The rumor didn't spread fast, but it was accurate enough. That afternoon, Yi Zhonghai met Old Wang from the Personnel Department at the factory gate; the two crouched at the Wall Base smoking. Old Wang exhaled a smoke ring, squinting, "I heard Zhao Jianguo went early this morning to repair the Jia family's house, and even brought materials?"

Yi Zhonghai's eyelid twitched, he gripped the cigarette butt tightly, "Oh? He does know how to win people's hearts."

"Exactly," Old Wang inhaled, "Now the Courtyard is buzzing that Jia Dongxu will sooner or later take Zhao Erniu as his master, even Qin Huairu has loosened her tongue. Your disciple is probably going to soar."

Yi Zhonghai stayed silent, but his heart felt like it had been stung by a scorpion. He taught Jia Dongxu—what was his aim? Simply to have a retirement safety net? Even if Zhao Erniu's skills are superb, his family has only one son, who at best can only look after himself. But Jia Dongxu is different; his parents are alive, he has many siblings, and if he succeeds, relatives will bring him gifts during festivals, send a lump of coal in winter—real, tangible support. Now, though he hasn't even become a master yet, his heart has already been taken away.

He stayed crouched, didn't move, smoked until the filter, then flicked the cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. Before leaving, he patted Old Wang's shoulder, "Brother Wang, I heard this year's graduates all have to go to the workshop for training first?"

Old Wang was startled, "What, do you know someone?"

"Zhao Jianguo," Yi Zhonghai smiled, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, "He's young, his grades are good, but he's too clever, his mind isn't on the right path. I'm afraid if he comes in he'll go to the technical department, being all talk and little skill, which would actually cause delays."

Old Wang thought for a moment, "That's one way to look at it… but he's in the top three of the class, the factory leaders are all watching him."

"Then he needs even more polishing," Yi Zhonghai said lightly, "Young people aren't afraid of lacking ability, they're afraid of lacking Rules Sign. Go to the casting workshop for half a year, get some earth's feel, better than clutching books all day."

The two chatted a few more sentences, Old Wang nodded and left. Yi Zhonghai stood where he was, staring at his back, his mouth slowly turning down. He knew that words alone wouldn't work; he needed someone to "suggest" and a "public opinion". He had to make the superiors think that Zhao Jianguo wasn't fit for an office desk, he needed to go to the grassroots for "training".

Early the next morning, Zhao Jianguo went to the factory to find Jia Dongxu, and by chance saw Yi Zhonghai and Old Wang crouched together at the main gate. Their voices were low, but Old Wang occasionally looked up at him with a slightly odd gaze. Zhao Jianguo kept walking, smiling and greeting, "Master Yi, Uncle Wang, good morning."

Yi Zhonghai hummed, not even pinching the cigarette. Old Wang did smile, but that smile was different from usual, as if separated by a veil.

Zhao Jianguo felt a sudden thump in his heart.

On the Go Home road, he deliberately detoured to the supply‑and‑marketing cooperative that Li Xiaohua often visited. His mother was queuing to buy soap; he leaned over and whispered, "Mom, has the factory lately said anything about the destination of our batch of technical college graduates?"

Li Xiaohua turned her head, gave him a glance, "What, in a hurry to start work?"

"Just asking," Zhao Jianguo pretended indifference, "I heard someone suggested that graduates should first go down to the workshop?"

Li Xiaohua frowned, "Who said that? That's nonsense! You studied three years just to go casting?"

"Someone just mentioned it," Zhao Jianguo stared at her reaction, "It seemed to be Master Yi talking with Old Wang from Personnel."

Li Xiaohua instantly became displeased, "He can control that? Your dad is a Level‑8 worker trainee, you're a top student, how can he tell you what to do?"

Zhao Jianguo gave no reply, only nodded. But inside he was already clear—Yi Zhonghai had taken action.

That night, he sat at the table, opened his notebook, and on the newest page wrote: "Yi Zhonghai fears my rise in influence, wants to use the name of 'training' to transfer me away from the Steel Rolling Factory." After writing, he stared at the line for a long time, then flipped to earlier pages, found the sentence "Before disaster strikes, food and medicine are ready; with craft in hand, the home can be defended." He stared at it for two minutes, then lifted his pen and added a small line beneath: "Human hearts are like knives, sharper in the shadows."

He knew that having craft and reserves wasn't enough. Some people, without waiting for disaster, could make you unable to survive.

He closed the notebook, pulled the "Industrial Machine Tool Operation Manual" from his backpack, turned to the hydraulic system chapter. He knew that in the coming days he would have to run to the Jia family more diligently, make Qin Huairu completely at ease, and raise Jia Dongxu's skill another level. He also needed to visit the factory more often, gauge the Personnel Department's wind, and listen to the workers' gossip.

He couldn't wait for the allocation results before reacting. By the time the results came, the daylilies would be cold.

On the third afternoon, he went to the Jia family again. This time he brought a new file blade, one he had obtained from the practical training workshop, high‑carbon steel, twice as strong as the factory‑issued ones. He taught Jia Dongxu how to open a blade edge, grinding while saying, "Remember, a file isn't for smashing iron; it works together with your hand. Whatever you think in your heart, that's how it will go."

Jia Dongxu nodded, his hand movements steadier than the previous two days.

The oil felt on the roof glimmered with a dim light in the sun, like a layer of armor. In the Courtyard, the hoe was hanging by the wall, its edge flashing a bluish shine. Zhao Jianguo sat on the threshold drinking water, his peripheral vision caught a flash of a figure beyond the courtyard wall—Yi Zhonghai standing at the edge of the neighboring vegetable plot, holding a scallion, his eyes constantly glancing this way.

Zhao Jianguo didn't move, just gently placed the water bowl on the ground.

He knew what the other was watching: his actions, his timing, his comings and goings.

He also knew that every subsequent step could not be wrong.

He stood up, brushed the dust off his pants, and said to Jia Dongxu, "I'll come again tomorrow, take you to try heat treatment. That transmission shaft of yours must pass this hurdle first."

Jia Dongxu nodded heavily.

Zhao Jianguo walked out of the Courtyard, without looking back. Yet he could feel that gaze clinging to his back like a wet cold snake.

He turned the corner at the Hutongkou, fished the notebook from his pocket, opened the last page, and with a pencil wrote two bold characters:

"Stay guarded."