Chapter 33

A shadow outside the door frame kept approaching; Zhao Jianguo's hand had already rested on the wrench handle at the table corner, his whole body's muscles tensed like a fully drawn bowstring. Just as he was about to rise, his vision suddenly blurred, and a semi‑transparent interface popped out with a 'pop', blocking his line of sight directly ahead.

Ding! System upgraded to LV. 4, unlocking the 【Mission Release】 function.

Zhao Jianguo froze, his hand hanging in midair. The footsteps outside kept approaching, but he couldn't care less. The interface automatically expanded, and a line of bold text jumped out:

Mission Release: Help Jia Dongxu advance to Third-Class Worker Time limit: 90 days Reward: Advanced Fitter Tool Set ×1, National Meal Ticket 100 jin Status: Not accepted

He blinked, then blinked again. This wasn't an illusion. Leaving aside the meal ticket, he had seen that tool set before—hex wrench, precision vernier caliper, dial indicator with magnetic base—all treasures kept at the bottom of the box by veteran workers in the factory. Anyone who had such a set would be called a 'true expert' wherever they went.

The person outside finally showed his face—it was Zhao Erniu's newly accepted little apprentice, holding a rolled‑up drawing in his arms, with machine oil still on his forehead. 'Brother Jianguo, my dad sent me to deliver this sketch, saying to let you see if there's anything that needs changing.'

Zhao Jianguo let out a breath of relief, casually pushing the wrench back under the table. 'Come in, the floor's a mess—watch your step.'

The little apprentice slapped the drawing onto the table, turned and ran, leaving the door not properly closed. Wind seeped in through the door gap, making the paper's edges tremble. Zhao Jianguo ignored it, stared at the system interface for another two seconds, then tapped in midair: 'Accept mission.'

The interface flashed and disappeared. He lowered his head, rubbing his face, his mind already racing. Advancing to Third-Class Worker isn't easy; a master's recommendation alone won't cut it—one must pass three stages: theory exam, practical scoring, and group evaluation. Jia Dongxu's theoretical foundation is weak, though his practical skills are honed, but they're all based on self‑taught experience; if the examiners in the exam hall asked something like 'How is the reference plane for dynamic balancing defined?', he'd surely freeze on the spot.

But there is still a chance. Zhao Erniu's willingness to take him on is the biggest advantage. Besides, Jia Dongxu's spirit is up—last night he showed up at the door with a new notebook, his face flushed red as if he'd drunk two pots of baijiu, stubbornly claiming he 'just happened to pass by'. Give such a person a path, and he'll run with all his might.

Zhao Jianguo rose and pulled a stack of paper from the cabinet—the outline of junior fitter assessment that Zhao Erniu had dictated and he had written down a few days earlier. The edges were frayed, covered densely with Annotation. He flipped to the page 'Third-Class Worker Technical Requirements' and circled a few items in red: hydraulic system debugging, drive shaft straightening, precision measuring tool use… These were things Yi Zhonghai had stubbornly refused to teach back then; Jia Dongxu had never even heard of them.

He took out a blank sheet and began to list the plan. The first part is 'remedial lessons': break those few core technologies down and explain them piece by piece so Jia Dongxu can understand and remember them firmly; the second part is 'hands‑on practice': scrap old parts piled in the factory yard, haul a few back, set up a simple operation console, and practice every day; the third part is 'mock exam': find a few impartial veteran workers to act as examiners, time them, score them, and let him get used to that tense pressure.

Having written that, he paused, then added four characters at the top: Steady, Accurate, Ruthless, Fast.

This isn't an ordinary exam; it's a chance to turn things around. He must score well so everyone shuts up, leaving Yi Zhonghai with nothing sour to say.

As he was writing, a commotion came from the courtyard gate. This time the footsteps were heavy, each step leaving a print—unmistakably Jia Dongxu. He pushed the gate open and walked in, holding an oil‑paper bundle; before he could speak, half his face was already red.

"I… my mother steamed some vegetable buns, she asked me to bring you two."

Zhao Jianguo lifted his head, pointed at the drawing on the table, and said, 'Perfect—I also have a bunch of things I need to discuss with you.'

Jia Dongxu put down the oil‑paper bundle and leaned in to look. Zhao Jianguo pushed the freshly written plan toward him, pointing at the first item: 'Starting tomorrow, after work don't rush off—come with me to the back yard. I'll pass on to you all the skills Yi Zhonghai never taught you.'

Jia Dongxu stared at the paper, his eyes a little dazed. 'Can this… actually work? The Third‑Class Worker exam isn't a joke. Last year Old Sun took it twice and still failed.'

"Old Sun can't even read a vernier caliper." Zhao Jianguo shoved the pen into his hand, 'You're different. You have five years of hands‑on experience; you just lack a systematic rundown.'

He paused, lowered his voice to a self‑murmur (only he could hear), 'The system has already issued me a mission—helping you advance rewards me with an advanced tool set. This is a win‑win.'

Zhao Jianguo patted his shoulder, 'Just sign your name, and you're officially in on this plan.'

Jia Dongxu lowered his head to look at the paper, his fingers rubbing the 'Plan Executor' column. The room was so quiet you could hear the hiss of steam escaping the oil‑paper bundle. He suddenly lifted his head: 'What if… I fail the exam again?'

"Then keep practicing." Zhao Jianguo's tone held no hesitation, 'Keep practicing until you pass. Becoming a Third‑Class Worker isn't for show—it's so you can fix machines without having to beg others. Yi Zhonghai could hold you back for five years; I won't let anyone hold you back even a day.'

Jia Dongxu gritted his teeth, picked up the pen, and wrote his name on the paper. The letters were crooked like earthworms, but each stroke was pressed down hard.

"All right." He tossed the pen aside, 'I'll stick with you to the end.'

Zhao Jianguo nodded, took a fresh notebook from the drawer—its cover was coarse‑pressed kraft paper, corners neatly flattened—and slipped it into Jia Dongxu's hands: 'From today on, jot down useful things. Don't just note how Yi Zhonghai swears at people.'

Jia Dongxu took the notebook, lightly rubbed the cover with his fingers, then suddenly asked, 'First lesson… what will it be about?'

"Hydraulic calibration." Zhao Jianguo opened the outline, 'First I'll teach you to read the oil circuit diagram. Listen— the inlet isn't something you can just hook up randomly; if you get it wrong, a mild mistake will blow the valve body, a serious one will burst the whole system. The problem with that shearing machine you used to repair lies right here.'

Jia Dongxu widened his eyes: "Isn't it just that the air wasn't bled out?"

"Bleeding air is just a surface symptom." Zhao Jianguo took a pencil and sketched a simple diagram on the paper, 'The root cause is unstable inlet pressure, which lets air mix into the circuit. If you'd understood the oil‑circuit logic back then, you could have pinpointed the issue in three minutes.'

Jia Dongxu stared at the diagram, his brows furrowing little by little, as if he were lifting a veil of fog that had shrouded him for five years.

Zhao Jianguo said nothing more, merely flipped the outline to the next page and pushed it toward him. In red ink it read: 'Technique has no sect; only practice makes perfect.'

Outside, the sky gradually darkened; from the courtyard came a child's shout for dinner. Jia Dongxu remained motionless, still staring at the diagram. Zhao Jianguo rose to boil water at the stove; as he passed, he caught a glimpse of Jia Dongxu's profile—his gaze had turned steady, no longer wandering, like a piece of iron finally settling to the ground.

He knew this person had finally gotten on the right track.

The next morning, Zhao Jianguo carried his toolbox into the factory; passing the scrap heap, he casually dragged out an old guide rail and picked up two discarded bearing housings. He skipped lunch at the canteen, squatted in a corner, and used an angle grinder to flatten the interface. In the afternoon, when no one was around, he hauled the stuff to the back yard, welded a simple bracket, mounted the guide rail, hooked up a manual oil pump—and a mock hydraulic console was ready.

At 6:30 p. m., Jia Dongxu showed up punctually at the courtyard gate, holding a lunch box in one hand and gripping the new notebook tightly in the other.

"You're early." Zhao Jianguo handed him a wrench, 'First take this oil cylinder apart, remember the sequence.'

Jia Dongxu squatted, turned the first screw. His hand trembled a little; it took two turns before he found the right amount of force.

"Going slow is fine," Zhao Jianguo said from beside him, 'but every step you must know exactly what you're doing. This isn't just fixing a machine—it's learning a skill.'

Jia Dongxu nodded, took a deep breath, and started over.

Zhao Jianguo leaned against the wall, watching him dismantle the oil cylinder bit by bit, his motions shifting from clumsy to smooth. He knew this 'battle' had only just begun, but the first step had already been taken firmly.

Jia Dongxu unscrewed the last bolt, lifted his face—his forehead was drenched in sweat.

"What's the next step?"

Zhao Jianguo took a vernier caliper from the toolbox and handed it over.