Chapter 43

Night had just fallen, Zhao Jianguo capped his pen with a click, then casually shoved the notebook into the drawer. Outside the window, moonlight fell on the packet of sweet potato starch at the desk corner, a white pile, quiet, as if not yet awakened.

In the courtyard, Yi Zhonghai was still loitering; Zhao Jianguo didn't look at him. He couldn't be bothered with the Yan family father and son's little schemes. His mind had already turned to other matters. Just seeing clearly wasn't enough; he needed to act. Like in war, once you've made up your mind, you must charge.

At the first hint of dawn, Zhao Jianguo left the house and headed straight for the Street Office's sewing group. Last night he had thought it through and finally saw clearly—Qin Huairu's biggest problem wasn't hunger but her household registration being stuck. Jia Dongxu alone was bearing the load at the Steel Rolling Factory; with two kids and an elderly mother, the whole family relied on his meager ration. This life was bound to collapse sooner or later. Converting from agricultural to non-agricultural status? Nothing that easy. Someone had to extend a ladder, and then climb the steps upward.

Arriving at the sewing group, a crowd gathered around the edge-stitching machine, staring helplessly. The machine had been broken for days; the factory couldn't fix it, and nobody at the Street Office knew how. The quarterly target was about to fail. Zhao Jianguo didn't join the gawkers; he stood at the doorway and watched awhile. The belt was loose enough to fall off, and the gear set was worn smooth. He went to the hardware store, borrowed a wrench, returned, and without a word knelt down to take the machine apart.

"Hey, who are you?" a female worker stretched out her hand to block him, eyes wary like a thief's.

"Fixing the machine." He didn't lift his head, hands moving, "If you don't act now, your bonuses will be gone."

The female worker hesitated, then stopped blocking him. He opened the transmission box in two or three moves—sure enough, the gear set was rotted like a gnawed bone, the belt brittle and ready to snap. He pulled a smoothed old gear set from his pocket—picked up at the Scrap Yard a couple days earlier and kept all along. He installed it, adjusted the belt like tuning a string, pressed the start button, and the machine hummed to life, alive.

The workers exclaimed "Wow!" A little girl clapped: "This person is more capable than the technician!"

As his words fell, Director Yi strode over, face drawn long: "Who let you touch it? Who's responsible if something goes wrong?"

Zhao Jianguo set down the wrench, took out a handkerchief to wipe his hands, and said calmly: "I take responsibility. If it breaks, I'll compensate."

Director Yi sized him up: "Who are you? Which unit are you from?"

"Zhao Jianguo, a secondary vocational graduate from the Steel Rolling Factory; now in the courtyard I repair bicycles and radios, and when idle I help people look at machines, just for fun."

Director Yi's face darkened: "Idle people, don't cause trouble—this machine is precious; you couldn't afford to pay for it."

Zhao Jianguo pointed at the machine: "If you don't believe me, let it run for ten minutes; if it breaks, I'll leave and never step through this door again."

Director Yi snorted, waved his hand to have someone start the machine. It ran steadily for ten minutes, not a single stitch off. His expression eased a bit: "Your skill… where did you learn it?"

"Self-taught. I read a lot of books, took apart many parts, and then I understood."

Director Yi stared at him for a few seconds, then suddenly asked: "Do you know how to record audio?"

Zhao Jianguo blinked: "Yes. I have an old-fashioned recorder and can also edit."

"All right." Director Yi nodded, "Next week the Street Office is holding an experience-sharing meeting; no one will record the technical points. If you can do it, it'll be a temporary assignment with a subsidy."

"I'll take the assignment, but I don't want the subsidy." Zhao Jianguo smiled, "I have something I'd like you to hear."

"Speak."

"Jia Dongxu, you know him, right?"

"The one from the Steel Rolling Factory? His technique is not bad."

"He innovated the edge-stitching process, compressing seven steps into four, boosting efficiency by thirty percent. I recorded his talk—would you like to listen?"

Director Yi's eyelid twitched: "You have a recording?"

"Yes. It's explained very clearly, with a novel idea. Promoted widely, the Street Office's targets could jump up a notch."

Director Yi didn't speak, his eyes bright. At this moment, whoever holds an "advanced model" in hand gains political merit. He paused: "The recording? Bring it over, let's listen."

Zhao Jianguo took a tape from his pocket and handed it over. Director Yi accepted it, glanced at him: "You're speaking for him—what's your angle?"

"Nothing in particular." Zhao Jianguo smiled, "Just this technical seedling—don't let his family drag him down and bury him. His wife Qin Huairu has a rural household registration; her children's schooling, medical care, and grain/oil supplies are all blocked, making life extremely hard. If she could convert to non-agricultural status, Jia Dongxu could also focus on production with peace of mind."

Director Yi gave no response, just tapped the tape twice with his finger.

Zhao Jianguo didn't press further: "If you think the recording is usable, I can organize the materials and also assist with a demonstration. As for Qin Huairu's matter… if you could handle it as a special case, our Street Office would truly have a model family of technical excellence."

Director Yi looked at him for several seconds, then suddenly laughed: "You kid, you don't talk much, but you've got a whole set of tricks."

"Just speaking the truth."

"All right." Director Yi slipped the tape into his pocket, "I'll listen to the recording, and I'll keep an eye on the person. As for the household registration… policies are rigid, people are flexible. If there's real contribution, the higher-ups will also have to consider human feelings."

Zhao Jianguo nodded: "Then I'll trouble you."

He turned to leave, but Director Yi called him back: "If the machine breaks again in the future, I'll have someone call you."

"Just call whenever." Zhao Jianguo turned back with a smile, "Whenever called, I'll come."

Walking out of the Street Office, Zhao Jianguo took a deep breath. The first step had succeeded. Director Yi isn't stupid; he knows how much "technological innovation" is worth. As soon as that tape is played, Qin Huairu's household registration won't be begged for—it will be earned.

He didn't go home, but turned into the pigeon market for a stroll. Grain prices had steadied a bit. Xu Da Mao was squatting in a corner selling old books; seeing him nod and bow, he said: "Brother Zhao Jianguo, long time no see."

Zhao Jianguo ignored him, walked to the electrical stall, and flipped through a pile of discarded recorders. He picked two heads, bought some tape, and casually asked: "Has anyone recently asked about the edge-stitching machine?"

The stall owner shook his head: "Nobody asked. On the contrary, Director Yi's wife came yesterday asking if the radio could be fixed; I told her I didn't know anyone."

Zhao Jianguo nodded, having figured it out. The radio at Director Yi's home ought to have been fixed long ago; he deliberately stayed silent, keeping a backup plan. Helping once is a favor; helping twice builds a relationship.

Carrying the parts back, he passed the well and ran into Qin Huairu drawing water. Her complexion was still sallow, eyes deep-set, but a bit more stable than before. Zhao Jianguo walked over and slipped a packet of dried sweet potato into her apron pocket.

"Here."

She startled: "This… again gives you trouble."

"It's not for you." He said evenly, "It's for Jia Dongxu. He's working on technology with an empty stomach; if he achieves something, it's also face for our courtyard."

Qin Huairu stared blankly: "Technology? He hasn't been doing anything lately."

"Soon." Zhao Jianguo smiled, "Just wait and see."

She still wanted to ask, but he had already left. She stood by the well, head lowered, looking at that packet of dried sweet potato, her fingers trembling slightly.

Zhao Jianguo returned home, installed the new head into the recorder, and tested the sound quality. It was clear and stable. He pressed the record button and spoke into the microphone: "Comrade Jia Dongxu, at today's production meeting proposed an optimization plan for the edge-stitching process; after practical verification, efficiency increased by thirty-two point five percent…"

After finishing the recording, he rewound and listened once through, then nodded.

Outside, footsteps sounded. Director Yi's wife walked by, a basket slung over her arm, clutching a slip for radio repair.

Zhao Jianguo's mouth curled up, and he turned off the recorder.

He opened the drawer, took out a bottle of homemade lubricant—vaseline mixed with graphite powder, specially for fixing old appliances. He put it in a cloth bag and gently placed it on the shoe cabinet by the door.

He sat back at the desk, opened his notebook, and wrote under "Qin Huairu": "First step completed; Director Yi has received the recording. Next step: the radio malfunctions, proactively visit to establish a private connection."

He closed the notebook, his hand finding the recorder's switch.

With a click, it popped up.