Chapter 57: Skill Transmission, Laying the Foreshadowing

Wang Defa's hand had just touched the distribution box cover when he heard someone speaking behind him.

"Master Wang, you're still working this late?"

His shoulders tensed, he turned and saw Zhao Jianguo standing in the shadow of the tool rack, holding a canvas bag, his face expressionless.

"Oh, Jianguo." Wang Defa gave an embarrassed laugh, closed the box lid, and gave it a couple of taps, saying, "I'm just making my routine inspection on the way, what about you?"

"I came to get a wrench." Zhao Jianguo took two steps forward, set the bag on the operation console, pulled the zipper to reveal a half-worn copy of *Lathe Precision Adjustment Handbook*, and said, "Tomorrow I need to bring Jia Dongxu to adjust that old lathe in the third workshop, so I have to prepare some data in advance."

Wang Defa glanced at the manual, saw that page 37 was missing a corner, the edges ragged as if torn off hard; his heart stirred, but he said, "Yo, you're still bringing an apprentice? This book is practically falling apart."

"Old books are good," Zhao Jianguo flipped two pages, then shoved it back into his bag, saying, "What's written here is solid experience, far more useful than those flashy new prints the factory puts out."

Wang Defa nodded and asked, "I heard you had him adjust the spindle clearance?"

"Yeah." Zhao Jianguo pulled a calculation sheet from his bag and handed it over, saying, "Look, I've written him a set of parameters to hold for now; I'll explain the details tomorrow."

Wang Defa took the paper, glanced at it, saw "F3-7" written in pencil in the lower right corner, the characters so tiny they were barely legible. He pretended to absentmindedly fold the corner and slipped it into his work uniform pocket.

Zhao Jianguo didn't stop him, just smiled: "Let's go, don't let the night shift see us and think we're up to something."

The two left the workshop one after the other; Wang Defa walked slowly, but Zhao Jianguo sped up, and in a blink turned onto the little path of the family quarters.

The next morning, Jia Dongxu crouched beside the lathe, holding a micrometer, his brows furrowed into a knot.

"Brother Jianguo, the spindle runout is 0.02 mm—isn't that a bit large?"

Zhao Jianguo leaned in for a look, then set his insulated cup on the operation console, a coffee ring staining its base. "Use it for now—did you adjust the parameters I wrote on that sheet?"

"I did, but the vibration frequency feels off."

"No problem," Zhao Jianguo patted his shoulder, "this old lathe needs experience to keep it in line. Follow my numbers and you'll be fine."

Jia Dongxu reluctantly noted the data, flipped open his personal notebook. Zhao Jianguo glanced, saw him copying formulas onto a blank page, and handed over the manual with the missing page: "Take a look, but don't let it get out."

Jia Dongxu thanked him, was about to put it away, when Zhao Jianguo added, "Page 37 is missing—I'll hand-copy a copy for you later."

At lunchtime, Qin Huairu passed the tool table carrying an enamel basin, saw the manual spread out on the table, and stopped.

"Yo, Jianguo, you're teaching someone skills now?" she asked with a laugh.

"Just messing around," Zhao Jianguo said, biting into a steamed corn bun, "anyway, nobody at the factory wants to touch this old junk."

Qin Huairu nodded, her eyes lingering on the manual for a few seconds, then suddenly said, "My kid had a fever the past couple days; I borrowed his notebook to jot down some recipes and haven't given it back yet."

"Oh, that notebook's filthy—don't get your hands dirty."

"No problem." She smiled and turned away.

Zhao Jianguo lowered his head to drink his soup, saying nothing.

On the third day of debugging, Jia Dongxu adjusted the fixture angle according to Zhao Jianguo's parameters, but as soon as he started it up, the guide rail let out a dull "clunk".

"Brother Jianguo, is the oil line clogged?"

Zhao Jianguo walked over and, without thinking, knocked over the lubricant bottle beside him. The glossy yellow oil spread across the edge of the drawing, perfectly covering the compensation coefficient noted in the lower right corner.

"Whoops, I slipped." He grabbed a rag to wipe it, but only smeared the oil further, saying, "Go ahead and adjust by feel for now; I'll redraw the diagram later."

Jia Dongxu stared at the oil stain, feeling its shape was vaguely familiar, like he'd seen it somewhere before.

That night, Zhao Jianguo sneaked into the tool cabinet and slipped a notebook wrapped in cowhide into the innermost layer. The cover read "Five-Seven Dry School Electrical Class Training Notes"; opening to page 37 revealed a string of bearing clearance calculation formulas—the key coefficient marked in Russian, invisible unless you looked closely.

He knew Wang Defa would eventually come to look through it.

Sure enough, early the fifth morning, the tool cabinet had been disturbed. The notebook was still there, but the page edges bore slight creases, as if it had been hastily flipped through and closed.

Zhao Jianguo made no fuss, only calling Jia Dongxu to the lathe in the afternoon.

"Come, I'll teach you the last step." He pulled a piece of chalk from his bag, wrote a few numbers on the inner side of the column, and said, "Remember, this value is core—turn it up and the spindle burns, turn it down and the precision isn't enough."

Having written them, he tore off a piece of insulating tape and stuck it over the numbers, covering the crucial digit.

"Wait till tomorrow when I bring the magnifying glass to show you the full thing."

Jia Dongxu stared at the concealed numbers, his heart pounding, yet he still wrote them down.

That night, he tested all night. Zhao Jianguo "happened" to pass by and handed him an insulated cup: "Drink some hot water, don't wear yourself out."

The cup's base left a coffee ring on the drawing, forming a shadow that just covered the sandpaper model column.

Jia Dongxu didn't notice, merely focusing on recording the vibration frequency.

On the eve of the seventh day's acceptance, Zhao Jianguo turned on the workshop broadcast and played a record of the *Soviet Industrial Song Collection*. When the third track played, he tweaked the frequency so the speaker emitted a faint hum.

In the corner of the distribution box, Wang Defa's installed microcamera flashed twice, and the storage card began to glitch.

The next morning, Yi Zhonghai led the Technical Section staff to conduct an inspection.

"What's going on with the spindle vibration?" he asked, staring at the recorder.

Zhao Jianguo pointed to the curve: "This is adjusted according to Master Wang's earlier 'experience coefficient'—he said old equipment just needs to be handled by feel."

Yi Zhonghai's face darkened as he turned to Jia Dongxu: "What's with the sandpaper treatment? The surface roughness is out of spec."

Jia Dongxu hurriedly produced the drawing: "Engineer Zhao says this treatment boosts wear resistance, and that oil stain is the key."

Yi Zhonghai squinted at the oil stain, then felt the sandpaper package—the paper inside had gotten damp, the abrasive grains unevenly distributed.

"Who told you to use this?"

"Brother Jianguo gave it to me."

Zhao Jianguo pulled the training notebook from his tool kit: "The key coefficient is on page 37, but you need a magnifying glass to read the Russian annotation."

Yi Zhonghai snatched the notebook, flipped to page 37, saw the formulas were intact, only the coefficient written in Russian said "needs to be halved." He was about to erupt when Zhao Jianguo added, "This is what Master Wang taught back at the dry school."

Yi Zhonghai closed his mouth and tossed the notebook back onto the table.

The inspection barely passed.

That afternoon, Zhao Jianguo ran into Qin Huairu at the courtyard gate.

"Jianguo, did you look at Dongxu's notebook?" she asked.

"Which one?"

"The one he uses to record his techniques."

Zhao Jianguo took out a freshly machined part from his toolbag and handed it to the kid running by nearby: "Take it to play, be careful not to cut your hand—this is made according to Master Yi's secret skill."

The kid took it, turning it over and over to look. The part's surface had a 0.03‑millimeter dent, slanted in direction, as if left by a slipping grinding wheel.

Qin Huairu stared at the dent, then suddenly asked: "This pattern… why does it look familiar?"

Zhao Jianguo looked up at the sky: "Do you see that line of clouds? Doesn't it resemble our workshop's main shaft?"

The cloud layer drifted slowly, its direction matching the angle at which the light bricks are stacked.

Qin Huairu didn't ask again.

Zhao Jianguo returned home, pulled out a log from the System Space, and filled in a line:

"Skill inheritance completion 78%, vulnerability trigger countdown 63 days."

He closed the notebook and walked to the window.

By the wall base of the neighboring courtyard, Wang Defa was squatting and smoking, with an old toolbox placed beside his foot.

Zhao Jianguo stared at the box for a few seconds, turned around, took a new roll of magnetic tape from the drawer, and inserted it into the recorder.

As he pressed the record button, he heard a "click" from outside.

It was the sound of the toolbox latch popping open.