Chapter 60: Collecting the Truth, the Opening Act

At dawn, Zhao Jianguo squatted at the Courtyard Gate brushing his teeth, the toothbrush moving back and forth in his mouth, but his eyes were fixed on the two shoe prints at the Wall Base. After a night, something new appeared beside the prints—a half cigarette butt, flattened, the paper rolled crookedly, the tobacco still exposed. He spat a bubble of foam, flicked the toothbrush handle lightly, and saw the sign: Big Front Gate.

He showed no reaction, pinched it and slipped it into his trouser pocket, then casually took a small notebook from the pocket, turned to a blank page, and wrote: "Big Front Gate, southeast corner outside the courtyard, beside the shoe prints, left last night." After writing, he closed the notebook and put it back in his pocket.

After the morning Meal Ticket, he carried his lunchbox to the factory, passed the entrance of Workshop Three, and ran into Jia Dongxu coming out with a tool bag.

"Dong Xu!" he called, and handed over the lunchbox, "The cafeteria steamed corn flatbread today; I brought an extra two for you."

Jia Dongxu was startled: "How did you know I didn't get a breakfast this morning?"

"Your eyes are as black as if smoked," Zhao Jianguo grinned, "Besides, your master called you for a midnight talk yesterday; what good could that be?"

Jia Dongxu lowered his head, rubbed his face, and said nothing.

Zhao Jianguo wasn't in a hurry, walking as he spoke: "I've been pondering something lately. Your master, he has the skill, but none of his apprentices ever make a breakthrough; doesn't that seem odd?"

Jia Dongxu's steps slowed by half a beat.

"I'm not picking a fight," Zhao Jianguo's tone steadied, "I just think some people suffer losses without any clear reason. You almost passed the Fourth-Class Worker assessment back then; the materials got inexplicably stuck for three months and then fell through. No one ever asked about that, right?"

Jia Dongxu snapped to a stand: "Who told you that?"

"Just idle chatter from the old guys at the plant," Zhao Jianguo said, looking at him, "It sounded off, so I wanted to investigate. If you can trust me, we'll team up and gradually uncover the things that have been buried over the years."

Jia Dongxu stared at him for a few seconds, shook his head: "Jianguo, you don't know how shrewd my master is. He's survived at the plant for so many years not because of his skill but because he manipulates people's hearts. If you move against him, he can instantly make you unwelcome here."

"So you just accept it?" Zhao Jianguo retorted, "When you train apprentices later, will you also let him block their promotions?"

Jia Dongxu bit his molars and said nothing.

"I'm not in a rush," Zhao Jianguo patted his shoulder, "Think it over first. I have an idea: we set up a youth skilled‑worker study group, meet every Wednesday night in the workshop Self‑Study Room, learn some techniques, discuss old matters. You lead, I'll support. Whoever wants to come can, whoever doesn't can stay away. No trouble, but we're not afraid of trouble either."

Jia Dongxu hesitated: "What… is this supposed to be?"

"It's us leaving a fallback for ourselves," Zhao Jianguo smiled, "True gold isn't afraid of fire, true matters aren't afraid of being spoken of."

At the cafeteria at noon, the two sat in a corner; Zhao Jianguo pulled an old booklet from under his lunchbox, its cover faded to white, titled "Machinery Maintenance Manual."

"Take a look at this," he lowered his voice, "I picked it up at a second‑hand book stall recently; a few pages of handwriting look just like your master's old notes. See the 'bearing pre‑tightening' section? The wording is different from what he taught you, right?"

Jia Dongxu flipped two pages, his brow furrowing: "This… is written more detailed than his teaching. Back then he only gave a rough outline, saying 'rely on experience.'"

"Exactly," Zhao Jianguo nodded, "He taught half and hid half. If you can't learn, you keep depending on him. But this book contains concrete algorithms. Why didn't he teach them?"

Jia Dongxu said nothing, but his finger lingered on the page for a long time.

"What do you think about the study group?" Zhao Jianguo closed the book, "This Wednesday I'll treat, bring two baked pancakes, we'll eat and chat."

Jia Dongxu inhaled deeply: "Alright. I'll take the lead."

Wednesday night, the workshop Self‑Study Room was lit. Jia Dongxu arrived half an hour early, wiped the Desk, moved chairs. One by one, seven or eight young skilled workers arrived—some who usually kept close to Jia Dongxu, others who heard "Engineer Zhao will discuss new techniques" and came specially.

Zhao Jianguo entered carrying a mesh bag filled with baked pancakes and a thermos. He didn't rush to speak, first pouring two cups of water and handing them to Jia Dongxu and Wang Defa's son.

"No lecture today," he got straight to the point, "let's talk about the 'old master's Rules Sign.' For example, why do some techniques remain incomplete even after apprentices study ten years? Why do some people's assessment materials disappear after being submitted, never to return?"

The room fell silent.

Someone lowered their head to sip tea, another fiddled with a cigarette, no one responded.

Zhao Jianguo didn't press, turned to Jia Dongxu: "Dong Xu, first tell me, where exactly did your Fourth‑Class Worker assessment get stuck back then?"

Jia Dongxu hesitated: "The materials… were said to be lost, then found, but the time had passed."

"Who handled them?"

"The workshop clerk, a man named Li."

"Where is Clerk Li now?"

"He was transferred to logistics and retired two years ago."

Zhao Jianguo nodded, took out his notebook and jotted two entries.

At that moment, Sha Zhu pushed the door in, carrying a wine flask: "Hey, why wasn't I invited to the study group? I'm also a technical backbone!"

"You?" Jia Dongxu laughed out loud, "Last time you fixed a faucet and turned the valve the wrong way."

"That was an accident!" Sha Zhu plopped down, poured himself a glass of water, and casually asked the person beside him: "Jianguo, I heard you talked with Wang Jianguo? That guy almost took over your master's shift back then."

A few people in the room lifted their heads.

"Wang Jianguo?" someone replied, "Didn't he get transferred to the suburban plant? I heard he got so angry he resigned and never touched a machine tool again."

"Why?" Zhao Jianguo asked.

"It's because of the assessment," an old worker said, "He got all‑A on his Fourth‑Class Worker assessment, submitted the materials, and got no response for three months. When he inquired again, they said 'materials lost, re‑assessment required.' He got so angry he quit on the spot, saying 'I won't serve any longer.'"

"Who was the handler?" Zhao Jianguo pressed.

"Still that Clerk Li," the old worker said, "but Clerk Li claimed 'I never even saw the materials,' and it ended unresolved."

Zhao Jianguo noted: Wang Jianguo, Fourth‑Class Worker assessment, materials missing for three months, handler Clerk Li, time March 1964.

He looked up and asked: "Any other similar cases? Whoever experienced or heard of one, please speak up."

No one responded immediately.

But the atmosphere loosened.

Someone began murmuring softly, mentioning who's promotion was blocked, whose transfer was inexplicable; clues were fragmentary but pointed the same way—anyone trying to rise, once linked to Yi Zhonghai, was almost certain to fall.

Zhao Jianguo didn't linger; at ten o'clock the meeting disbanded on time. Before leaving, he closed his notebook and said to Jia Dongxu: "First lead, we'll investigate Clerk Li. He's retired at home, easy to find. Find a pretext, pay him a visit, say you'd like to consult about old archive management."

Jia Dongxu nodded: "I'll go tomorrow."

The next workday, Yi Zhonghai stopped Jia Dongxu in the corridor, smiling amiably: "I heard you recently organized a study group? Good, young people should be ambitious."

Jia Dongxu was startled, quickly nodded: "It was Jianguo's suggestion; I thought we could learn something."

"Zhao Jianguo…," Yi Zhonghai said slowly, tapping the Big Front Gate sign, "He knows the technology, but his mind is too agile. Don't let anyone use him as a cannon."

"Not that extreme," Jia Dongxu lowered his head, "just to learn some skills."

Yi Zhonghai took a drag, squinting through the smoke: "Fine, as long as you know what's going on."

Not long after saying that, Zhao Jianguo met Su Qing at his own Courtyard Gate while she was hanging laundry.

He deliberately raised his voice: "Qingzi, Dong Xu switched to night shift, right? The study group moved to Thursday; remember to heat two pancakes for me."

Su Qing was startled, glanced at him, and immediately caught on: "Oh, right, what I just said."

Who this was said to, both of them knew clearly.

That night, Zhao Jianguo pulled out the half cigarette butt, burned it with a match, and scattered the ash into the flowerpot in the courtyard corner. He sat beside the stone table, opened his notebook, drew a horizontal line under the name "Li Wenshu," and wrote another line: "Yi Zhonghai has already noticed; countermeasures are imminent. Next step, set the bait."

He closed the notebook, looked up at the night sky. The cloud layer was thick, the moon was invisible, but wind blew from the southeast, carrying a hint of earthy scent.

He stood up, slipped the notebook into his underwear pocket, and casually touched— that spot was against his chest, a little warm.

At the neighboring Wall Base, a pair of cloth shoes stepped back lightly, stepping into the shallow water of the drainage ditch without making a sound.