Chapter 62

At daybreak, Zhao Jianguo squatted at the Courtyard Gate brushing his teeth, the toothbrush moving back and forth in his mouth, foam almost bubbling out of his nostrils. Su Qing poked her head out from inside the house: "Why are you up so early today? Yesterday you said you wanted to sleep till you woke naturally."

"Waking naturally can't catch the start of the show." He rinsed his mouth, flicked the toothbrush into the cup, "Dong Xu is taking the Fifth-Class Worker exam today; I need to grab a front-row seat to see whose face turns green first."

Su Qing shook her head and laughed: "You people, watching the excitement and not even letting others catch their breath."

He grinned, picked up his Meal Ticket and walked over; when he passed the cellar door his foot paused, he bent down and pulled a glass bottle from the corner, inside which a blackened Electric Wire was soaking, with a note stuck on the bottle: "Personally transmitted by Master Yi, half the technique, shelf life ten years."

He unscrewed the cap, took a sniff, the sour smell shot straight to his head, and satisfied, he slipped it into the inner layer of his Meal Ticket.

A crowd had already gathered in the workshop. The Fifth-Class Worker practical exam—usually a quiet corner—was packed like a market today. Dong Xu stood before the machine, his face tense, gripping a sheet of paper so hard his knuckles whitened.

Zhao Jianguo squeezed into the front row, set his Meal Ticket on the Toolbox, and, as an afterthought, took out the glass bottle and placed it in the most conspicuous spot.

"Jianguo, what are you doing?" Wang Defa leaned in, frowning at the bottle.

"You'll find out soon." Zhao Jianguo said calmly, "First watch how Dong Xu publicly tears apart the Ancestral Secret Formula."

Not long after the exam began, Dong Xu suddenly stopped, raised the paper: "Examiners, I have a question."

The whole venue fell silent.

His voice wasn't loud, but each word struck like a nail: "This 'Dual-Axis Calibration Method' was written by my master, Yi Zhonghai, in his own hand, and it says 'This method is to be transmitted only to the eldest son, not to be leaked.' I've studied three years, yet he never taught me this part. If I don't use it today, does that mean I fail?"

A low buzz rose from the crowd.

An old man with glasses in the judging panel frowned: "You brought reference material into the venue; that's against the Rules Sign."

"Rules Sign?" Dong Xu sneered, "Three years ago, when Wang Jianguo defended for his Fourth-Class Worker certification, the missing piece was exactly this page. The materials were stolen, the technology withheld, the person forced out—is that what you call Rules Sign?"

Zhao Jianguo slowly Standing Up, flipped open the lid of his Meal Ticket, and took out that worn notebook, its cover reading 'Machinery Maintenance Manual', with several yellowed pages tucked inside.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Zhao Jianguo said softly, "I also have a few pages outside the Rules Sign."

He flipped open a page and read: "In March 1968, Wang Jianguo submitted his Fourth-Class Worker examination materials; the approval process stalled at the Technical Section for seven days, the approver—Yi Zhonghai. At the same time, the warehouse issued two hundred meters of copper wire, marked 'equipment repair', yet that month not a single machine in the plant turned a screw."

He turned another page: "In May 1969, Dong Xu independently completed a major overhaul of the No. 3 Lathe; the acceptance report was returned, the reason given 'incomplete operation records'. Yet just the day before, someone had borrowed all of his manuscripts, the lending log—still Yi Zhonghai."

The crowd erupted.

"Holy shit, they even copied his notebook!"

"No wonder Dong Xu's machine, which was working fine, was declared unqualified."

"The day Wang Jianguo resigned, I heard him tell someone, 'No matter how well you study, it's useless if they won't let you pass.'"

Zhao Jianguo slammed the notebook onto the workbench: "Today Dong Xu using this method isn't cheating—it's collecting a debt! Three years of seniority, three years of sweat, three years stuck at the gate, all just to wait for a 'technique passed to the son'?"

He scanned the room: "You tell me, can we still do this work?"

Nobody spoke.

But someone gently placed the Wrench on the ground.

Another one.

Yet another.

Tools fell silent one by one, the machines' hum fading away.

The dispatcher rushed in, shouting: "What are you doing? Get back to work! This is a collective slowdown—you'll get a demerit!"

Zhao Jianguo turned to look at him: "A demerit? Then first go report a case to the Security Section—someone has been hoarding technical materials for a long time, suspected of disrupting production order; want to investigate?"

The dispatcher choked, his face turning the color of pig's liver.

Just then, a commotion broke out at the entrance.

Yi Zhonghai arrived.

He wore a washed‑white work uniform, his hair messy, his eye sockets deep‑set, as if he hadn't slept in days. He pushed into the crowd, pointing at Dong Xu: "You… you ungrateful wretch! I've taught you all these years, and this is how you repay me?"

Dong Xu stared at him, voice trembling: "You taught me? You taught only half! I ask you, why were Wang Jianguo's materials held by you for three months? Why did you say my acceptance report 'lacked records'? You borrowed my manuscripts, copied page after page, then turned around and said I wasn't qualified?"

Yi Zhonghai's lips quivered: "I… I did it for your own good! If the technique isn't precise, you can't pass."

Zhao Jianguo walked over, holding the glass bottle in his hand: "Then explain this—why do you teach apprentices only half? This wire soaked in vinegar—rust prevention is rust prevention, but where's the real technique? Hidden in the notebook, passed only to the son?"

He held the bottle high: "Everyone look—this is Master Yi's teaching method—hold back a hand, stall a level, suppress for three years, then make them leave spotless!"

He slammed the bottle onto the bulletin board, the glue sticking fast.

"From today on, whoever wants to learn the full technique, come find me. I don't take apprentices, but I have copies."

The venue fell silent for a few seconds.

Then someone shouted, "Zhao Jianguo is right! Technology is the workers' rice bowl, not anyone's private property!"

"No monopolizing technology!"

"Give Wang Jianguo justice!"

"Give Dong Xu fairness!"

The slogans rose one after another, each louder than the last.

Yi Zhonghai stood where he was, face ashen, wanting to speak, he opened his mouth but no sound came out.

He tried to raise his hand, but his arm shook violently; in the end he could only slowly retreat.

Nobody helped him.

Nobody paid him any attention.

He retreated to the entrance, back against the wall, his whole body sliding down until he sat on the ground.

Zhao Jianguo stood before the workbench, watching the seething crowd below, neither smiling nor speaking.

Wang Defa walked over and asked quietly: "What now? The factory will definitely try to suppress it, for sure."

"Suppress?" Zhao Jianguo pulled two corn‑meal cakes from his Meal Ticket, handed one to him, "Can they really suppress it? In this workshop today, not a single screw can be turned."

Wang Defa took a bite of the cake: "Then why did you pull out the bottle so early? Yesterday you still said you were waiting for him to beg you to teach apprentices."

"Wait?" Zhao Jianguo chewed the cake, speaking indistinctly, "Now the whole plant knows he teaches only half—who would still dare to become his apprentice? He doesn't even have a chance to be begged."

Just as they were speaking, another commotion broke out at the workshop entrance.

Dong Xu walked back from the examiners' bench, clutching a sheet of paper, his expression complex.

"Passed?" Zhao Jianguo asked.

Jia Dongxu nodded: "Passed. But the judges said… let me not bring up 'family inheritance' again in the future, it's a bad influence."

"Influence?" Zhao Jianguo laughed, "He stole materials, blocked apprentices, imposed a tech blockade—that's what a bad influence is. You passed with real skill, what's there to not mention?"

He took the evaluation pass slip, looked at it, then suddenly tore it in half.

Jia Dongxu froze: "What are you doing?"

"This paper is useless." Zhao Jianguo threw the scraps into the waste bin, "A real pass isn't about a stamp, it's about everyone acknowledging you."

He turned around, picked up the notebook on the workbench, flipped to a page, and handed it to Jia Dongxu: "Your master had hidden the 'Calibration Method' for ten years; I restored it. From today on, you teach others, don't learn from him."

Jia Dongxu took the notebook, his fingers trembling slightly.

Zhao Jianguo fished out the last cake from the lunch box again, broke it in half, and handed him a half: "Eat up, you're tired today."

Jia Dongxu took it, bit a mouthful, didn't chew, and his eyes reddened first.

"Jianguo," he said quietly, "I really didn't see it before… you're tougher than anyone."

"I'm not ruthless." Zhao Jianguo gnawed at the cake, his gaze sweeping the workshop, "I just don't let honest people suffer."

He walked to the bulletin board, looking at the bottle with electric wire soaking in it, fingerprints still on the glass.

"Technology is dead, people are alive." He said, "But some people insist on turning living people into dead rules."

Wang Defa stood beside him: "You say, can he still stay in this factory going forward?"

Zhao Jianguo didn't answer.

He stared at the bottle, then suddenly reached out and pulled the vinegar-soaked electric wire out of it.

The copper wire had turned black, its edges corroded into tiny holes.

He pinched the wire end and gave it a light tug.

The wire snapped.

Half remained in the bottle, half in his hand.

He lowered his head, looked, shoved the broken wire into his mouth, chewed twice, then spat it on the ground.