Chapter 8: Swapping old textbooks to achieve cooperation

Zhao Jianguo placed that tattered, corner‑missing physics book on the bedside table, then casually pulled out half a pencil lead from his ring and sketched two force‑analysis diagrams on the blank pages. The pencil tip was a bit dull, the lines came out wobbly, like earthworms crawling through mud. He blew away the debris on the paper, thinking: relying solely on this damaged book, he could last at most three or five days; for a systematic review he'd still need a full set of textbooks.

Li Xiaohua came out of the kitchen carrying an enamel basin; her steps paused as she passed the pile of lumber at the courtyard corner. Yesterday that heap of wood shavings had been stacked like a small hill, but this morning it was gone entirely, and the loose blue‑stone slab beside the well had been leveled flat; even the threshold of the courtyard gate had been trimmed at an angle, so the coal cart no longer got stuck going in and out.

"What are you busy with again this early morning?" she said, setting the basin on the ground and wringing out a wet garment.

"Just tidied up on the side." Zhao Jianguo squatted under the eaves, sanding the last edge of the toolbox with sandpaper, "You said yesterday you wanted to go to school, after all you need to leave a reliable impression."

Li Xiaohua looked at his hands—wood dust lodged in his fingernails—but his movements were neat and quick; where the sandpaper passed, the wood took on a warm sheen. She opened her mouth, but in the end didn't repeat the old saying "Don't neglect your recitation." Everything this kid had done these past two days was purposeful, not busywork.

"You really intend to go to school?" she asked, wringing out the last cloth and lifting the basin, "Or are you just after novelty?"

"Of course not." Zhao Jianguo stood up, brushed dust off his pants, "My father fixes machines by experience; I can read blueprints, so when the factory upgrades equipment, I'll be the one who gets up to speed fastest."

Li Xiaohua snorted, "That's the reasoning, but you can't spend every day running out, fixing this, doing that, neglecting your books and skipping class—you'll fall behind again."

Zhao Jianguo laughed, "Mom, I know my limits. If you don't believe me, I'll make a solemn pledge—I'll have all the textbooks gathered today and start serious memorization tomorrow."

"Textbooks?" Li Xiaohua raised an eyebrow, "You've got money to buy? A new book costs seven fen; five would be three mao five fen, and we're not well off."

"I won't buy." Zhao Jianguo narrowed his eyes, "I'll trade."

As soon as he finished speaking, he set off at a quick pace toward San Daye Yanbugui's house. The Yan family's wooden gate creaked year‑round, its hinge worn hot; a couple of days ago he had offhandedly remarked it needed oiling, never imagining it would come in handy just then.

Three knocks, the door cracked open, and Yanbugui poked out half his head, still clutching half a steamed bun.

"Jianguo?" he mumbled around a mouthful, "What's up?"

"Sir, if you don't fix this hinge, you'll have to replace the door panel." Zhao Jianguo pointed to the thick layer of black dust at the bottom of the frame, "See? The wood's been ground to powder."

Yanbugui followed his gaze, brow furrowing, "True enough… but the last time you repaired the pump, the scrap Old Zhang gave you—what could you even do with that?"

"I'm not here for materials." Zhao Jianguo produced a small oil can from his trouser pocket—something he'd dug out of his ring the night before, its previous owner unknown, and which had lain unused—"I'll fix three things for you free of charge: this hinge, the stuck drawer in your desk, and the nearly broken handle on your coal stove. In return, spare me a few old textbooks—second‑year level, Chinese, math, or physics will do."

Upon hearing this, Yanbugui forgot to chew the bun in his mouth. Each of those three repairs would cost one or two mao if taken to a factory, especially the drawer—its runner is cracked, so fixing it is labor‑intensive. A few old textbooks? His son had tossed last year's under the bed; not even a packet of pickled vegetables would find a taker.

"You sure?" he narrowed his eyes, "If you can't fix it, it doesn't count."

"If I can't fix it, feel free to whack me with a broom straw." Zhao Jianguo laughed, "Either way, I won't shirk responsibility."

Yanbugui hesitated three seconds, then stepped aside: "Come in, let's look at the hinge first."

Zhao Jianguo didn't waste words, rolled up his sleeves and got to work. The hinge was seized, rusted as if welded; he first soaked it in oil, then tapped it lightly with a small hammer, and finally filed the edges bit by bit. In under twenty minutes the door gave a "creak" and moved as smoothly as if newly installed.

"Hey, it actually works." Yanbugui gave it a couple of pushes, a hint of a smile appearing on his face.

The second item was the desk drawer. Yanbugui especially stressed, "This thing is so old that even if fixed it won't last a few days."

Zhao Jianguo didn't reply, simply removed the whole drawer. He reinforced the broken runner with a wooden wedge, coated the seam with wax to prevent sticking, then slid it back in—smooth all the way, with not a hint of catching.

"If you still think it's not enough, I'll wrap it in a layer of iron." Zhao Jianguo clapped his hands, "Anyway, I'll need some metal for the third job—the coal‑stove handle."

Yanbugui had nothing to say. He crouched beside the stove, watching Zhao Jianguo weld the loose iron handle shut in a few quick, practiced motions—so efficient it didn't look like the work of a half‑grown kid.

"All right." He rose, patted his pants, "Wait here, I'll go have a look."

He ducked into the inner room, dragged out a bundle of papers tied with hemp rope from under the bed, gave it a shake, and seven or eight books tumbled out. The covers were curled at the edges, the page feet darkened, but when opened the text was perfectly legible.

"They're all second‑year level—my son used them last year." Yanbugui pulled out a few and handed them over, "Take them, just don't lose them."

Zhao Jianguo took them, flipping through each one. The math book still had a few practice problems not erased cleanly, the physics book bore crooked circuit diagrams, and the blank spaces in the Chinese textbook even read "Zhangxiaohua is really pretty"—he almost laughed out loud.

"Thank you, sir." He clutched the books to his chest, "If you have any other work later, just call me."

"Read these books through first before you talk." Yanbugui waved a hand, "Don't just know how to fix things while being illiterate."

Zhao Jianguo chuckled, "Rest assured, I'm far more diligent than your son."

As he carried the books back inside, Li Xiaohua was sitting on the doorstep sorting vegetables. Seeing him lug a pile of tattered volumes, her brows instantly knotted into a frown: "Where'd you pick up this scrap paper? Throw it out quick—it'll invite damp."

"Mom, this isn't waste paper." Zhao Jianguo set the books on the table, opened the physics book, pointed to a problem and recited the answer, "When an object is acted on by two forces in opposite directions, with magnitudes of 5 newtons and 3 newtons, what is the net force?"

"Well…" Li Xiaohua blinked, "Obviously 2 newtons—elementary arithmetic."

"But do you know why?" Zhao Jianguo continued, "Because force is a vector, it has direction. Just like when you push a cart forward while I pull backward—we're opposing each other, the cart doesn't move because the net force cancels out."

Li Xiaohua listened, stunned, forgetting to pinch the string beans in her hand.

"You… you really understood?"

"More than just understood." Zhao Jianguo neatly stacked the books on the bedside table and covered them with a clean cloth, "I also know how to draw free‑body diagrams and calculate friction coefficients. These books are worth more than gold. My father repairs machines by skill; I go to school relying on them."

Li Xiaohua stared at the stack for a long moment, then reached out and touched the cover. The paper was brittle, the corners curled, yet every page was filled with notes, the blank spaces densely packed with worked‑out calculations.

She no longer insisted on throwing them away.

"Then… use it well." She finally blurted out, turning back to the kitchen to boil water, "Don't waste this book, and don't waste the goodwill your father went out to solicit."

Zhao Jianguo smiled. He knew this hurdle was cleared.

He sat back on the bed's edge, slipping the textbooks one by one into his ring. When he got to the last one—second‑year physics (lower volume)—he gave it an extra glance. The spine was split, as if torn and then glued back, but the interior pages were intact, the experimental chapter not missing.

His fingertip lingered on the cover, about to stow it away, when he heard Sha Zhu shout from outside: "Jianguo! Can you make another toolbox? My wrench gets lost all the time—I'd like someone to build me a cabinet, but I hate to spend the money!"

Zhao Jianguo answered, not rushing out. He first stowed the textbooks, then pulled out that pencil stub from his ring and wrote on the paper: "Textbooks in hand—first phase complete." The pencil tip paused, then he added: "Next step, fix Old Master Yan's old radio."

The pencil tip paused, then he added: "Next step, fix Old Master Yan's old radio."