Chapter 97: Family Joy: Twins Arrive

Zhao Jianguo placed the soy‑milk bowl on the table, having just tightened the last screw, when the pocket watch in his trouser pocket rang suddenly. He took it out and saw the hand had just passed seven o'clock, but the chime was wrong—it was the style of the watch Su Qing had sewn into the inner pocket of her shirt, which they had agreed to only shake in emergencies.

He suddenly stood up, and the wrench "Clang!" fell to the ground.

"What's this?" Sha Zhu, squatting at the doorway munching a baked pancake, looked up and asked.

"My wife went into the hospital," Zhao Jianguo grabbed his Coat and rushed out. "She said yesterday she felt a bit unwell; I thought she was just tired."

Sha Zhu almost choked on the crust of his baked pancake: "Shuang Baotai about to be born? Oh my god, go quickly, go quickly! Want me to call a tricycle?"

"No need, I rode here," Zhao Jianguo hopped onto his bicycle, pedaled two strokes, then called back, "If Jia Dongxu comes later to ask about the observation, tell him to reschedule; I can't attend right now!"

The wind brushed his face with a sting, but he couldn't pay attention to it. His mind was a chaotic porridge all the way, worrying whether Su Qing could hold on, regretting that the past two days he had only been tinkering with blueprints and hadn't spent more time walking with her. Passing a side‑food shop, he saw Wang Shen carrying brown sugar toward the hospital, and his heart gave a jolt—someone must have known already.

At the obstetrics‑gynecology building's entrance, he leaned his bike against the wall, ran up without even pulling out the key. At the stair corner he ran into Nurse Li carrying a tray down, a speck of blood on her white coat.

"Zhao Jianguo?" she recognized him. "Don't panic, the mother is already in the delivery room, the situation is stable. It's twins, we need to be careful."

"Is she… in a lot of pain?" he asked, panting.

"The cervix is six fingers dilated, and she can still speak, stronger than most people," Nurse Li smiled, "She just asked me to tell you, 'Don't loiter at the doorway; do what you need to do.'"

Zhao Jianguo twisted his mouth into a grin, almost laughing to the point of tears.

He sat on the hallway bench, his hand still in his trouser pocket, feeling the Permission token the system gave him. He rarely needed this gadget, but today, for some reason, a voice in his head urged him to check something. He closed his eyes, focused, and an interface floated in his mind.

He entered "Jia Wu work injury 196X".

The Screen flickered a few times, spitting out an encrypted summary: "Investigation shows the deceased Jia Wu had contact with foreign transmitted items before death; the duty log on the accident day shows signs of human tampering; recommendation to merge the case for investigation."

His fingers tightened.

Not an accident? Someone had already meddled?

Just as he was thinking, the delivery room door "Creak" opened, and a nurse peeked out: "Which family member is surnamed Zhao? You can prepare to receive the babies; both are fine, mother and child safe!"

Zhao Jianguo sprang to his feet, his legs a bit weak.

"The mother lost a fair amount of blood and needs observation for a while; she can't be seen for now," the nurse said, carrying a small swaddling cloth out. "Take a look at the babies first."

He followed to the nursery's glass. Another nurse pushed out an incubator; inside lay two tightly wrapped little ones, faces flushed, tiny mouths sucking, like two freshly caught fish fry.

He reached through the glass, his fingertips touching the warm surface.

"So tiny…" he murmured, "Not much bigger than my palm."

"First‑born twins, a safe birth is a blessing," the nurse smiled, "Your wife was strong; she labored for four hours without a pause."

Zhao Jianguo lowered his head, pulled a small notebook from his chest, opened the latest page, and wrote: "Jia Wu case anomalous, foreign‑related, clue loop pending." He closed it, slipped it back into his inner pocket, without a hint of hesitation.

He stared at the children behind the glass for a long while, then whispered, "Dad, Mom, these two babies, I will definitely protect."

Back in the hallway, he leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Only then did he feel his back soaked through, his shirt clinging to his spine, cool. He raised his hand to wipe his face, realizing he had been sweating all over without noticing.

His phone buzzed again. This time it was the backup alarm he left in the workshop—a daily 3 p. m. reminder to inspect the Toolbox.

He glanced at the time; it was almost three.

"I have to go back," he muttered to himself.

Just before the hospital exit, he halted, looked up at the second‑floor room window lit up. The curtains were drawn, obscuring the interior, but he knew Su Qing was lying there, having just survived a life‑or‑death ordeal.

He neither waved nor spoke, just silently nodded.

He stepped out of the hospital gates, the setting sun warm on his face, not scorching but reassuring. He rode the old road back to the Siheyuan; passing the market, he heard a few elderly women chatting: "Did you hear? Technician Zhao's family added Shuang Baotai!" "Oh my, good deeds bring blessings." "His workshop fixes machines every day; he's a kind soul."

He smiled and kept going.

At the workshop entrance, the lock hung fine. He pulled out his key, opened the door; the interior was silent, the blueprints on the table turned by the wind, landing on the page of the CNC machine tool's drive system.

He went in, hung his Coat on a nail, sat back on the stool. Picking up a pencil, he drew a small box in the blank area of the blueprint, labeled "Data Traceability Module," and added a line beside it: "All imported component flows must be recorded for filing."

Just as he finished writing, footsteps sounded outside the door.

He looked up; it was neighbor Wang Da Ye carrying a Meal Ticket box inside.

"Here's some chicken soup I stewed for your wife; drink it while it's hot," the old man placed the Meal Ticket box on the table. "Heard mother and child are fine? Oh, what a joyous occasion! Our courtyard hasn't been this lively in years."

"Thank you," Zhao Jianguo opened the lid, steam rising, "You've really gone out of your way."

"Not a bother! When these two grow up, they'll be the roots of our Siheyuan," Wang Da Ye patted his shoulder, "Now you're a father; you must act even more steadily."

"I understand," he nodded, "I will."

After Wang Da Ye left, he didn't rush to drink the soup; instead, he gently closed the Meal Ticket box lid and set it aside. Then he pulled the printed copy of the confidential file from the drawer—a single, thin, faint‑script page, which he read word for word.

Having finished, he folded it neatly into the bottom of the folder, under the "Level‑8 Pliers Manual."

Outside, dusk deepened, yet the workshop lights remained off. He sat there, hand on the table edge, eyes on the tool rack behind the door. There lay his own quick‑release wrench, modular gauge, and the teaching model the kids had handled during the last open day.

He suddenly recalled Su Qing's words from yesterday: "If you truly want to overhaul those old machines, you must first protect the people around you."

Now, he had a reason he must protect.

He stood up, pulled the electric light cord. The light flooded down, illuminating the plaque on the wall that read "Siheyuan Technological Innovation Test Point," backlit.

He picked up a pen, drew a new column on the first page of his notebook, titling it "Safety Line Construction Plan."

The first line read: **Begin with internal review, audit external maintenance records from the past three years. **

The second line: **Contact the municipal bureau archives, request the contemporaneous foreign‑equipment acquisition list. **

When he reached this point, he paused, then added: **Prioritize checking the distribution routes of German‑made mechanical components. **

The pen tip hovered over the paper, ink slowly spreading into a tiny blot.

He set the pen down, walked to the doorway, and tightened the door lock.