Chapter 98: The Final Battle, Unveiling All Mysteries

Zhao Jianguo tightened the door lock, then didn't rush to turn on the light. The room stayed dark, only a hazy morning light filtered in through the window, falling on the open notebook at the corner of the desk. He stared at the few lines of the "Safety Line Construction Plan" for a long while, reached into the drawer, fished out the system permission token, and rubbed it in his hand twice as if fearing it was cold.

He took a deep breath, pulled out his pocket watch and glanced—four seventeen. There was more than an hour until dawn, yet he felt no drowsiness.

Paper and pen spread, he first laid out yesterday's German equipment import list on the desk, then flipped out that blurry confidential archive photocopy. The two documents placed side by side, he used a red pen to circle three abnormal maintenance records, each marked with the same name: "North China Mechanical‑Electrical Joint Repair Group".

"This thing sounds off," he muttered, "'North China' again, 'Joint Repair' again, and there's not even an official seal—who approved it?"

He got up and walked to the tool cabinet, pulled open the bottom drawer, took out a kraft paper bag. Inside were three years' worth of CNC machine‑tool parts purchase ledgers; flipping page by page, he stopped at the "Teaching Model" column. Ten‑plus purchase entries, small amounts, but all routed through the same foreign‑trade forwarding company, the receiving unit listed as "Siheyuan Workshop Technical Training Use", yet he never signed any of them.

"Nice guy, using my name as cover?" he sneered, pulled out a pencil and drew a cross beside it, "And they specifically pick parts with signal‑receiving function, as if no one knows the trade?"

He was writing when footsteps came from outside, neither fast nor slow, dragging a bit on the bluestone slabs. He looked up; Jia Dongxu pushed the door in, holding an aluminum lunch box, his face bearing the weary hue of a sleepless night.

"You haven't slept?" Jia Dongxu set the lunch box on the desk, "I passed the canteen and grabbed some porridge, figured you wouldn't have time to eat."

"Thanks." Zhao Jianguo lifted the lid, steam rose, "You're more awake than me; I thought you'd be sleeping till noon."

"Can't sleep." Jia Dongxu pulled a stool and sat down, "Yesterday Elder Wang told me your wife gave birth to twins; I'm happy for you. But I also know what's really on your mind isn't the babies, it's something else."

Zhao Jianguo paused his chopsticks, looked up at him: "How much do you know?"

"Not much." Jia Dongxu's voice lowered, "But my master Yi Zhonghai once handled foreign‑equipment registration at the plant, then was suddenly transferred and later sentenced. I always felt something was off. And… the day Jia Wu had the accident, he was on duty delivering the handoff."

Zhao Jianguo nodded, pushed the file over: "Take a look at this."

Jia Dongxu took it, his brows furrowed tighter. When he saw the line "Shift record shows signs of manual tampering", his finger pressed directly onto the paper.

"I told you! Jia Wu shouldn't have been on night shift that night; I copied the schedule board by hand, but the version the personnel department produced the next day was all messed up!"

"Now it's clear." Zhao Jianguo pointed at the maintenance order, "Someone used the 'Joint Repair Group' name to secretly retrofit domestic machine tools with imported custom parts. Jia Wu discovered it, so he was set up."

"What do you plan to do?" Jia Dongxu asked, "This involves Yi Zhonghai; there might be higher‑ups protecting them."

"Then we peel back layer by layer." Zhao Jianguo closed the file, "I'm not doing this for revenge, but so there won't be a second Jia Wu, nor any father trembling at a hospital doorway with his child at midnight."

Jia Dongxu was silent for a moment, then suddenly stood: "If you investigate, I'll help. A few old technicians confided in me about the accident scene; they've never dared to speak."

"That's enough." Zhao Jianguo turned to a fresh page in the notebook, "You handle contacting the old workers for oral records; I'll go to the City Bureau Archive and try my luck."

"Go now? It's only just past five!"

"The earlier the better." Zhao Jianguo clenched the token in his palm, "Some doors only open at specific times."

He rode his bike to the old City Bureau building as dawn was just breaking. The Archive hadn't opened yet; he stood at the entrance, a sign‑in card in hand. At six o'clock sharp, he "signed in" at the main gate, and the system prompt sounded softly:

【High‑level permission refreshed, access granted: 196X‑year Foreign Affairs Equipment Review Memorandum (Classified)】

He grinned, pushed the door open.

Two hours later, he emerged holding a stack of photocopies, his fingers trembling. The memorandum clearly stated: "Numbers DZ‑742 to DZ‑758 series signal‑receiving devices are strictly prohibited from entering the civilian sector." Those numbers matched exactly the part serial numbers on the "North China Mechanical‑Electrical Joint Repair Group" maintenance order.

"It's nailed." he murmured.

On the way back to the workshop, he detoured to the hospital. Nurse Li was just changing shifts, and they met at the stairwell.

"Technician Zhao? What brings you here?" she asked.

"I'm looking into something." He got straight to the point, "When Yi Zhonghai was rushed to the hospital last time, did he have any strange items on him?"

Nurse Li frowned, thought a moment: "There was a metal sheet, like a film‑canister shell, the Security Section took it away. Said personal items weren't allowed."

"Do you recall the exact date?"

"Seems it was around last winter solstice."

Zhao Jianguo's heart quickened—those were the three days before Jia Wu's "work injury".

When he returned to the workshop, Jia Dongxu was already waiting at the door, with two old technicians in worn work clothes behind him.

"All the people are here," Jia Dongxu said, "Master Zhang and Master Liu, they were both on site back then."

Zhao Jianguo quickly invited them in, offered water and cigarettes. The two elders were initially reluctant to speak, until he produced the photocopy of the blood‑stained note, on which Jia Wu's crooked writing of "Don't trust the Joint Repair Group" lit up, and Master Zhang slammed the table.

"I knew it! That night I saw someone pull an iron box out from under the machine tool and stuff it into a canvas bag! The bag belonged to Yi Zhonghai!"

"And also!" Master Liu added, "Around that time there was a man wearing a duck‑bill cap wandering the plant, saying he was there to repair circuits, but we never saw a work badge."

The clues finally linked together.

Zhao Jianguo immediately pulled up the overseas telegram data Lou Xiaoe had given, cross‑referenced the code patterns and back‑calculated. Three hours later he wrote a line:

"Every 15th of the month, delivery at the north wall of the Granary, contact person codename 'Old K'."

He stared at that line for a long time, then suddenly smiled.

"Turns out it's not some high‑tech espionage, just human couriers delivering intel. Pretty rustic."

He closed the notebook, stood and packed all evidence into the iron box: maintenance order, purchase ledgers, memorandum photocopies, oral records, decoded telegram manuscript… nothing missing.

Then he sat back at the desk and turned on the lamp.

The light fell on the plaque that read "Siheyuan Technological Innovation Test Point", casting a faint glow on the wall.

He picked up a pen and, on the last page of the notebook, wrote:

"Justice is not vigilantism, but the starting point of order rebirth."

After writing, he closed the notebook, walked to the telephone and dialed the Security Section.

"This is Zhao Jianguo," he said, "Tomorrow at eight in the morning I will report a ten‑year‑long foreign infiltration case; please have the transcript and escort ready."

After hanging up, he locked the iron box into the bottom of the tool cabinet, slipped the key into his pocket.

Jia Dongxu stood, patted his shoulder: "This time, we'll get justice for Brother Jia Wu."

Zhao Jianguo nodded, said nothing.

Outside the window the sky grew dim, the workshop lights stayed on. He sat at the desk, hand resting on the edge of the blueprint, eyes on the tool rack behind the door.

There lay the quick‑release wrench he'd forged himself, modular gauges, and the teaching model kids had handled during the last open day.

He suddenly recalled Su Qing's words on the day she gave birth: "If you really want to overhaul those old machines, you have to protect the people around you first."

Now, he had protected them.

He stood, pulled the light‑switch rope. The light flooded down with a whoosh, illuminating the plaque on the wall, its backlit glow.

He took a pencil, drew a small box in the blank area of the blueprint, labeled "Data Provenance Module", and added a line beside it: "All imported part flows must be registered and filed".

Just finished writing, Footsteps came from outside the door.

He looked up; it was Wang Daye from next door carrying a Meal Ticket.

"I made chicken soup for your wife; drink it while it's hot," the old man placed the Meal Ticket on the table, "I heard mother and child are both fine? Oh dear, what a happy occasion! Our Courtyard hasn't been this lively in many years."

"Thank you," Zhao Jianguo opened the lid, steam billowing up, "You've really gone to a lot of trouble."

"Not at all! When these two little ones grow up, they'll be the roots of our Siheyuan," Wang Daye patted his shoulder, "Now you're a father, you must act more steadily."

"I know," he nodded, "I will."

After Wang Daye left, he didn't rush to drink the soup; instead he gently closed the Meal Ticket lid and set it aside. Then he took from the drawer the printed copy of the confidential file—only one page, the paper thin, the handwriting faint, yet he read it without missing a single word.

After reading, he folded it neatly and placed it at the bottom of the folder, under the "Eight‑Level Pliers Handbook."

Outside, the sky grew dim, the workshop lights still off. He sat there, hand resting on the table edge, his gaze fixed on the tool rack behind the door. There lay the quick‑release Wrench he had crafted himself, modular gauges, and the teaching model the children 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 has a reason he must protect.

He stood up, pulled the electric light cord. The light poured down with a whoosh, illuminating the plaque on the wall that read "Siheyuan Technological Innovation Test Point," its light reflected.

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

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

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

Writing up to this point, he paused, then added: **Prioritize verification of the distribution routes of German‑made Mechanical Lesson components. **

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