Chapter 301

Sunday morning.

Li Dayong got up early, hopped on his bicycle, and rode fast to the staff dormitory area of Jingcheng Institute of Industry.

The area was still filled with old single-story houses; the school's new staff buildings were limited and couldn't accommodate all the teachers.

Li Dayong walked to the door of one such house and called softly: "Teacher Cao? Teacher Cao?"

"Ah, ah, wait a moment, I'll be right out."

Soon after, a thirty-something male teacher emerged pushing a three-year-old bicycle and rode off with Li Dayong toward the school gate.

After leaving the dormitory area, Li Dayong asked: "Teacher Cao, did I come too early? Did I disturb your family?"

Teacher Cao replied gloomily: "No, I've been awake for a while."

Li Dayong glanced at the unshaven stubble on Teacher Cao's face and fell silent too.

This Cao Zhisheng was the lecturer who taught Li Dayong "Mechanical Fundamentals." He was quiet by nature, but genuinely kind—no matter the time or place, if a student asked him a question, he always explained it clearly.

Li Dayong had spent nearly a month in Hong Kong, dismantling industrial sewing machines at Fenghua Garment Factory countless times, accumulating many questions.

After returning, he asked Cao Zhisheng for help, and Cao immediately asked for specifics.

Li Dayong dared not say he'd been to Hong Kong—if the school found out about his seven-on-one brawl and court appearance, it could get messy.

So he simply said that during summer break, he'd visited a fellow villager's garment factory to experience life, and noticed imported secondhand sewing machines required foreign exchange, which stirred his patriotic spirit and so on.

Cao Zhisheng first praised Li Dayong, then patiently explained all his questions—but when Li Dayong asked, "Can we make one ourselves?" Cao couldn't be sure.

Because theory and practice were different; even finished products from research institutes weren't always mass-producible, let alone designs still on paper.

After consulting with Li Ye, Li Dayong proposed the idea of "paid reverse engineering"—essentially, counterfeiting.

At first, Cao Zhisheng thought Li Dayong was joking; besides, a lecturer taking money from a student would sound bad if word got out.

But when Li Dayong said the reward would be at least three thousand yuan, he finally became interested.

Cao Zhisheng had two children, his mother was a rural resident with chronic illness, his wife's family needed monthly remittances, and their combined salary of just over a hundred yuan barely covered expenses.

If they could get three thousand, or even just one thousand, their household's quality of life would transform overnight.

A color TV or refrigerator might be out of reach, but an electric fan and washing machine? Definitely. His mother wouldn't have to carry her aching back while washing clothes every day.

So Cao Zhisheng contacted three classmates and took on the project—and soon had results.

But this was a "side job," so Teacher Cao had arranged to meet Li Dayong early this morning, to avoid neighbors asking questions.

Soon after leaving the school gate, Li Dayong pointed ahead: "Teacher Cao, let's eat first! There's a new lamb soup shop over there—I ate there before, the taste was great."

"I can get this reimbursed by my villager's factory. We don't know how long we'll be busy today—we should have at least two bowls!"

"You can get reimbursed?" Cao Zhisheng nodded. "Alright, we're busy today—we need to go to the institute first, then to the Third Machinery Factory in Nancheng."

Cao Zhisheng had produced results so quickly because two of his classmates happened to work along the same industrial chain.

This speaks to the industrial foundation mainland China had quietly built over decades.

Li Ye had known, in the future, a tiny example:

Once, a company kept importing a small elastic component, but because the yield was too low, the overseas supplier planned to discontinue it—nowhere in the world could they find a suitable replacement, so they eventually turned to military units.

Military units did have it, but their yield was only one in ten, and the procurement price was outrageous.

Just as the purchasing manager was frantic, he got a tip from a classmate group: one researcher specialized in elastic metals; after contact, his yield exceeded ninety percent.

So even though mainland industry seemed backward, there were countless research institutes, countless machinery factories, and countless technicians who had devoted their lives—no one knew how many talents or potential lay hidden.

And how many people, with full skill, spent half their lives pouring tea and fetching water, then gave up entirely?

After two big bowls of lamb soup, Li Dayong and Cao Zhisheng felt warm all over.

After paying, Cao Zhisheng urged Li Dayong to hurry, but Li Dayong said: "Let's wait for someone, then go together."

Cao Zhisheng asked in surprise: "Wait for someone? Who?"

Li Dayong smiled: "The person buying the sewing machines! We've developed a new product—we need to sell it to make any profit!"

Cao Zhisheng thought a moment, then said: "That's fine, but we must tell them upfront—the product is still in trial production; minor issues are normal."

Li Dayong said: "Don't worry—they know the industry."

Soon after, Li Dayong spotted Li Yue's Volga.

Pei Wenhui stuck her head out from the front passenger seat and smiled brightly at Li Dayong: "I saw you from far away—you're early!"

Li Dayong smiled: "Not too early, not too late—perfect. This is Teacher Cao from our school, an expert in light industry technology."

Pei Wenhui quickly got out, politely greeted Cao Zhisheng, and invited him into the car.

Cao Zhisheng and Li Dayong first paid a dime to store their bicycles, then climbed into the back seat of the Volga.

But Cao Zhisheng was deeply puzzled—the two girls up front were both young, barely old enough to be buyers.

The group arrived at the institute, picked up Cao Zhisheng's classmate Duan Zixiong, then went to the Third Machinery Factory in Nancheng to meet Tang Mingtai, another of Cao's classmates.

Li Dayong had originally planned to pay the research funds after delivering the drawings, but Tang Mingtai, as deputy workshop director at the factory, used his position to get the prototype made without spending his own money.

"Hey, Lao Cao, you're riding in a Volga now? Even your factory director doesn't have it!"

"Don't joke around—buyers are here! Take us to see the product."

"Buyers?"

Tang Mingtai was surprised—he'd assumed Li Dayong, Li Yue, and Pei Wenhui were all Cao Zhisheng's students.

In the workshop, they saw a "bare-bones" sewing machine.

No paint, no polishing, missing some small parts—but the basic structure was complete.

Tang Mingtai explained: "We tackled the technical challenges based on your drawings and sample. It was tough, but we've finally met the standard."

Cao Zhisheng said nothing, stepped forward, and examined it closely. After a moment, he nodded.

But Pei Wenhui took a set of needles, thread, and fabric from her bag, swiftly threaded the needle, sat on a stool, and began sewing right there.

Li Yue leaned close to Li Dayong and whispered: "Your girlfriend's hands are so soft and pale—she looks like a lady of privilege—and yet she can do this?"

Li Dayong said: "She suffered a lot since childhood. To support her brother's college education, she dropped out for a year to sew clothes for others and earn his tuition."

Li Yue suddenly understood. Looking at the slender, small Pei Wenhui sewing at lightning speed, her gaze changed instantly.

Pei Wenhui used up all the thread she brought, then stood up and said: "This isn't good enough. The needle speed is clearly much slower, stability is worse than the sample, and the noise is too loud."

Cao Zhisheng, Duan Zixiong, and Tang Mingtai felt embarrassed—they were university lecturers, institute technicians, workshop directors—and yet their combined effort was being dismissed by a girl.

This was "technical compliance"? Just fooling around?

Tang Mingtai thought a moment and said: "Little Miss, we've tested it—this sewing machine is far better than most industrial ones on the market. Are your standards too high?"

Pei Wenhui replied politely but firmly: "But overseas standard sewing machines do 8, 00 stitches per minute. Yours doesn't even hit 6, 00."

"Overseas? You want to match imported sewing machines?"

Tang Mingtai couldn't help laughing.

Who didn't know imported sewing machines were better?

But to reach 8, 00 stitches per minute, the reciprocating mechanism must endure massive inertia—its strength requirements are extreme, not something you can just improvise.

Pei Wenhui glanced at Li Dayong, also feeling helpless. She supported his research, but if the machine was too poor, factory workers would curse.

Li Dayong sighed and whispered to Pei Wenhui: "I discussed this with my brother—if we can meet basic requirements, we should still aim for self-sufficiency."

Pei Wenhui nodded, then told Cao Zhisheng and the others: "I understand your efforts, but the minimum standard must be 6, 00 stitches per minute, and vibration must be reduced further. I'll pay you the first-phase research fee now."

"I'll pay again next time—but if it still doesn't meet requirements, I can't proceed. If workers find it hard to use, product quality suffers. Please understand."

Pei Wenhui opened her small handbag and began counting out money—but as she counted, she frowned.

She looked up at Cao Zhisheng and the others, apologetic: "I don't have enough RMB. Can I mix in some U. . dollars?"

「」

Tang Mingtai and the others exchanged glances, then nodded silently.

But when Pei Wenhui counted out eight hundred U. . dollars at a 1: exchange rate, their moods changed instantly.

"Six thousand stitches per minute? We can do it. Give us some time."

"Just swap in a micro motor from Shanghai, and vibration can drop by another twenty percent."

"We'll redesign the rotating parts—we'll cut the noise."

Li Yue tugged Li Dayong's sleeve and secretly gave him a thumbs-up.

"Your ancestors must be smoking incense—how'd you land such a sharp little wife?"

Li Dayong's big eyes blinked repeatedly—he still couldn't say a word.

This sister's temper was far fiercer than Li Ye's.