Chapter Three: Crisis

In the northwest corner of the workshop stood a large room, lined with two rows of tall cabinets, serving as a changing room. Shen Guodong unlocked his padlock and changed into his work uniform.

“Guodong, up for a few hands at the usual spot tonight?”

A short man with a sharp, ferret-like face sidled up to him. Shen Guodong frowned immediately at the sound of his voice. This was Zheng Qiang, another worker in the workshop—cunning, lazy, with a poor reputation. Of course, the old Shen Guodong had been cut from the same cloth. Zheng Qiang often dragged Shen along to gamble, and the old Shen, dim-witted and addicted, always blamed his losses on bad luck.

Now, though, Shen Guodong saw things clearly. It was obvious that some people were treating him as an easy mark. They’d swindled him out of his things—it was time to get them back.

While these thoughts churned inside him, his expression remained impassive. “Sure. Call the others over. It’s payday today—let’s go big.”

A look of impatience flickered across his face. “Great! After cards, let’s have lamb hotpot—my treat!” Zheng Qiang thumped his chest with a resounding smack.

The workshop was enormous, with over twenty teams. Shen Guodong and Zheng Qiang belonged to different teams and parted ways as soon as they stepped outside. Shen knew nothing about lathes. Arriving at his own team, he stayed silent, observing quietly. The foreman, Wang Dongliang—a man in his thirties—gave Shen a glance but said nothing.

There were seven members in the team, including Wang Dongliang and Shen Guodong; the rest were all temporary hires. At this time, state-owned enterprises still had unruly hiring practices: full-time workers, temps, and even workers’ family members from affiliated units. The difference in status meant a world of difference in pay—temps earned less than half what full-time staff did.

Wang Dongliang was a full-timer, but even he couldn’t order Shen Guodong around—Shen was officially listed as “cadre.” Sometimes, getting promoted to cadre could change a person’s whole life.

Everyone was used to Shen’s lackluster attitude. They minded their own business, leaving him alone. Shen cradled a large enamel mug, sipped his tea, and shook his head. The pervasive smell of oil in the workshop was something he couldn’t get used to.

“I need to find a way to get back to the office as soon as possible.”

Just then, Workshop Director Jiang Weiguo approached, clapping his hands to call a meeting. Over a hundred people formed a semicircle.

Jiang Weiguo stood at the center, his expression grave. “Comrades, the Number Three Lathe has broken down again. The leadership has given strict orders—if we don’t find the cause, everyone’s bonuses will be canceled at the end of the month!”

The announcement stirred a wave of protest. At this time, prices were still low—pork cost only eighty cents a pound. A bonus of twenty or thirty yuan was a small fortune. Losing it would be a real blow.

“Everyone, rack your brains—see if we can find a solution, and do it quickly!” Jiang Weiguo’s eyes swept the crowd, but no one spoke.

“Comrades, the Number Three Lathe is a key project for the factory this year. We spent a huge amount of foreign exchange to import its production line. Are we going to shrink back at the first sign of trouble?”

Jiang Weiguo was anxious. The country’s heavy industry had started by inheriting technology from the northern Bear Nation, but in recent years, as the Bear declined, their technology fell far behind the West. After much deliberation, the leadership decided to import a production line from Smith Corp in America. It was only a mid-tier product in the U.S., but here, it was cutting-edge. If they could produce a qualified lathe, they could dominate the national market—perhaps even export to Eastern Europe or Africa.

But ever since the line was installed, it had failed to adapt. The Number Three Lathes it produced were plagued with minor faults. Inviting American engineers was prohibitively expensive, and worse, their schedule was booked for another six months! No one could fathom what the foreign trade and purchasing staff had been thinking during negotiations. Some even suspected they’d been taken for a ride.

Deputy Director Xu Haishan, who had championed the import, was under immense pressure. The old factory director was about to retire, and Xu faced several powerful rivals. The success or failure of this project would be decisive.

At recent leadership meetings, Xu had become a target of attack and was in a precarious position. Jiang Weiguo, the workshop director, owed his promotion to Xu—his fortunes were now tied to Xu’s. With the lathes malfunctioning, he was understandably desperate.

An awkward silence hung over the crowd—no one spoke.

“Director Jiang, I think we’ve been duped by the foreigners! Those manuals are as clear as mud—who can understand them?”

“We don’t even know how to operate the thing. No wonder we can’t produce a decent lathe!”

“Exactly! This isn’t our fault—why should our bonuses be docked?”

Once someone broke the silence, the crowd couldn’t hold back. Voices flew in all directions, grumbling and complaining. Jiang Weiguo’s face grew darker by the second.

Clearly, the workers were deeply resentful. Most felt the factory had been scammed into buying a faulty line. The situation was dire; if it worsened, the next workers’ congress would see someone challenge Xu Haishan directly.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Jiang Weiguo cut the discussion short, dismissed the crowd, and returned to his office with a heavy heart.

Soon after, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in.”

Jiang Weiguo’s brow was furrowed tight as he sipped his strong tea.

“Director Jiang.” Shen Guodong stepped inside.

“Is there something you need?” Jiang looked up.

“I have some ideas about the Number Three Lathe’s production line,” Shen said with a faint smile.

“You know about lathes?” Jiang Weiguo made no effort to hide his skepticism. Shen had learned nothing about lathes during his time in the workshop. Even if he’d been diligent, could he outshine the veteran machinists?

“I don’t know lathes, but I do know English.” By now, Shen had pieced together the whole situation from his memories. He sensed that the lathe debacle was anything but simple—it might even be his chance for a breakthrough.

“Could I take a look at the production line manuals?”

As the chairman of a foreign trade company, Shen was fluent in over a dozen languages, and could get by in the basics of many more.

Jiang Weiguo remembered that Shen was a technical school graduate.

“They teach English in technical schools now?” he muttered, but turned to a cabinet and pulled out a thick stack of documents.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. At this point, a technical school graduate was still considered elite talent with a guaranteed job assignment, which explained much of Shen’s behavior.

Shen picked up the original manual, then the translated version. After only a few glances, he frowned deeply.