Chapter Five: Hu Mingyuan

Like a whirlwind sweeping away the last traces of clouds, they finished off the meal and got back to work. It was not until late afternoon, just before the end of the workday, that the translation was finally complete.

Jiang Weiguo leafed through the pages, nodding repeatedly.
“With this, things will go much smoother,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back in thought.
“All right, you come with me!”

Shen Guodong followed Jiang Weiguo, who surprisingly led him straight to the workshop of the Second Branch Factory. Here, the production line for the new type of lathe was installed.

“Old Hu, I need a word with you,” Jiang Weiguo strode directly into the office.

“Well, if it isn’t Old Jiang. What brings you here?” The workshop director, Hu Mingyuan, was a short man with an exceptionally loud voice. He and Jiang Weiguo were both section-level cadres and had always been rivals; their relationship was merely cordial. Seeing Jiang Weiguo enter, he didn’t bother to stand up, continuing to sip his tea.

Jiang Weiguo paid no mind, walking straight over.
“Call your technician in here. The production line needs to be adjusted,” Jiang Weiguo said, his anxiety making his tone rather harsh.

“What’s this? You can’t fix the lathe, so now you want to shift the blame onto our production line?” Hu Mingyuan’s displeasure was immediate. Both men were seasoned cadres with the credentials to compete for the position of deputy factory director. With the leadership reshuffle approaching, it was a sensitive time. He couldn’t help but be suspicious of Jiang Weiguo’s intentions.

“That’s not what I mean. We’ve known each other for years—do you think I’m the scheming type? I genuinely found a problem!” Jiang Weiguo reached out to take the manual from Shen Guodong’s arms and slapped it onto the desk.
“Shen Guodong discovered a translation error. This is his revised version,” Jiang Weiguo pushed the manual forward.

“I don’t understand a word of that foreign gibberish,” Hu Mingyuan scoffed, but seeing Jiang Weiguo’s sincerity, he called in his technician.

“Director Jiang.” The technician, Liu Haitao, also a vocational school graduate and about the same age as Shen Guodong, greeted Jiang Weiguo before standing aside. As for Shen Guodong, he ignored him entirely. The two knew each other, but in Liu Haitao’s eyes, Shen Guodong was a hopeless case, not worth his attention.

“Xiao Liu, the recurring issues with Lathe No. 3 are due to problems with the production line. This is the manual Shen Guodong retranslated—take a look,” Jiang Weiguo said, holding out the manual.

“Shen Guodong did this?” Liu Haitao frowned, taking the manual with suspicion.
“Director Jiang, are you sure? We spent months installing this production line at the Second Branch Factory—how could there possibly be an issue?” This line was the product of considerable effort and a major achievement for the branch. Now Jiang Weiguo was dismissing it outright—Liu Haitao was not pleased.

Besides, to have someone like Shen Guodong retranslate it—what was Jiang Weiguo thinking? Shen Guodong had long been the laughingstock of the factory since being demoted from cadre to regular worker. How could someone like him have any real talent, let alone dare to retranslate the manual?

Prejudiced from the outset, Liu Haitao felt a strong aversion. Flipping through the manual, he did notice some differences. But the original manual had been translated by a top university graduate from the Foreign Trade Department—surely they were superior to Shen Guodong?

He skimmed it and set it back on the desk.
“Well?” Jiang Weiguo asked urgently.

“Ahem, there are indeed some differences, but does Shen Guodong even understand a foreign language?” Liu Haitao gave Shen Guodong a sidelong glance, full of disbelief.
“The operation of the production line is a serious matter. If we follow his instructions and the machines are damaged, who will take responsibility?” he retorted.

Jiang Weiguo could see Liu Haitao’s resistance clearly, but since he wasn’t the leader here, he couldn’t force the issue. Overstepping one’s authority was a cardinal sin in the system.

“Xiao Liu, so you’re saying the original manual and our production line are both fine?” Hu Mingyuan asked.

“Yes. If Lathe No. 3 has issues, it’s up to their maintenance team to fix it—not our production line,” Liu Haitao replied with conviction.

“Old Jiang, if that’s the case, you’d best head back. We’re about to finish for the day,” Hu Mingyuan said.
“And next time, don’t believe every Tom, Dick, and Harry. At your age, you should know better,” he added with a gleam of satisfaction.

“Hu Mingyuan, you—!” Jiang Weiguo pointed at him, furious, his face flushed red.

“What’s with the shouting? This isn’t your maintenance workshop,” Hu Mingyuan snapped coldly.

“Hu Mingyuan, you really won’t cooperate? If it turns out the production line is at fault, don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Jiang Weiguo warned. There was a world of difference between self-initiated inspection and passive rectification.

But Hu Mingyuan clearly trusted his technician more—not to mention, he’d heard all about Shen Guodong’s reputation.
“Enough talk. Better figure out how to fix your lathe, or your entire workshop will lose its bonus,” Hu Mingyuan said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Director Jiang, let’s go,” Shen Guodong quietly tugged at Jiang Weiguo’s sleeve. He understood the situation—Hu Mingyuan was never going to cooperate. Staying any longer would only invite more humiliation.

“Hmph, we’ll see about that!” Jiang Weiguo’s face was as black as the bottom of a pot as he turned and left, his hands clasped behind his back, fuming. They had arrived full of hope, only to leave in defeat.

At that moment, Shen Guodong actually started to laugh behind him.

“You still have the heart to laugh?”
“If things fall through, that braised pork was wasted on you!” Jiang Weiguo snapped, starting to doubt Shen Guodong as well.

“Don’t worry, Director Jiang. Even if Hu Mingyuan and Liu Haitao are smug now, I’ll have them eating their words by tomorrow,” Shen Guodong replied, offering him a cigarette.

“What sly trick do you have up your sleeve now?” Jiang Weiguo lit up and took a drag.

“A tough problem remains tough—until the top brass take it seriously. Then it’s not so tough at all. There are people even more anxious about this lathe production line than us.”

“You mean Factory Director Xu?” In state-owned enterprises, even deputy posts were always addressed as “Director,” never with the prefix “Deputy.” Jiang Weiguo referred to Director Xu with the utmost respect.

“Are you sure about this?” For Jiang Weiguo to approach Hu Mingyuan was one thing; for Xu Mingyuan to intervene as factory director was something else entirely. Hu Mingyuan was, after all, the other deputy factory director, and one of Wang Chenliang’s men. Xu and Wang were already bitter rivals. If they succeeded, all would be well; if they failed—the consequences would be unimaginable.

Jiang Weiguo hesitated.

“Director Jiang, I’ll go with you. If there’s a problem with my translation, I’ll resign on the spot!” When he saw an opportunity, Shen Guodong never hesitated to put everything on the line. His tone was resolute.

Jiang Weiguo studied him, as if seeing him for the first time.
“This kid… he really isn’t the same as before.” In those days, a state job meant everything. Since Shen Guodong had staked so much on this, Jiang Weiguo no longer doubted him.