Chapter 7: Tempering

Hearing Zhao Guoyang’s words, Hu Ping was utterly bewildered. “What? All it takes is a new heat treatment? That simple?”

“Yes, it’s really that simple,” Zhao Guoyang replied confidently.

Hu Ping hesitated before saying, “Brother, are you free today? If you have time, could you come to our Jianyu Town Supply and Marketing Cooperative? Let’s discuss how to deal with these hoes. Don’t worry, after we’re done, I’ll personally take you back to Jianghai County.”

During their earlier conversation, Hu Ping had already learned that Zhao Guoyang’s destination was Jianghai County.

Now, seeing hope for repairing the supply cooperative’s hoes, Hu Ping naturally tried every means to keep Zhao Guoyang around.

“Well…” Zhao Guoyang said, a little embarrassed. “To be honest, Brother Hu, I really don’t have the time to accompany you today. But don’t worry. Just follow my method: find a mechanical factory with heat treatment capabilities and have them re-quench the hoes. That should solve the problem.”

“Quenching?”

Seeing Hu Ping’s confusion, Zhao Guoyang smiled and explained, “Quenching, in fact, is called ‘dipping in fire’ in the academic field of metal material processing and heat treatment. It means dipping a heated workpiece into a medium to achieve the desired effect.”

“In reality, surface quenching is a main process in metal heat treatment. Its purpose is to obtain a high-hardness surface layer and favorable internal stress distribution, improving wear resistance and fatigue strength of the workpiece.”

“The hoes you bought clearly weren’t quenched long enough, so their surface didn’t reach the ideal hardness.”

Listening to Zhao Guoyang talk so professionally, Hu Ping’s anxiety gradually dissipated.

“All right, I’ll do as you suggest. Our cooperative’s director has an old comrade who runs a mechanical factory and seems to have heat treatment capability. I’ll ask him for help!”

“Yes! Brother Hu, just repeat what I told you, and he should understand,” Zhao Guoyang nodded.

“Say it again, I’ll jot it down for safety.” Hu Ping quickly pulled out his pen and carefully wrote down Zhao Guoyang’s instructions on a scrap of paper.

Jianyu Town soon appeared. Zhao Guoyang helped Hu Ping unload the hoes from the car, then waved goodbye.

At parting, Hu Ping gripped Zhao Guoyang’s hand firmly. “Brother Guoyang, it’s thanks to you that we’ve got a solution. If your method works and these hoes are repaired, I must properly thank you.”

“Brother Hu, no need to be so formal. It was nothing,” Zhao Guoyang replied with a smile.

He had a good impression of Hu Ping, seeing him as a hardworking and practical village official, so he wanted to help where he could.

…

In the early nineties, the mid-sized buses were only marginally better than ox carts. Their speed was far inferior to the coaches of the twenty-first century. They even broke down halfway, turning a mere few dozen kilometers into hours of delay, and dusk was falling by the time they finally reached the station.

Getting off the bus, Zhao Guoyang struggled to avoid the swarm of rickshaw drivers and strode toward home.

His house lay in the urban-rural fringe of Jianghai County, about ten kilometers from the station. Zhao Guoyang braced himself and started walking.

For Zhao Guoyang, an amateur marathon runner, ten kilometers was nothing — except the road conditions were atrocious.

The potholes and muddy stretches made him grumble inwardly.

After stopping for a meal and picking up a few things, he finally reached his destination. Gazing at the blue-brick, tile-roofed house before him, he felt strangely sentimental.

Since his rebirth, this was his first time returning home. The thought of seeing his family brought feelings he couldn’t quite name — anticipation, hesitation, and more than a little nervousness.

He gently pushed open the half-closed gate and scratched his head at the pitch-dark courtyard.

It was just after eight, not yet nine o’clock, but it seemed everyone was already asleep.

Perhaps the sound of the gate alerted them, because no sooner had Zhao Guoyang stepped into the yard than a noise came from the outermost room.

Soon, a lively and beautiful girl emerged.

“Ah, brother, you’re back?” she exclaimed, mouth agape with delight.

Seeing the pure girl with an oval face, willow brows, and a ponytail, the unfamiliarity Zhao Guoyang had worried about instantly vanished. He almost instinctively said, “Xiaojing, it’s so late — why aren’t you asleep? Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

This girl was, of course, Zhao Guoyang’s sister, Zhao Xiaojing.

She had just turned seventeen, was in her second year of high school, and had good grades. The academic pressure wasn’t as heavy as it later became, when high schoolers routinely stayed up past eleven.

In his previous life, Zhao Guoyang hadn’t experienced parental affection, nor the warmth of siblings. Immersed in his technical research, he hadn’t even found a girlfriend. So, now, seeing his sister, he found himself unable to utter a single word of reproach.

Zhao Xiaojing smiled and replied, “Brother, I made plans with Xiaojian to go to Jianghai tomorrow. I’m finishing my homework tonight — if it isn’t done, Mom won’t let me go out.”

“Xiaojian…” Zhao Guoyang paused.

“She’s Wang Juan, my classmate, lives at the street corner,” Zhao Xiaojing said, eyeing her brother suspiciously.

“You haven’t forgotten, have you? Xiaojian’s your admirer, you know!”

Zhao Guoyang was the first child among the local families to get into college, making him the pride and envy of the neighborhood.

Coupled with his tall, handsome looks, he easily attracted the attention of young girls. In modern terms, he was the very picture of a heartthrob.

“Oh! I remember now,” Zhao Guoyang replied vaguely. Following Xiaojing into the house, he had barely sat down for a drink when a shadow leapt at him.

He instinctively caught it, realizing it was a mongrel dog.

“Little Black, brother’s been gone so long, you still recognize him!” Xiaojing laughed.

“Woof woof!” Little Black seemed to understand her, barking in agreement.

The dog’s barking woke the whole house. Soon, Zhao Guoyang’s parents emerged from the west wing, wrapped in quilts.

“Oh, Guoyang, you’re back?” His father, Zhao Jingzhong, was forty-five and had a sturdy build — Zhao Guoyang looked just like him.

His mother, He Huifen, was a few years younger, dignified and proper in appearance.