Chapter 5

“No need. I have something to discuss.”

She rubbed her hands.

“The factory needs technical improvements. I’m looking for someone young and sharp. I’ve heard about your reputation these past years. Good hands, a quick mind. Come and help us—not as a worker. As a technical adviser.”

“What are the terms?”

“Thirty yuan a month. Twice a worker’s pay. Keep your shop open. You can divide your time.”

That opportunity had never come to me before.

Last time, I’d been another cog in the factory. She’d scarcely looked at me.

This time, I’d spent three years making her remember.

Not through flattery or connections.

Through skill and a reputation built one bicycle at a time.

“All right. I’ll do it.”

Once I entered the factory, I understood her headache.

The machinery was ancient. Product quality wouldn’t improve. Defects were sky-high.

And the authorities had demanded double the output.

Double production with machines that couldn’t keep up? Impossible pressure.

But I knew a solution.

Not because I was extraordinarily clever.

Because I knew what came later.

In 1980, a provincial university laboratory would develop an improved lathe-cutting tool, forty percent more efficient than the traditional kind.

It hadn’t reached our county until 1981 in my first life.

I didn’t need to wait.

Over two months, I used the principles I remembered and the workshop’s limited resources to make a simplified version.

Not forty percent more efficient.

Twenty-five.

And the rejection rate halved.

Fang Zhiguo studied the trial data for a long time.

Then she looked up.

“Who exactly are you, Xu Heng?”

“A country bicycle repairer.”

She stared for a few seconds, then laughed.

“All right. If you won’t tell me, I won’t ask. From today, your salary doubles. Sixty yuan.”

“Thank you, Director Fang.”

Sixty a month, plus the shop, gave me savings at last.

I didn’t squander them.

I put away every coin.

A bigger opportunity would come in 1979.

Last time, I’d watched others seize it from my wheelchair.

This time, it was my turn.

Occasionally, news of Song Yao reached me.

Bigmouth Zhao kept it flying.

“Liu Jin and that Song boy are courting!”

“He had dinner with her family. Her father likes him!”

“They’re nearly engaged, I hear.”

I kept repairing bicycles as she talked.

She leaned close.

“Not even a little regret, Xu Heng? He’s so handsome. Your Uncle Zhao was going to introduce you.”

I didn’t look up.

“He’s spoken for. I wish them a long, happy life.”

“You’re no fun.”

She shook her head and left.

No fun?

My first life had been no fun.

I’d plunged into a river, full of warmth, to save a man whose heart belonged elsewhere. Then I’d spent a lifetime shackled to him.

Now my feet were on the ground.

My own road. My own money. My own life.

Let everyone else fall in love if they wanted.

**Part 6**

1979.

At the beginning of the year, the policy winds began to shift. The opening for private enterprise widened little by little.

Bolder people set up street stalls: baked flatbreads, fabric scraps, honeycomb coal briquettes. Everything.

Most people watched.

Afraid of a policy reversal. Afraid of being labeled. Afraid of losing their savings.

I wasn’t afraid.

I knew the opening would only widen.

In March, I made my first big move.

I took over a storefront beside the supply and marketing cooperative.

Master Chen’s shop was too small. Two bicycles filled it. Turning around was difficult.

The new place was three times larger, with a better location opposite the county town’s busiest crossroads.

People came to watch when I obtained it.

“Are you mad, Xu Heng? Renting a shop now? What if you lose everything?”

I ignored them.

I moved the repair business and added a glass display cabinet.

What went inside?

Parts.

Bicycle parts.

Chains, rims, brake pads, pedals, bells—anything I could think of.

Previously, repairs meant waiting for the cooperative to order parts. That could take half a month.

Now I had them ready.

Repair and replace immediately.