The cutting machine stopped, but the activity in the workshop continued. Chen Hao took the last plowshare off the table and placed it on the stack of finished products that had already been arranged next to it. The three complete machines were lined up in a row, wheels pointing upwards, their plowshares polished to a shine, like brand new cars that had just come off the factory.

He took two steps back, stood with his hands on his hips, and caught his breath.

"It's done," he said. "This batch really didn't shake anymore."

Nana was entering numbers into the terminal without looking up: "Production records for units 12 to 14 are complete, with no abnormal alarms."

“Our production line is more accurate than an alarm clock now.” He patted the machine’s casing. “Before, it would stop whenever it wanted, but now it has to ask me first.”

She closed the cover: "I suggest marking today's operating status as the 'start of the stable period'."

"Don't be so formal." He waved his hand. "It's like writing a diary. The weather is sunny today, and I'm in a good mood."

He bent down and rummaged through the scrap bin to find a scrap piece of sheet metal. He wrote the word "Number One" on it with a marker and stuck it on the handle of the front plow.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

“Let’s add a bit of a sense of ceremony,” he said. “Otherwise, how will the workers know which one is the first? We can’t just make them guess, can we?”

She said, "It can be identified by the serial number."

“That’s what you said.” He grinned. “When people see ‘Number One,’ they feel at ease. They feel like they’re using the best stuff, and it makes them feel prestigious.”

---

A space had been cleared in the corner of the warehouse, where three plows stood side by side, their numbered tags neatly hung. Chen Hao then brought over two folding tables, one for tools and the other for documents.

"What's next?" He wiped his sweat and looked up at her.

“Promotion,” she said, “requires providing understandable information carriers.”

Speak like a human.

"Make promotional materials."

He slapped his forehead: "Right, we need to let people know what's so good about this thing."

She brought up the template, and the screen flashed, displaying a page of densely packed text: "Performance Parameter Description of New Traction Tillage Unit (V1.0)", followed by "Optimized Entry Angle Value", "Traction Resistance Coefficient per Unit Area", and "Comparison of Plowshare Wear Resistance Grades".

Chen Hao glanced at it and shook his head immediately: "Who can understand this? Old Li can't even scan a QR code, and you're trying to explain coefficients to him?"

“The information is accurate,” she said.

“Accurate but useless.” He snatched the terminal. “We’re not having an academic conference; we’re advising people not to use outdated technology.”

She paused for half a second: "Adjust direction: use simpler language."

“That’s the right way.” He nodded. “We need to make it clear to them at a glance—with this, the work is lighter, the soil is plowed deeper, and more grain is harvested.”

She redesigned the interface, removing jargon and adding illustrations. One comparison chart showed that the old plow turned the soil to a depth of less than 20 centimeters, while the new plow turned it to a depth of over 40 centimeters. Another chart showed the working time for the same plot of land: the old method took six hours, while the new method only took three hours.

"Okay, this one's watchable." He was satisfied. "Give me something even more straightforward."

He found a large sheet of paper and squatted down to draw.

On the left, an old man leads an ox, the ox panting with exhaustion, the plow leaving only a shallow mark; on the right, a young man pushes a new plow, effortlessly turning over the soil deeply and evenly. In the middle, add an arrow with the words: "Change to this! Saves effort, saves time, and yields more grain."

"You can understand the benefits in a minute." He blew on his pen. "It's better than a meeting."

She scanned the data into the system, created a large poster, added a voice narration script, and saved it to a portable media player.

"I'll play it once when the time comes, and I'll admit defeat if anyone doesn't understand it," he said.

---

The next morning, a makeshift booth was set up in the handover area. Several tables, a media player, and three plows were placed in front, the sunlight shining on the metal blades and reflecting light.

Workers gradually came to see what was going on.

"What are you doing?" a young man asked.

"New product trial event." Chen Hao handed over a flyer. "Take a look at the new stuff."

The man took it, glanced at it, and laughed: "Oh, you even have comics?"

“I’ve highlighted all the key points,” he said. “Your father’s generation used oxen to pull it, while we push it by hand. Neither of those methods is as labor-saving as this.”

An old farmer nearby squatted on the edge of the field, arms crossed, smoking: "I've used this old plow for thirty years, planting wheat every year, and I've never seen a decrease in yield."

“Your spirit is commendable,” Chen Hao said without getting annoyed. “But thirty years ago, a mu of land yielded 300 jin, and now the goal is 800 jin. Spirit alone is not enough.”

Someone burst out laughing.

The old farmer snorted: "You young people just love to make trouble, changing things all the time, but in the end you still have to rely on the land for a living."

“Food comes from the land.” Chen Hao bent down and picked up a plow, “but the tools you use determine how many bowls of rice you can eat.”

He pushed the plow to a patch of hard soil: "Who wants to try? No oxen, no machines, just a person pushing it, and feel how heavy it is."

Two young workers exchanged a glance, then stepped forward, one helping one side of the worker.

“Just keep moving forward,” he said. “Don’t exert any force; let it eat the dirt on its own.”

The two pushed the cart forward for ten meters, then suddenly stopped.

"So light?" one of them exclaimed in surprise. "I didn't even use any force."

"It turns smoothly too." Another one made a small turn, "Unlike Old Li, who has to shout slogans to turn."

Nana pressed play, and the video began to demonstrate: when the old plow was being used, the oxen were panting and sweating, and the progress was slow; the new plow was operated by a single person, with straight lines and even soil turning.

She then took out an old plowshare and a new one, and scraped them a few times with a steel file.

The old blade immediately curls up, while the new one remains perfectly still.

“The materials are different,” she said. “The wear resistance is more than three times higher.”

The crowd fell silent for a few seconds.

"That sounds good." The old farmer who had been smoking stood up. "But what if it breaks down? What if the parts don't fit? Wouldn't it just sit idle?"

"That's a good question." Chen Hao patted the machine body. "I've documented all the modifications. Which part was changed, why it was changed, and what it looks like now—it's all recorded. In the future, when repairing, I can follow the instructions and won't have to worry about getting lost."

"Is this thing expensive?" someone else asked.

“Not for sale,” he said. “Free trial. Tomorrow I’ll be measuring the farmland on plot number two in the east. Anyone interested can come and see. If it doesn’t plow as deeply as the old plow, I’ll smash this machine on the spot and sell it to you for scrap metal.”

The audience burst into laughter.

“If you dare say that, I’ll go and see for myself,” the young worker said.

“I’ll go too,” another chimed in.

The old farmer didn't say anything, stubbed out his cigarette, glanced at the plow marked "Number One," and turned to leave. But before he left, he slowed his pace.

---

As evening approached and the sun began to set, three plows were parked side by side at the edge of plot No. 2 in the east, their wheels pressing into the soft soil.

Chen Hao squatted to one side, checking the tire pressure. Nana stood at the other end, adjusting the monitoring stakes to be used tomorrow.

"Have you notified everyone?" He tightened the valve and stood up.

"Of the seventeen potential users, nine confirmed their attendance, five said they were observing, and three did not respond," she said.

"If more than half of them are willing to come, that's enough." He brushed the dust off his hands. "Once they see the results with their own eyes, the rest will naturally follow."

“The demonstration area has been designated, with a length of fifty meters and a width that meets the standards for a farm road.” She pulled up a map. “The soil moisture is moderate, which is suitable for demonstrating the ability to break through the soil.”

“Then there’s no problem.” He cracked his knuckles. “When they see that deep ditch tomorrow, they’ll probably skip dinner and rush over to steal it.”

She closed the terminal: "I suggest keeping a backup machine in case of emergencies."

"You've thought this through." He nodded. "If someone insists on trying it out on the spot, we can't let them go back empty-handed."

He walked up to the "Number One" plow and reached out to touch the edge of the plowshare.

"This thing is finally going to leave the factory," he said.

The end-of-work bell rang in the distance, and the workers walked back to their dormitories in twos and threes. A few people passing by stopped, glanced at the scene, pointed and whispered a few words, then laughed and walked away.

He ignored it and simply pushed the plow half a meter further in to avoid the waterlogged roadside.

"Tomorrow is the first trip, so it has to be steady," he said. "It can't veering off course, it can't get stuck, and it absolutely can't break down."

“The optimal traction mode has been set,” she said. “The initial entry angle is 18 degrees, which can be automatically fine-tuned.”

"Then let it perform well." He patted the fuselage. "Don't let it embarrass us after a month of overtime."

He took out his water bottle, took a sip, and looked up at the sky.

The clouds thinned, and the wind subsided.

Suitable for cultivation.

He put down the kettle, bent down to pick up a twig, and drew a straight line on the ground.

From the starting point to the end point.

Straight.