The completion of the special sample project felt like a major hurdle for Liu Li. She was no longer the new apprentice who had to prove herself every day—thanks to her solid skills and composure under pressure, she had finally established herself in the workshop. The older workers looked at her differently now, occasionally glancing at her with admiration, or offering casual advice when she got stuck on a certain dimension, such as, "Sharpen the blade a little more, it'll pick up the chips more smoothly," or "Slow the feed by half a notch, the surface will be smoother." This feeling of being treated like "one of their own" was more reassuring than any award certificate.

She still works with that C616 lathe every day, but her mindset has changed—before, it was about "learning how to use it," now it's more like "working alongside it." She's mastered the tightness of each handle, can hear the subtle differences in spindle speed, and can even vaguely sense which leveling bolt might be loose by placing her foot in front of the machine bed, requiring leveling. Her work has also evolved; she's no longer just machining simple shafts and sleeves, but has started working on tapered and curved transmission components, and even long shafts that need to be machined from both ends to ensure coaxiality—each task more challenging than the last.

That day, the workshop gave her work on hundreds of small connecting rods. One end of the connecting rod needed to be machined into a ball head, and the dimensions had to be strictly controlled. The old method required both hands to crank the large and medium slide plates together, relying entirely on feel to "follow" the ball surface, first creating a rough shape, and then using a template cutter to refine it. This work was not only inefficient, but also extremely demanding on hand precision; even the slightest wobbling would ruin it.

Liu Li spun a few machines, and although she gradually figured out the basics by feel, barely meeting the workmanship requirements, she still wasted two pieces of material. Sweat smeared from her forehead onto her work clothes, leaving rings of marks. She stopped the machine and stared blankly at the connecting rod turning on the chuck. Her eyes fell on a book of "Common Mechanisms for Machinists" on the workbench next to her. Inside was a diagram of a simple copying device that could automatically follow a trajectory using levers and sliders.

An idea suddenly popped into my head—could we add a small tool to this old lathe to machine these small ball heads?

The thought made Liu Li's heart race. She remembered that the factory's labor union had recently been promoting the "Five Small Initiatives," which involved encouraging workers to make small innovations and suggestions to solve production problems and improve efficiency.

She stared at the workpiece for a long time, finally figuring out the key problem: manually cranking the two slides made it difficult to accurately follow the spherical trajectory. If only she could create a mechanism that allowed the lathe to guide the cutting edge along an arc...

Over the next few days, Liu Li devoted all her time off to this. She found the backs of several discarded blueprints and doodled with a pencil, sometimes drawing cams, sometimes connecting rods. Her idea was to use the lathe's feed bar to drive a small lever, which in turn pulled the middle slide back and forth through the connecting rod. In coordination with the uniform movement of the large slide, theoretically, the cutting edge could cut out a standard spherical surface.

The idea was good, but actually drawing it out and figuring it out was difficult. Where should the mechanism be placed so as not to obstruct the work? How long should the connecting rod be to ensure the accurate radius of the ball head? What material should be used to make it strong enough and without gaps? She hadn't studied many of these questions, and the more she drew, the more confused she became.

She considered asking Fu Jingchen several times, but the thought of the previous rumors always held her back—she didn't want people to gossip anymore, nor did she want to always rely on others for help. She decided to try to figure it out herself first.

Early one weekend morning, Liu Li squeezed onto a bus to the Xinhua Bookstore in the city. She spent half a day squatting in front of the mechanical bookshelf. If she couldn't afford it, she would copy formulas and draw simple diagrams in her notebook, forgetting even to eat lunch. Back in the dormitory at night, while her roommates chatted and knitted, she would lie on the table working out the diagrams she had copied, often until the wee hours of the morning, the desk lamp casting a long shadow over her.

Seeing her staring blankly at a few scraps of paper, Zhang Shulan nudged her arm: "Lily, you've been acting like you're possessed these past few days. What are you thinking about?"

Liu Li looked up, her eyes shining: "Shulan, wouldn't it be great if the ball head of a car could be as simple as the outer circle of a car, so we wouldn't always have to rely on feel?"

Zhang Shulan was completely bewildered: "Huh? How is that possible? Experienced craftsmen rely on their expertise!"

"Maybe it will work." Liu Li didn't explain further, smiled, and then lowered her head to draw again.

She finally managed to get the initial sketch done. Although it was rough and many details were unclear, the general structure and principle were understandable. She found an "Employee Suggestion Form," filled it out neatly, and wrote in the "Suggestion Item" column: "Suggestion to add a simple ball-end turning device to the C616 lathe." She also attached a hand-drawn sketch below, explaining that it was expected to improve efficiency by three times, reduce material waste, and save effort.

On Monday, Liu Li noticed that no one was in the workshop office, so she quickly placed the suggestion form on Director Zhao's desk. Director Zhao was busy signing documents and didn't even look up, casually putting it on the corner of the desk: "Just put it here, I'll look at it when I have time."

Liu Li knew perfectly well that with all sorts of reports piled up on the director's desk every day, her thin suggestion form might be forgotten in the blink of an eye. But she still held onto a sliver of hope, like planting a seed in the soil, waiting to see if it would sprout.

Several days passed without any progress. Liu Li felt a little disheartened, but she didn't completely give up. During her breaks, she still pondered how to modify the blueprints, such as changing the angle of the connecting rod, which might reduce the clearance.

Unbeknownst to her, the suggestion form hadn't been forgotten—Director Zhao had picked it up casually while cleaning his desk, initially dismissing it, but upon seeing the simple diagram, though crudely drawn, yet fundamentally sound, he suddenly sat up straight. Though not technically trained, his years in the workshop had given him a keen eye for detail, distinguishing between mere speculation and genuine insight.

Director Zhao took the suggestion form to Wang Jianguo: "Old Wang, take a look at what your apprentice did."

Wang Jianguo took it, first reading the text, then staring at the simplified diagram. He traced the connecting nodes on the drawing with his finger, his brow furrowing and relaxing as he looked at it for a full five or six minutes.

"That's interesting." After a long pause, he finally spoke, handing the table back. "The diagram is a bit immature, and the calculations are definitely incomplete, but... the approach is correct, it's not just messing around."

Director Zhao was surprised that Wang Jianguo would give such a high evaluation—the words "the path was not wrong" carried great weight coming from his mouth.

"So what do you think we should do about this?" Director Zhao asked.

“It’s no use for the two of us to take a look.” Wang Jianguo wiped the machine oil off his hands. “We need someone who knows what they’re doing to take a look. Take this to the technical department and tell them it was suggested by an apprentice in the workshop. Let them assess whether it can be fixed.”

Director Zhao nodded and walked toward the technical department with the suggestion form in hand.

Liu Li was still struggling with the small connecting rods on the lathe, sweat streaming down her face, her hands constantly sharpening the template tool. Unbeknownst to her, the seed she had planted had been moved to a more suitable place, and she was just waiting to see if it would sprout. And what was the person in the technical department who reviewed the suggestion forms thinking?