The technical department of Hongxing Factory was located on the second floor of the office building, on the east side. Compared with the machining workshop, it was a completely different place—one was full of oil stains and iron filings, while the other was covered in blueprints and ink. Even the smell of the air was different.

I followed Section Chief Zhou as we pushed open the door, and I immediately sensed that something was wrong.

Let me start with the sound. The workshop is constantly filled with the hum of lathes and the clanging of planers; you have to shout to speak. But here, it's so quiet you can hear the scratching of a pen on paper, like a silkworm nibbling on a leaf. When someone flips through blueprints, they do so as quietly as if they were stealing something, afraid of making a sound. Even when someone speaks, they have to lower their voice, whispering like they're huddled together. I instinctively slowed my footsteps, barely daring to breathe.

Then look at the lighting. The workshop lights are large bulbs hanging from the beams, with high wattage, making the iron parts reflect light glaringly and casting heavy shadows; the windows of the technical department are polished, and you can see the sycamore trees outside. The sunlight shines in at an angle, falling on the mahogany floor, warm and not dazzling, even making the blueprints on the table seem softer.

There's also a smell. In the workshop, there's the smell of machine oil mixed with iron filings, which is pungent after a while, and you have to scrub your hands with soap several times to wash off the oil; here, as soon as you enter, there's the faint smell of ink, mixed with the musty smell of old paper, and the smell of tea alkali wafting from the thermos in the corner, which is clean and refreshing, but also has a rigid feel to it.

The office wasn't small, with seven or eight desks divided into small cubicles by low partitions. Each desk was piled high with blueprints, books, and drafting tools like compasses and set squares; even the corners of the desks were crammed with files. The green metal cabinet against the wall had yellowed labels on its doors, looking quite old.

"Everyone, stop for a moment." Section Chief Zhou clapped his hands, his voice not loud, but it made everyone in the room look up. "Let me introduce you. This is Liu Li, who will be transferred to our department as a trainee technician starting today. Liu Li is one of the factory's top technicians, she has won awards in skills competitions, and she also made a contribution by repairing the grinding machine last time. In the future, everyone should help each other out and learn from each other."

I quickly bowed slightly and tried to keep my voice steady: "Hello everyone, I'm Liu Li. I'm new here and there are many things I don't understand. Please give me your guidance."

Several pairs of eyes suddenly fell on me—unlike the straightforward gazes of the workers in the workshop, the gazes here were very mixed.

Fu Jingchen sat by the window, smiling at me with bright, genuinely welcoming eyes. Across from me, Engineer Chen, in his fifties, wore black-rimmed glasses, a pencil between his fingers. He didn't even look up, just grunted an "Mmm," his eyes glued to the large blueprints in front of him, as if I didn't exist. Sister Wu, the only woman in the department, in her thirties, also wore glasses. She glanced at the canvas bag in my hand (containing the spatula my mentor had given me), then at my blue cotton shirt, a slight smile playing on her lips, but said nothing, and went to pour herself some water. Deputy Section Chief Li sat by the door, wearing a white polyester shirt with the cuffs neatly rolled up, his Shanghai watch gleaming on his wrist. He smiled, his gaze sweeping over me before returning to the documents in his hand; the smile seemed forced, unreal, and carried a hint of apprehension.

"Xiao Liu, your seat is over there." Section Chief Zhou pointed to an empty table by the window on the inside, which was diagonally opposite Fu Jingchen and not far from Deputy Section Chief Li. "Settle in first and get familiar with the environment. I'll have a colleague explain the specific tasks to you."

I had just sat down when Section Chief Zhou brought over a stack of heavy blueprints and placed them on the table. “These are part drawings for old products. They’re quite old, so some are blurry and the labels are outdated. You need to rewrite them, make the labels clear, and follow the new specifications. This is a meticulous job that requires patience, but it will also help you get familiar with the products in the factory faster.”

I flipped to the top sheet; the drawing was yellowed and brittle, the edges curled. It was a casting drawing for a gearbox housing, the lines so faint they were almost illegible, and the handwriting was messy. I was a little skeptical: I just finished repairing the grinding machine, and now I'm doing copying drawings? But then I thought, I'm new here, I can't be picky about the work. Besides, copying drawings can be a learning experience, so I nodded and agreed: "Okay, Section Chief Zhou, I'll do my best."

After Section Chief Zhou left, the office fell silent again. Fu Jingchen had wanted to come over, but Deputy Section Chief Li called him to look at the blueprints, so he could only give me an apologetic look. Sister Wu returned with water, paused as she passed my desk, and whispered, "This work takes patience. I did it when I first came here. Take your time copying, don't rush," her voice barely audible, as if afraid someone would hear. Deputy Section Chief Li, meanwhile, held the documents, frowning, occasionally tapping the table, acting as if he were extremely busy, and didn't even glance at me.

I took out a new sheet of drawing paper and laid it out. Then I took out a small knife to sharpen my pencil—the lead had to be sharpened just right; too fine and it would break easily, too thick and the lines wouldn't be accurate. This was something my mentor taught me when I was drawing sketches in the workshop. The pencil tip touched the paper with a soft "shh" sound, completely different from the sound of the machines in the workshop.

I knew that in the technical department, I couldn't rely on my past experience repairing grinding machines. There were rules here; I had to start with the most basic tasks, carefully copying the blueprints stroke by stroke, and gradually gaining everyone's approval. I lowered my head, staring at the lines on the old blueprints, focusing all my attention on the tip of my pen—the new work would begin with the very first line on this piece of paper.