He couldn't care less about his past grievances with Mingzhao at this moment. The demanding requirements of the blueprints were like a sword hanging over his head, forcing him to give it his all.
If he can't even build a validation model, he completely loses his voice in front of Zhang Meng!
The veins on Master Chen's forehead bulged, and sweat dripped down his dark neck and into his work clothes.
He was completely focused, his hand movements so precise they were almost spasmodic, as he tried to use the feel and experience he had honed over decades to reproduce the complex curved surfaces on the blueprints.
Each tiny cut was accompanied by the ear-piercing whistle of metal being torn apart and the flying, scalding aluminum shavings.
Mingzhao stood a few steps away, leaning against the cold tool cabinet, watching quietly.
She was wearing baggy blue overalls issued by the base, which made her look even thinner.
Her gaze calmly swept over Master Chen's trembling hands, over the metal outline painstakingly shaped by the milling cutter, and over the piles of aluminum blocks piled up beside the workbench, already declared unusable.
Those were the remains of failed attempts, with distorted cross-sections bearing traces of incorrect cutting.
"No! It's veering off course again!"
Master Chen abruptly stopped the handwheel and let out a frustrated sigh.
The milling cutter stopped, revealing the curved surface that had just been cut on the workpiece.
What should have been a smooth, perfect S-shaped transition now features a noticeable, fatal dip! The angle is completely wrong!
"Oh shit!"
Wang Tiezhu slammed his fist into the iron frame next to him, making a loud clang that startled several young apprentices nearby.
His eyes were bloodshot as he pointed at the failed workpiece, his voice filled with despair and resentment towards Mingzhao:
"See that?! Do you see that?! This is what you wanted! This curved surface that looks like scribbles! A tolerance of 0.0001 millimeters! It's impossible to make by hand! It's impossible to make with this machine! Even a god couldn't make it!"
He pointed sharply to the pile of scrap aluminum blocks beside him, the twisted metal reflecting a cold light under the lamp:
"This is all money! Time! The hard work of our comrades! All for this piece of paper with your theoretical blueprints! Now it's all wasted! All fucking wasted! If this continues, we won't even be able to build a model! What are we going to use to fight the enemy's planes?! Scrap metal?!"
The roar of the machines in the workshop seemed to subside at that moment.
All the workers stopped what they were doing and watched in silence.
Master Chen, his back hunched, stared at the failed workpiece, his calloused hands hanging limply at his sides, his eyes filled with weariness and bewilderment.
A tremendous, suffocating sense of powerlessness, like the oil mist permeating the workshop, weighed heavily on everyone's hearts.
The fighter jet data on the blueprints is so powerful, but the actual machine tools are so clumsy.
This huge gap almost crushed everyone's confidence.
Wang Tiezhu stared intently at Mingzhao, like a wounded and trapped beast, waiting to see how she would explain herself.
Mingzhao finally shifted his gaze away from the scrapped aluminum blocks.
She didn't look at Wang Tiezhu, nor at the dejected Master Chen. Her gaze slowly swept over the roaring gantry milling machines, the heavy lathes, and the radial drilling machines with limited precision in the workshop…
Each machine was covered in grease, and the production dates on the nameplates could even be traced back to the early days of the People's Republic of China.
These "meritorious" pieces of equipment, which carry the memories of the early industrial development of the Republic, have now become technological barriers that imprison the "ghost."
Her gaze remained calm, as if all of this was within her expectations and not enough to cause Mingzhao the slightest surprise.
Then, under everyone's gaze, amidst the despair emanating from the mountains of scrap aluminum, Mingzhao calmly began to walk.
She did not approach Wang Tiezhu, nor did she approach the gantry milling machine that had just failed.
Her steps led her straight to the corner of the workshop, to the machine that was half-covered by an oilcloth, covered in dust, and almost forgotten by everyone.
An even older, German-made small precision profile milling machine from World War II, with a blurred nameplate and an unidentifiable model number.
Next to it, there was a small pile of rusty old parts and scraps.
Her gaze fell on the old machine tool covered in rust and grease, and for the first time, a faint hint of interest, like discovering a new continent, flashed in her calm eyes.
"How about I try again?"
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