Chapter 56: Mimeograph and Solder Joints

05:30. The alarm had not rung. His body clock woke first. His eyelids were heavy. But his mind was clear. He opened his eyes. There was a water stain on the ceiling. It looked like an unclosed circuit. He looked away. Got up. Moved lightly. Did not touch the bed frame. His left foot touched the floor. The scab pulled. A dull pain. He paused for two seconds. Shifted his weight to the right. Adjusted.

The washroom. Cold water. Bitterly cold. He splashed his face. The towel was rough. It scraped across his cheekbones. His skin flushed red. Awake. Back to the room. He spread open the ledger. The pencil moved.

Day 34. 05:45. Funds: 0.00. Shortfall: 90. Target: 08:00, laboratory. Collect the outline. Work out a fundraising path.

The pencil tip paused. He closed the book. Slid it into the canvas bag. Pulled the zipper shut. The weight was even. He went out. The corridor was empty. The motion-sensor light was broken. His footsteps landed on the terrazzo floor. The echo was short. Cold. The air smelled of chalk dust and old wood. He breathed out. White mist scattered. His stride was thirty centimeters. He did not step on the frost line.

07:50. Laboratory. The iron door was half ajar. The heat was not on. Frost filmed the windows. White breath condensed into beads on the glass. The students from Group A were already there. Talking in low voices. Some were turning pages. Some were rubbing their hands. Chen Hao sat in the front row. A brand-new High School Physics Olympiad Tutorial lay on his desk. The cover was crisp. The spine had no crease. Lin Chen walked in. Found a spot in the corner. Sat down. Put the canvas bag by his feet. Took up no space.

08:00. Old Li pushed the door open. Army coat. Collar turned up. Two stacks of mimeographed handouts in his arms. The paper was rough. The smell of ink was sharp. The edges curled. He set the handouts down. Chalk dust drifted in the beam of light.

"The provincial competition outline. One copy for each person. Three days only. Study the theory on your own. Rehearse the practical work. On the fourth day, a placement test. Bottom twenty percent in ranking. Eliminated. Sent back to your original school."

The handouts were passed around. Paper rubbing against paper. A dry rustling sound. Lin Chen took his copy. Opened it. Table of contents. Mechanics. Electromagnetism. Thermodynamics. Optics. Modern physics. Appendix. Experimental operating rules. Equipment list. Oscilloscope. Signal generator. Multimeter. Basic components.

His gaze stopped on the appendix. The equipment list. Marked with: Must be provided by yourself. Or rented. Rental fee: five yuan per day. Deposit: fifty.

Rental. A fifty-yuan deposit. He had already paid twenty as a reservation deposit. He still needed thirty. Sixty more for the balance. Add Xiaoman's thirty yuan for medicine. A shortfall of ninety. Time. Three days.

Old Li rapped the blackboard. The chalk snapped. White dust drifted down. "The key points of the outline have been marked in red. Theory counts for seventy percent of the written exam. Practical work counts for thirty. But the practical is the threshold. If you can't wire a circuit, you're out immediately. Starting tomorrow, the lab will be open until nine at night. The key. Get it from the academic office. Miss the deadline and you miss it."

He turned and left. His footsteps faded away.

The laboratory went quiet. The sound of pages turning rose. Someone sighed. Someone copied notes at speed. Lin Chen did not move. His fingers brushed the mimeographed paper. The print was blurry. Yet clear. He pulled out a pencil. Drew lines in the blank space. Mechanics. Electromagnetism. Thermodynamics. Weighting. Time allocation. Three days. Eight hours a day. Four hours for theory. Three hours for practical work. One hour for review.

He closed the outline. Slid it into his bag. Stood up. Went to the academic office.

The academic office. Door open. Plenty of heat. It smelled of old newspapers and tea. The teacher on duty wore glasses. Reading the paper. Looked up. "Here for the key? Sign in. Name. Class. Five-yuan deposit."

Lin Chen put a hand in his pocket. Empty. He drew it back. "Teacher. I won't take the key for now. I'd like to borrow an old photocopy of the outline. One copy. An older version. For reference."

The teacher frowned. "Old version? There's one in the storeroom. But it's missing pages. Find it yourself."

"Thank you."

He turned and went to the storeroom. Iron door. Unlocked. Heavy smell of dust. Metal shelves. Rusted. He squatted down and searched. Bottom shelf. An old textbook, Physics Experiment Guide. 1989 edition. The cover was damaged. But the inside pages were intact. He pulled it out. Patted off the dust. Signed the borrowing log.

Back to the lab. Sat down. Spread open the old textbook. Compared it against the new outline. Cross-checked them. With a red pen, he marked the overlapping points. Cut away what was beyond the scope. Kept the core. Compressed the time. Raised efficiency.

He closed his eyes. There was no anxiety in his head. Only paths. Money. Time. Tasks. Three lines crossing in the dark. Not colliding. Not tangling. Each moving forward.

He opened his eyes. His gaze fell on the notice board in the corridor. A new announcement. School broadcasting station. Equipment maintenance. Volunteer repair workers wanted. Work-study position available. Stipend: three yuan a day. Lunch included.

Three yuan. Lunch included. He wrote it down. Time. Two in the afternoon. Place. Broadcasting station.

He stood up. Went to the cafeteria. He would not get the key. He would find work first.

11:30. Back kitchen of the cafeteria. The iron door was half shut. Steam. Cooking fumes. Old Zhou wore an apron. Chopping vegetables. Knife up, knife down. A steady rhythm.

"Lin boy. Back again?"

"This afternoon. The broadcasting station. Maintenance. They're hiring repair hands. Three yuan, lunch included. I'm going."

Old Zhou stopped chopping. Wiped his sweat. "The broadcasting station. That old tape recorder there. Jams the cassette. The speaker crackles. They fixed it three times and still couldn't fix it. You think you can?"

"I can." Lin Chen did not elaborate. He took an old notebook out of his bag. Turned to one page. Circuit diagram. Tape transport mechanism. Azimuth angle of the magnetic head. Capacitor aging. He had drawn it before. Practiced it before.

"Bring your own tools. The school provides the parts. Fix it and you get paid. Fail and you work for nothing." Old Zhou handed him an old screwdriver. "The handle is cracked. Make do."

"It's enough." Lin Chen took it. Weighed it in his hand. Light. But handy. He turned and left. Thirty-centimeter steps. Not stepping in the puddles.

14:00. The broadcasting station. On the top floor of the teaching building. Iron door. Unlocked. He pushed it open. Cold. Heavy dust. An old dual-cassette recorder sat on the desk. Its shell had yellowed. The buttons were loose. Beside it was the mixing console. The knobs were oxidized. Bad contact.

The teacher on duty was not there. A note had been left behind. Fix it before five this afternoon. Test the sound. If it passes, collect the stipend.

Lin Chen set down his bag. Spread out his tools. Screwdriver. Multimeter (borrowed). Old soldering iron. Rosin. Solder. He cut the power first. Removed the outer shell. The screws were rusted. Hard to turn. He put more force into it. The screws loosened. Came free.

Inside. The circuit board. Thick dust. Bulging capacitors. The color bands on the resistors had faded. He blew on it. The dust scattered. The copper traces showed through. He took the multimeter. Tested continuity. The buzzer sounded. The line was continuous. Tested the capacitor. Infinite resistance. Breakdown.

He wrote it down. Model. Specs. 100μF. 16V. Electrolytic. He rifled through his bag. Took out an old tin box. Inside were parts he had saved from the scrap station. He searched. Found a match. 100μF. 16V. Sufficient voltage tolerance. Accurate capacitance.

He removed the old capacitor. Heated the soldering iron. Copper tip glowing red. Rosin. White smoke. The solder melted. Desoldering pump. Sucked away the old solder. Pulled out the leads. Cleaned the pad. New capacitor. Inserted it. Bent the leads. Fixed it in place. Soldering iron. Heat. Feed solder. Pull away. The solder joint was full. No burrs.

Second spot. The azimuth angle of the magnetic head. He disassembled the transport mechanism. Screws. Washers. Adjusted it. By feel. Tiny adjustments. No instruments. Just his ears. He powered it on. Put in a tape. A hiss. Human voice. Blurry. He adjusted the azimuth clockwise. Half a turn. The sound cleared. No distortion.

Third spot. Speaker crackle. The paper cone was split. He found tape. Insulating. Patched the tear. Reinforced it. Not perfect. But usable.

16:30. Reassembly. The shell went back on. Screws tightened. Power on. Sound test. The tape turned. Hiss. Human voice. Clear. No static. No crackle.

He pressed stop. Cut the power. Packed up his tools. Cleaned the desktop. No stray debris. No drops of solder.

The teacher on duty pushed the door open. Came in. Listened. Nodded. "Good. Better than last time. Three-yuan stipend. Lunch is already arranged. Go to the cafeteria. Find Old Zhou. Get your meal coupons."

"Thank you." Lin Chen stood up. Slung the canvas bag over his back. Left. Thirty-centimeter steps. Not stepping in the dust.

17:00. Cafeteria. Window counter. Old Zhou handed over two meal coupons. One meat dish. Rice.

"Good repair job. Tomorrow, there are two more. Old radios. Cassette decks. Fix them together. Same stipend."

"All right." Lin Chen took them. The meal coupons were flat and crisp. He tucked them into the pocket against his chest.

He found a corner. Sat down. Ate. Not picky. Left nothing. Chewed. Swallowed. Heat entered his stomach. His body warmed. His foot hurt. He took off his shoe. Checked it. The gauze was dry. No seepage. The scab was intact. He changed the dressing. Iodine. Cotton swab. Applied it. A slight pain. Kept him alert. Put the shoe back on. Tightened the laces. Snug, not constricting.

Back to the dormitory. He pushed the door open. Locked it. Set the canvas bag on the bed. Moved lightly.

He spread open the ledger. The pencil moved.

Day 34. 18:10. Broadcasting station maintenance. Complete. Income: two meal coupons (cash equivalent 1.5 yuan). Follow-up work tomorrow. Funds: 0.00. Shortfall: 90. Progress: theory preview 30%. Practical rehearsal 0%. Tomorrow: 08:00 laboratory. Intensive outline study. 14:00 broadcasting station. Follow-up repair. 20:00 ledger review.

The pencil tip paused. He closed the book. His fingers tightened. The page edges curled. He pushed it into the bottom of the bag. Held it down.

Outside the window, the sky darkened. The clouds hung low. Wind threaded through the cracks with a low howl.

He stood up. Went to the washroom. Cold water. Washed his face. The towel was rough. Scraped against his skin. Red marks. Awake.

Back in the room. Sat down. Closed his eyes. There were no curves in his mind. Only solder joints. Temperature. Time. Melted solder. Solidification. Three lines crossing in the dark. Not colliding. Not tangling. Each moving forward.

He opened his eyes. His gaze fell on the old tin box under the bed. Inside were parts. And half a length of copper wire. He took it out. Weighed it in his hand. Light. But heavy.

He pulled out the provincial competition outline. With a red pen, he marked the key points. Electromagnetism. Oscilloscope use. Signal generator. Waveform reading. He needed practice. He had no equipment. He used his hands to simulate it. Knobs. Scale marks. Waveforms. Drew them in his head. Once. Twice. Ten times. Muscle memory formed.

The sole of his foot hurt. He changed posture. Shifted his weight to the right. Left leg suspended. No pressure on the wound. His fingers stiffened with cold. He breathed into them. White mist dispersed. Kept drawing.

21:00. Lights out in the dormitory. Darkness fell. He lay down. Closed his eyes. Slept. But his hand was moving. The pads of his fingers traced circuit diagrams on the bedsheet without knowing it. Power supply. Current limiting. Load. Feedback. Nodes. Loop. Ground. The lines were straight. Even. Steady.

Tick. Tick.

In the small hours, 02:15. In the corridor. Footsteps. Urgent. Old Li's voice pierced the door panel. "Emergency notice. The equipment has arrived ahead of schedule. Tomorrow, 07:00. Gather on the athletic field. Inspection and handover. Anyone who doesn't bring the balance of the deposit will lose their pooled-order slot. The place will go to the next person."

The voice faded away. The dormitory went still.

Lin Chen opened his eyes. In the dark, his pupils widened. He sat up. Moved lightly. Did not touch the bed frame. His left foot touched the floor. The scab pulled. A dull pain. He ignored it.

He felt for the ledger. Opened it. The pencil moved.

Day 34. 02:20. Equipment moved up. Balance due: sixty. Deadline: tomorrow, 07:00. Shortfall: 60. Medicine: 30. Total shortfall: 90. Time: 4 hours 40 minutes.

He closed his eyes. There was no complaining in his head. Only equations. Paths. Countermeasures.

He opened his eyes. His gaze fell on the canvas bag. Dried orange peel. Old newspapers. He felt into the pocket against his chest. Two meal coupons. Cash equivalent 1.5. Not enough.

He stood up. Went to the washroom. Cold water. Bitterly cold. Washed his face. The towel was rough. Scraped at his skin. Left red marks. It did not hurt. Awake.

Back in the room. He spread open a new sheet of graph paper. Pencil. Ruler. Drew axes. Marked the scale. No tracing. No shading. The lines were straight. Even. He closed his eyes. There were no curves in his head. Only solder joints. Temperature. Time. Melted solder. Solidification. Three lines crossing in the dark. Not colliding. Not tangling. Each moving forward.

He opened his eyes. His gaze fell on the paper. The first stroke came down. Steady. No tremor.

Coordinate axes. Horizontal axis: time. Vertical axis: money. Origin. Zero point. Tick marks. Ten yuan to a square. One hour to a square. He calculated. Current: 0.00. Goal: 60. Shortfall: 60. Nonlinear. A steep slope. He drew the line. No break. No bend. Pencil dust fell onto the paper. He rubbed it lightly with an eraser. Left no trace.

Outside the window, the wind stopped. The snow pellets grew finer. They struck the glass with tiny pattering sounds. Everything was smoothed away. Nothing left but white. And cold.

Tomorrow. Seven o'clock. Inspection and handover.

He closed his eyes. Slept. But his hand was moving. The pads of his fingers traced circuit diagrams on the bedsheet without knowing it. Power supply. Current limiting. Load. Feedback. Nodes. Loop. Ground. The lines were straight. Even. Steady.

Tick. Tick.