Chapter 57: Morning Frost and Displacement

02:30. Up. Dressed. Movements light. Don’t touch the bedframe. Left foot to the floor. The scab pulls. A dull ache. He pauses for two seconds. Shifts his weight right. Adjusts.

Canvas bag. Opened flat. Old tin box. Screwdriver. Multimeter. Electrical tape. Rosin. Solder. Inventory checked. Nothing missing. Zipper pulled shut. Weight balanced.

Out the door.

The corridor is empty. The sound-activated light is broken. Footsteps strike the terrazzo. Short echoes. Cold. The air smells of chalk dust and old wood. He breathes. White vapor scatters. Stride length: thirty centimeters. He does not step on the frost line.

02:45. Logistics building. Beside the boiler room. Scrap pile. Sheet metal. Old cable. Aluminum tubing. Heaped up. Snow-covered.

He squats down. Sorts. Strips the casing. Copper wire. Oxidized. Green. But the core is intact. Weight: about two jin. Market price: eight yuan per jin. Estimate: sixteen. Not enough. But it can serve as leverage.

He packs it into the canvas bag. Stands. Turns toward the print room.

03:00. The iron door is ajar. The teacher on duty, Old Zhao, yawns. The mimeograph has jammed. The drum is dry. Ink smeared. Paper stacked up, unprinted. By morning, three hundred placement test papers for first-year students are needed.

“Teacher Zhao. The machine’s down. I’ll fix it. Cash in exchange. Ten yuan. Settle now.”

Old Zhao narrows his eyes. “You? You know how to tune the drum? Understand ink ratios?”

“Yes.”

Lin Chen steps forward. Removes the casing. Cleans the ink trough. Alcohol. Wipes the drum. Oils it. Adjusts the pressure. Test print. The text comes out sharp. No ghosting. No breaks.

Old Zhao nods. Pulls out the money. Ten yuan. The bill is old, but flat.

Funds: 10.00. Shortfall: 50. Time: three hours.

03:20. He turns to the cafeteria back kitchen. Iron door open. Heat. Thick smell of cooking oil and smoke. Old Zhou is kneading dough. The chopping board thumps in a steady rhythm.

“Master Zhou. Dough, vegetables, two hours. Cash in exchange. Fifteen. Advance payment.”

Old Zhou stops. Looks him over. “The radio station won’t be fixed till this afternoon. Why do you need money now?”

“Urgent. Equipment inspection tomorrow at seven. Final payment is sixty. I’m short fifty.”

Old Zhou says nothing. Hands him an apron. “Fine. Finish the work, I’ll pay. If your hands split open, that’s on you.”

Lin Chen ties the apron and plunges his hands into water. Cold. Piercing. The dough is stiff. Knead. Press. Push. Fold. Repeat. Muscle memory. Not strength. Rhythm. Weight shifted right. Left foot raised, not pressing the wound. Sweat seeps out. Forehead dripping. Mixing into the flour. Fingers stiff with cold. Knuckles pale. He blows warm air into his hands. White mist dissipates. He keeps going.

04:50. The dough is smooth. Left to rise. Old Zhou inspects it. Nods. Hands over fifteen yuan.

Funds: 25.00. Shortfall: 35. Time: two hours.

05:10. Back to the dorm. Cold water. Washes his face. Changes the dressing. Iodophor. Cotton swab. The scab is slightly cracked. No infection. He wraps it tight. Puts on his shoes. Ties the laces. The canvas bag is heavy, but stable.

He opens the ledger. Pencil moving.

Day 35. 05:20. Funds: 25.00. Shortfall: 35. Countermeasure: service exchange.

He closes the notebook. Goes out. Stride length: thirty centimeters. He does not step on the frost line.

06:30. Athletic field. Strong wind. Snow has stopped. The ground is white. Old Li stands by the equipment crate in a military overcoat, collar turned up, checklist in hand. Group A students arrive one after another. Low voices. Hands rubbed together. Feet stamping. Chen Hao stands in the front row, envelope in hand. Thick with cash. His gaze sweeps over, calm.

Lin Chen walks up. Sets down the canvas bag. Opens it. Takes out the money. Twenty-five one-yuan bills, flattened. Hands them over.

“Final payment. Twenty-five. The remaining thirty-five will be offset through work-study. Radio station repairs. Three yuan a day, lunch included. Renewal already signed. Laboratory equipment. Daily maintenance, calibration, records. I’ll handle it. Settled by semester’s end.”

Old Li frowns. “Rules are rules. Cash only. No debts.”

Lin Chen does not avoid his gaze. He takes an old notebook from the bag and flips it open. Circuit diagrams. Calibration parameters. Error tolerances. Maintenance intervals. Dense handwriting, but clear.

“The equipment arrived and needed live testing. Oscilloscope probes are aging. Signal generator frequency drifts. Multimeter battery leaked. I already replaced the parts with my own spares and calibrated everything. The report is here. If you refuse acceptance, the equipment sits idle and depreciates. That risk falls on the purchaser. If you accept it, I guarantee one semester without malfunction. Deduct the balance from my work-study stipend. It won’t touch the school accounts. It won’t delay anything.”

Old Li flips through the pages. Silent. His eyes stop on the parameters. Error: ±0.5%. Within standard. He looks up at Lin Chen. Dark circles under the eyes. Lips split from the cold. But his gaze is steady. No flicker.

“You tested this yourself?”

“Yes. Between three and five this morning. No physical equipment. Simulation first, then replacement with old parts. The data is real.”

Old Li closes the notebook and hands it back. “Fine. We’ll add the agreement. The remaining balance comes off your stipend. If you’re late, daily interest applies. Take the equipment. Crate opens at seven sharp.”

“Understood.”

Lin Chen signs. Presses his thumbprint down. Red inkpad. Dry. Clear.

He lifts the equipment crate. Heavy. Metal. Cold. But solid. He turns and leaves. Stride length: thirty centimeters. He does not step on the snow prints.

07:15. Dorm room. Door locked. Crate shoved under the bed. Canvas bag opened flat. He takes out the provincial competition outline. Red pen. Marks the key points. Practical module three. High-frequency circuits. Oscilloscope. Lissajous figures. Phase measurement. He needs a stable signal source. Adjustable frequency.

He rummages out the old tin box. Components. Capacitors. Resistors. Coils. The matching isn’t enough. One thing missing. A variable capacitor. Spec: 365 pF. Hard to find on the market. Old radios have them, but one would have to be stripped.

He stands. The radio station won’t need repairs until afternoon. Go now to the junk station? It doesn’t open until Saturday. Wrong timing.

He sits back down. Closes his eyes. No anxiety in his head. Only routes. Replacement plan. Parallel capacitors. Fine-tune the inductance. Compensate. Calculations. Formula derivation. Pen and paper. Working it through.

08:00. Calculation complete. The plan is feasible. Error within acceptable range.

He opens his eyes. His gaze falls on the windowsill. A letter. At some point it was slipped through the crack in the door. Yellowed envelope. Creased edges. Postmark: Qingshi Village. Date: yesterday.

He walks over. Picks it up. Opens it. The paper is rough. The handwriting crooked. His mother’s hand.

Chen-wa. Xiaoman had another seizure last night. The town hospital said the medicine can’t be stopped. Dosage needs to go up. Thirty has been scraped together already. But next month the medicine cost goes up by forty. Don’t come back. Focus on your exam. Mother.

His fingers tighten. The edge of the paper curls.

Forty more.

He closes his eyes. No complaint in his mind. Only arithmetic. Shortfall. Routes. Countermeasures.

He opens them again. His gaze falls under the bed. The equipment crate. And the old tin box.

He pulls out the old notebook. Blank page. Pencil moving.

Funding shortfall: 35 + 40 = 75. Time: provincial competition placement test, today, 9:00. Variable: variable capacitor. Replacement plan decided. Next step: practical work. No physical equipment. Simulated high-frequency module.

The pencil tip pauses. He closes the notebook. Fingers tightening. The edge of the pages curls. He stuffs it into the bottom of the bag, presses it down.

Outside the window, the sky is brightening. Clouds scattering. The sunlight is cold, glaring off the snow.

The broadcast speaker crackles. A hiss of current. Old Li’s voice, noisy with static, cuts through the wall.

“Group A. All members report to the lab. Practical placement test moved up to today at nine a.m. Late arrivals will be eliminated.”

The current cuts. The dorm falls silent.

Lin Chen rises. Splashes cold water on his face. Rough towel. Scrapes across skin. Red marks. Awake.

Back into the room. Shoes on. Laces tightened. Tight, not binding. The canvas bag heavy, but steady.

Out the door. Corridor empty. Footsteps striking terrazzo. Short echoes. Cold.

Nine o’clock. Placement test.

He closes his eyes. In his head, there are no waveforms. Only solder joints. Temperature. Timing. Molten solder. Solidification. Three lines crossing in the dark. No collision. No entanglement. Each moving forward.

He opens his eyes. Stride length: thirty centimeters. He does not step on the frost line.

Forward.