Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

Master Liu's hand hung in mid-air, trembling like a withered leaf in the wind.

The hand was calloused, with black grime stuck between the fingers that could never be washed away, and a newly scabbed crack on the web of the thumb was grotesquely curled. Beneath that hand was a precision grinding machine from Siemens, Germany, its silver-gray body gleaming almost holy under the light.

It's too clean.

beautiful.

She stood there, looking as charming as a newlywed bride.

Master Liu swallowed hard, a mixture of instinctive awe and a deep-seated inferiority complex. He feared that his hands, which had spent a lifetime handling rough iron and scrap steel, would dirty or scratch this precious foreign contraption.

"Afraid to touch it?"

Shen Jinghong's voice rang out from the side, carrying a gentle smile.

Master Liu seemed to have been burned; he quickly pulled his hand back, tucking it into the sleeve of his greasy cotton-padded jacket, and mumbled with his head down:

"Sir... this thing is too valuable. My hands are rough, I'm afraid I'll scratch it. If even a single piece of paint gets chipped off, I couldn't afford to pay for it even if I had to take all my old bones off."

"What are you going to compensate for?"

Shen Jinghong's face darkened, and he strode over, grabbing Liu Shifu's hand, which was trying to hide.

"It's a machine, made for people to use! You're the eighth-grade fitter in our factory, the master of metalworking, it's just a lump of iron, and it has to listen to you!"

Without waiting for a reply, he forcefully pressed Master Liu's rough, large hand onto the cold control panel of the grinding machine.

"Feel it! Is it hot or cold? Is it like our Hanyang rifle, a heartless piece of iron?"

Master Liu froze.

The cool touch of metal on my palm wasn't as delicate as I'd imagined; instead, it exuded a solid, weighty sense of power.

"Alright, just touching it won't help."

Shen Jinghong released his grip, rolled up his sleeves, and his eyes instantly became focused and sharp. "Everyone, watch carefully! I'll only demonstrate once; this is what we'll be using for our livelihood from now on!"

He walked up to the machine tool, his movements so practiced it was as if the machine were an extension of his body.

Clamping, tool setting, and parameter setting.

This series of operations, which seemed as complicated as a book of celestial script to the veteran workers, were performed by him with fluid grace and speed that was dazzling to the eye.

"Buzz—"

Spindle starts.

The sound wasn't like the labored, panting of an old-fashioned belt-driven lathe; it was an extremely deep, steady buzzing sound that made people feel at ease.

The cutting fluid gushed out like white milk.

The moment the blade touched the steel, there was no piercing scream, only a soft "sizzling" sound, and strings of blue iron filings flew out like works of art, swirling and flying.

Everyone held their breath, staring intently at the rapidly spinning chuck.

Five seconds.

ten seconds.

Thirty seconds.

"stop!"

Shen Jinghong pressed the red button, and the machine instantly stopped with minimal inertia.

He loosened the chuck and removed the newly machined part—a complex bolt firing pin assembly.

Previously, this part required Master Liu to wear reading glasses and painstakingly repair it with a file, bit by bit. If his hand trembled, half a day's work would be wasted.

And now...

Shen Jinghong casually tossed the parts to Wang Tiezhu, who was standing to the side: "Take a micrometer and measure it."

Wang Tiezhu caught it in a fluster. The part was still warm from processing, and its surface was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting his fingerprints clearly.

He shakily took out his micrometer, clipped it on, and took a measurement.

"How...how is it?" Master Liu leaned closer, his voice trembling.

Wang Tiezhu remained silent.

He rubbed his eyes and measured again.

Still not convinced, they measured it a third time.

"Clang!"

The micrometer fell to the ground.

Wang Tiezhu suddenly raised his head, his bull-like eyes bloodshot, and his voice hoarse as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper, as he roared:

"Zero error! It really is zero error!"

"My goodness... this finish is even brighter than our polished surfaces! And the best part is... it only took half a minute!"

"Half a minute?"

Master Liu swayed and sat down on the ground with a thud.

He worked as a fitter his whole life, relying on his hands and eyes. He almost went blind and his back became hunched over while grinding just one part, and he could only grind three or five parts a day.

But this machine only takes half a minute to produce one?

Is it even better than his grinding?

A profound sense of loss and shock overwhelmed the old worker.

"Amazing... Absolutely amazing..."

Master Liu muttered to himself. Suddenly, as if he had gone mad, he crawled on his hands and feet to the machine tool and knelt down with a thud.

His hands trembled as he stroked the steel, which had been cut to a mirror-like smoothness. Tears welled up in his eyes and dripped down his wrinkled face onto the cold machine tool.

"Waaaaah..."

This tough guy, who had never shed a tear in his life, was crying like a child at this moment.

"We...we finally have something this good..."

"If only we had this back then... if only we had this back then..."

Wang Tiezhu, the factory director who had been silent until now, also had tears in his eyes.

He walked over, squatted down, hugged the cold machine, pressed his face against it, and cried uncontrollably.

"Director Shen, you don't know..."

Wang Tiezhu choked up, his voice filled with endless sorrow and regret:

"During the Huaihai Campaign, I was at the arsenal. It was winter, and the guns we made had large firing pin tolerances, so they would jam when the fire was frozen! Soldiers on the front lines were fighting the enemy with jammed guns, and they fell in rows and rows!"

"I thought to myself, if I could make a gun that wouldn't jam, if our guns could be a little more accurate, even just a little bit... wouldn't some of the brothers in the Second Company be able to survive?"

"Waaaaah... I'm so sorry! I only made scrap metal!"

The sound of crying echoed in the empty workshop.

The elderly workers gathered around silently wiped away their tears. Their hands had spent their entire lives making guns and cannons, but due to outdated equipment, they had watched helplessly as the weapons they created failed on the battlefield.

That kind of heartache is worse than killing them.

Shen Jinghong stood aside, watching the group of men crying their hearts out, feeling as if a huge stone was lodged in her heart.

This is the backbone of the Chinese nation.

They were not afraid of hardship or death; their only fear was that what they made was not good enough and that they would let down their comrades who were fighting desperately on the front lines.

"Get up, all of you!"

Shen Jinghong took a deep breath and suddenly shouted, his voice booming throughout the workshop:

"Stop crying! That was before!"

"We used to be poor, we had no tools, and we could only swallow our anger when we were wronged! But things are different now!"

He strode up to Wang Tiezhu and Master Liu and pulled them both up.

"Tears can't save a soldier's life, but this machine can!"

Shen Jinghong pointed at the steel behemoths filling the room, his eyes blazing, his voice firm and powerful:

"Now that we have this great stuff, we have to make the most of it! Don't worry about the materials, and don't be afraid of breaking it!"

"Director Wang!"

"Here!" Wang Tiezhu stood at attention instinctively, hastily wiping away the tears on his face.

"Pass on my order! The entire factory is to begin 'mass training'!"

Shen Jinghong waved his hand, his heroic spirit soaring to the heavens:

"This warehouse has a hundred tons of the best steel; you can use it all for practice! I'm not afraid you'll produce scrap; I'm afraid you won't dare to!"

"Half a month! I'll only give you half a month!"

He held up two fingers, staring intently into Wang Tiezhu's eyes:

"In two weeks, I want all the experienced workers in the factory to be able to operate these machines with their eyes closed! I want the machines in this workshop to run non-stop, 24 hours a day!"

"Is it possible?"

"able!"

Wang Tiezhu roared, veins bulging on his neck and eyes bloodshot, "If I can't do it, I, Wang Tiezhu, will shove my head into this machine tool!"

"good!"

Shen Jinghong nodded, looking at the group of workers whose fighting spirit had been rekindled and whose eyes seemed to be on fire, and smiled with satisfaction.

"Since everyone shares this ambition, let's stop building those old relics."

He walked up to a table covered with a dust cloth and lifted it up.

"Splash—"

The dust cover fell down.

A huge engineering drawing with a blue background and white lines was revealed below.

The drawing depicts an automatic rifle with a simple design, strong lines, and a folding triangular bayonet attached below the muzzle.

Its unique shape carries a chilling, violent aesthetic.

"Hanyang-made? That's a fire poker used by my great-grandfather's generation; it should go into a museum."

Shen Jinghong tapped his finger heavily on the drawing, a bloodthirsty smile curving his lips:

"If we're going to build one, let's build this one!"

"Type 56 assault rifle! Modified version!"

"I want this gun to become an eternal nightmare for Americans on the battlefield!"