Courtyard House: Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) Traded for an Aircraft Carrier, the Whole Count

Before the first rays of dawn could even penetrate the workshop's ventilation windows, the chilling sounds of demolition could already be heard from the third workshop.

Unlike Yi Zhonghai, who carefully troubleshooted the problem, Jiang Chen's actions were so rough that it was as if he were destroying evidence.

The massive overhead crane moved with a roar, its heavy hook catching the machine's outer casing. Jiang Chen manipulated the handle, exerting force without hesitation.

"Crack—Boom!"

The protective shell that Soviet experts considered a forbidden zone was forcibly torn off, revealing the intricate internal structure inside.

What followed was an even more insane disassembly.

If any other technicians were present at that moment, they would have been terrified and suffered a cardiac arrest. Jiang Chen disassembled those intricate hydraulic valves, fragile electron tubes, and tightly meshed gear sets as quickly as he took apart building blocks.

There were no markings, no blueprints for reference, and not even any categorization or arrangement.

Parts were dismantled like rain, piling up across half the workshop. The once imposing rolling mill was reduced to a mountain of parts in less than half a day, leaving only a bare base standing forlornly in place.

Jiang Chen stood amidst the pile of parts, toying with a core gear the size of a fist in his hand.

Under the system's microscopic scanning, the secret of this gear has nowhere to hide.

"It really is a hidden clasp."

Jiang Chen sneered. The meshing angle of this gear had been artificially adjusted by 0.5 degrees. This extremely small deviation would not be noticeable at low speeds, but under full load, it would cause severe wear and vibration, ultimately leading to a chain reaction of failures.

This is a typical example of a "design flaw that leaves a landmine," also known as a technical backdoor.

"Since we've broken it up, let's completely overhaul it."

With a thought, Jiang Chen instantly removed the severely worn gear from his hand and tossed it into the [Static/Processing Table] in the system space.

This is a new feature unlocked after the system is upgraded to Lv2: a micro-processing plant completely controlled by his consciousness.

[Beep! Damaged component detected: high-carbon steel transmission gear.]

Option A: Repair (costs 5 trade points).

Option B: Remodel and Upgrade (Consumes 20 Trade Points, requires material replacement).

"Plan B. Replace the material with... that high-strength chromium-molybdenum alloy from our inventory."

It was a piece of tank armor scrap he casually traded for two boxes of luncheon meat during a trade in the wasteland dimension. In this era, this alloy was practically a god-tier material.

Within the system space, an invisible energy field begins to operate.

The originally dull and rough gears decomposed and reassembled in the void. The chromium-molybdenum alloy was melted, purified, and then solidified at a speed that defied the laws of physics.

There were no sparks, no noise, only molecular-level recombination and transitions.

The rough workmanship, which originally had tolerances at the millimeter level, was directly improved to the micrometer level under the sculpting of the system's machining station. The surface of the gears was as smooth as a mirror, even reflecting a person's image, and radiating a mesmerizingly cold and icy light.

This is the pinnacle of industrial aesthetics.

For the next few days, Jiang Chen lived this seemingly boring but actually crazy life.

To deceive others, he pounded his hammer loudly in the workshop, and sparks from welding flashed intermittently, creating the illusion of a bustling maintenance operation. But in reality, the core work was all done in the system space.

The bearings have been replaced with ceramic composite materials, which improves wear resistance tenfold.

The hydraulic lines have been redesigned with improved flow paths, resulting in a 40% reduction in pressure loss.

The control circuit directly eliminated the bloated and stupid relay logic of the original factory and replaced it with a simple integrated module pieced together from future electronic waste.

When thirsty, he can drink a sip of the system-made "Energy Potion." Just one drop of that pale green liquid can sweep away all fatigue, allowing him to work continuously for twenty hours like a tireless perpetual motion machine.

When hungry, I take out the braised beef and steamed buns that I had prepared in advance from my space.

For outsiders, seven days is an anxious wait, a countdown to their downfall; but for Jiang Chen, it's a solitary industrial carnival.

He is reshaping the very essence of this machine, giving it a soul that transcends this era.

In the early hours of the seventh day, the last screw was tightened.

Jiang Chen put down the multi-purpose wrench and let out a long breath. He took a few steps back and looked at the machine in front of him, which was now unrecognizable.

The original bulky, dark, and green-painted Soviet-style design is gone. In its place stands a steel monster with sleek, compact lines, gleaming with a cold metallic sheen. It lies silently in the shadows, as if ready to devour its prey at any moment.

That's not repair, that's rebirth.

Jiang Chen picked up a piece of oil-stained cotton yarn from the side and slowly wiped the grease off his hands, the data-driven glint in his eyes gradually fading away.

He walked to the red telephone by the workshop wall, picked up the receiver, and dialed the factory manager's office number.

"Hello, is this Factory Manager Yang?"

His voice was hoarse and calm, carrying the calm before a storm.

"This is Jiang Chen. Inform the entire factory to prepare for the show."