Disabled Childhood Sweetheart: A Humble Puppy Begs for the Young Lady's Pity

My second year of high school was uneventful, with teachers constantly reminding me of the importance of studying.

Everyone's desk was piled high with books and exercise books; aside from the busy coursework, there was nothing else worth mentioning.

The peaceful life was disrupted in mid-June of that year.

That afternoon, the sun was blazing.

Jiang Liguo, a young worker in the machining workshop of Hongxing Machinery Factory, suddenly received an urgent message from home saying that his wife was about to give birth. He clutched the crumpled leave slip and rushed to Master Zhou's boiler room.

"Uncle Zhou! Could you cover for me for half an hour? Just keep an eye on that C620 lathe, make sure it doesn't spin around aimlessly, you don't have to do anything!"

Master Zhou is a well-known good guy in the factory. He has been a boiler operator for more than 30 years. In terms of seniority and character, everyone has to respect him.

In the workshop, we see each other all the time. It's common for you to lend me a hand or for me to keep watch for you.

There wasn't much work to do in the boiler room at the moment, and Old Wang, the fire-tender, was also there, so Master Zhou readily agreed.

He walked into the machining workshop with a teacup in his hand. The workshop was as big as half a football field, and the air was filled with the smells of machine oil, iron filings, and sweat, which made his nose feel dry and sore.

Lathes, milling machines, and drilling machines were lined up in a row, the "sizzling" sound of grinding wheels polishing parts and the "clanging" sound of hammers striking iron plates creating a deafening roar.

Master Zhou, holding his teacup, slowly strolled around, nodding and offering cigarettes to his familiar coworkers before finally walking over to Jiang Liguo's C620 horizontal lathe.

The lathe was about half a person's height, its paint peeling off in patches, revealing the rusty iron frame underneath.

The huge triangular pulley rotated with the main shaft, making a regular "clang-clang" sound.

A three-jaw chuck held a round steel bar, which was slowly rotating. The iron filings it cut off were rolled into shiny silver springs and fell to the ground with a rustling sound.

Master Zhou leaned against the iron railing beside the lathe, took a sip of strong tea, and watched the machine run smoothly.

But not long after, the "clang" sound changed.

At first, it was a beat slower, then the sound became more and more muffled, like it was blocked with cotton, intermittent, and it no longer had the previous even and solid force.

Master Zhou's heart skipped a beat, and he straightened up and moved closer.

He had spent his whole life dealing with boilers and knew nothing about delicate tools like lathes. He just watched as the belt pulley became increasingly sluggish and wondered to himself: Could it be about to stop?

He was about to turn around and call Old Li from the milling machine group next door to come and take a look when he heard a crisp "crack" sound, like the sound of metal breaking.

Immediately afterwards, "Clang! Bang! Bang!"

A deafening explosion rang out!

The lathe spindle, weighing at least a thousand pounds, suddenly broke for some unknown reason, and along with the chuck and round steel bars, crashed down like a small mountain—

It hit Master Zhou squarely.

......

Wenxi and Zhou Jingchen had just gotten off the bus after school when they heard a neighboring woman shouting in a panic from the alley:

"Jingchen, you need to go to the hospital quickly to see your grandfather! Something's happened!"

Zhou Jingchen's heart sank, and he and Wenxi ran like mad to the hospital. When they arrived at the hospital, panting, they saw a white sheet covering Grandpa Zhou's head.

The adults wouldn't let the children uncover the white sheet; the person was already dead, and the damage was quite severe.

Wenxi cried beside her, wiping away her tears.

Zhou Jingchen stood there blankly for a long time before tears finally streamed down his face. He cried with restraint, his grief overwhelming.

This old man, who had been alone all his life, was adopted, given a home, made a walking stick for him, and taught him the principles of being a good person. He wanted to marry a young lady but couldn't. And just like that, he left us unexpectedly.

Grandpa Zhou often said before he passed away: Good people don't live long.

Little did he know that his words would become a self-fulfilling prophecy, befalling him as well.

This world is often just so messed up! The more wicked a person is, the longer they live, while those with beautiful souls are often taken away by God early on!

The workshop was temporarily sealed off, and Wen Zhiting, as the factory director and the head of the machining workshop, was taken away for investigation.

Not long after, the investigation results came out: it turned out that the C620 lathe had had its parts replaced recently.

Previously, all the parts were imported, costing more than 8000 yuan each. In order to reduce expenses, the factory temporarily switched to domestically produced parts, which cost only 3000 yuan each.

Wen Zhiting personally signed the application form at the time.

This approach is actually quite reasonable. With the profits of large state-owned enterprises declining and wages becoming increasingly difficult to pay, failing to find ways to increase revenue and reduce expenditure will only hasten their demise.

No one expected that the domestically made screws could not withstand the speed of the machine tool, causing the spindle fixing screws to break and the two-ton machine tool part to fall and kill someone.

This was classified as a "major work safety accident." After the results were announced, the factory was ordered to suspend production for rectification, and Wen Zhiting was temporarily suspended from his duties.

The Wen family was shrouded in gloom.

Later, Wen Zhiting paid for Zhou's funeral. On the day of the burial, dark clouds rolled in with a strong wind, and rain threatened to fall.

Wenxi hid in the crowd and quietly took Zhou Jingchen's hand.

She knew he was the one who was most upset. She didn't know how to comfort him, so she could only awkwardly hold his hand, trying to offer him some comfort with the warmth of her palm.

The boy's thin back stood straight in the wind, which lifted the hem of his shirt. He stood there blankly, his eyes red-rimmed, unable to shed another tear.

Along with the coffin, a batch of wood carvings were buried, which Zhou Jingchen carved himself: a sleeping grandfather, a grandfather with his hands behind his back holding a teacup, a smiling grandfather, and a grandfather who raised his hand as if to hit him.

Grandpa is gone, and from now on he's truly all alone.

......

That day, the rain fell, and the cold raindrops pattered on Wen Zhiting's face. His shoulders trembled more and more, and finally he covered his face and cried.

Xiang Qin supported him and whispered words of comfort.

That evening, Wen Zhiting had a private talk with Zhou Jingchen, and they discussed many things.

He frankly told the boy the results of his investigation, saying, "You are Master Zhou's only relative. I am responsible for his death."

His face was full of guilt, and his eyes were brimming with tears: "Jingchen, it's all my fault. If I hadn't signed that document and hadn't replaced the parts with domestic ones, he wouldn't have died."

Zhou Jingchen remained silent for a long time, then looked up and saw a few strands of silver hair at Wen Zhiting's temples, and shook his head:

"Uncle Wen, this was an accident, an accident that no one expected. Don't take all the blame upon yourself."

His voice was still slightly choked, but every word was clear, carrying a composure beyond his years:

"My grandfather valued 'loyalty' the most in his life. He was willing to cover for his colleagues not for any other reason than that he felt it was only right for people in the workshop to lend a hand to each other. He was always such a kind-hearted person."

My regret is that I didn't get to share more warm meals with him, that I didn't get to let him see me grow up, and that I didn't get to properly take care of him. I don't blame anyone, and I especially don't blame you.

"You and Aunt Xiang have been so good to me, treating me like your own son since I was little. Grandpa is grateful to you, and I am grateful to you too."

The boy raised his hand and wiped his reddened eyes: "I heard from the adults that the factory is not doing well. You signed off on replacing the parts with domestic ones because you wanted to save the factory some money so that everyone could receive their wages steadily. You are the factory manager, and you have to consider everyone in the factory. This is not your fault. If Grandpa knew in the afterlife, he wouldn't blame you. He would never be critical of other people's difficulties."

"This accident was unforeseen, not anyone's intention." He paused, his voice filled with barely concealed grief, yet he remained rational.

"I just hope that the factory will pay more attention to safety in the future and prevent such unfortunate accidents from happening again. As for my grandfather, one of the lessons he taught me is 'Don't take your anger out on others or complain when things happen.' I will remember his words, live a good life, and live up to his kindness in adopting and taking care of me."

Wen Zhiting, who had been hunched over, unconsciously clenched his fists, his fingertips turning white, as he endured the heavy burden of his conscience.

Upon hearing the words "I don't blame you," he abruptly raised his head, his tightly furrowed brows trembling violently. Jing Chen's excessive understanding touched the softest spot in his heart.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something more, but his throat seemed to be blocked, and he couldn't make a sound.

The boy in front of her was just a child who had just lost his only support. He should have been at the age when he was most resentful and should have cried the most, but instead, she comforted him with calm and insightful words, every word of which was full of understanding and reason.

A complex mix of emotions surged within Wen Zhiting's chest: guilt, heartache, and deep emotion.

After a long silence, Wen Zhiting took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, his voice hoarse and choked with emotion.

"Jingchen... thank you."

He raised his hand, intending to pat the boy's shoulder, but paused in mid-air before gently patting his back.

"Don't worry, I will give you and the factory an explanation regarding Master Zhou's matter. From now on, with me, Aunt Xiang, and Wenxi by your side, you are not alone."