Courtyard House: Starting with a 28-inch motorcycle

After hearing this, the technical instructor surnamed Zhang's mouth gaped open wide enough to fit an egg. He remained silent for a long time, then shook his head and left.

But just as he turned around, he muttered to himself, "This isn't farming... it's growing official hats!"

The voice was extremely soft, yet He Yuzhu, with his keen ears, heard it clearly.

He has not only reached the pinnacle of Xingyi Quan, but has also mastered Tai Chi, which he has only recently begun to learn, to the second level.

Not only have their five senses been enhanced, but their physical condition has also undergone subtle improvements.

They can catch even the slightest rustle of wind, let alone whispers.

But he just smiled and didn't take it to heart.

Let it be a misunderstanding.

By the end of the year, the wheat fields are rippling and the rice paddies are fragrant. When the data is reported, everyone has to shut up.

His wheat yield was 50-60% higher; his rice yield was more than double.

If it can really be promoted, it will not only alleviate the food shortage, but may even make a great contribution.

By the end of 1956, as long as the data on wheat and rice could be reported, there was still a two-year buffer period—enough time to spread the new grain seeds throughout the north and south.

Even if we take a step back and assume that winter wheat is only rolled out in the north, with this yield, the people in the Ministry of Agriculture would probably be even more restless than him.

Ever since He Yuzhu watched the wheat ears break through the soil and the rice sprouts emerge, the corners of his mouth have never left his lips.

The kitchen staff, seeing him always smiling, immediately sensed something was up: the chef was in a good mood, it was the perfect time to learn from him! One by one, they gathered around with spatulas, asking all sorts of questions, even going on and on about how to chop scallions.

He Yuzhu was also very straightforward. He never held back when it came to cooking in a large pot. He would teach anyone who asked, explaining clearly how to control the heat and when to add the salt.

Even the logistics department next door noticed—Old He has been walking with a spring in his step lately, and the tunes he hums can be heard for miles around; he's probably hit the jackpot.

A few days later, Li Huaide sent someone to summon him.

As soon as He Yuzhu entered, Director Li grinned and said, "Yuzhu, are you getting married soon?"

"Huh?" He Yuzhu looked bewildered. "Director Li, how old am I? I'm not old enough yet."

Li Huaide waved his hand, not bothering to investigate further.

He knew that the rumors outside were outrageous, saying that He Yuzhu had taken a fancy to a female worker at the steel mill and had even prepared a betrothal gift.

But he didn't go to see He Yuzhu for this matter at all.

"The polar bear expert will be here soon. I asked someone to get a copy of Sharif's recipe from Northeast China. Take a look and see if you can use it."

He then handed over a document.

He Yuzhu flipped through the file and saw it was filled with detailed records of meals, even noting which morning he ate half a piece of black bread. He couldn't help but click his tongue in amazement: "There are files like this? They're incredibly detailed..."

Li Huaide sighed, "They're highly sought after. If we beg them, wouldn't we have to expose our dirty secrets? If we could get them to leave their skills behind, I'd be happy to serve them tea and water."

This is true.

Once the project is implemented, the Third Steel Rolling Mill will be able to leap from an inconspicuous public-private joint venture into the national heavy industry sector.

Everyone wants to have their name written on the list of achievements.

He Yuzhu smiled, his eyes shining: "Director Li, don't worry."

If he can finish my food and still not swallow his tongue, then all my years of cooking practice have been for nothing.

With his top-notch culinary skills, he can make anything from sweet and sour to salty and spicy dishes, and even a simple "rainbow rice porridge" can bring tears to people's eyes.

If he can't even handle a polar bear, then his "God Tongue" should be taken off the list.

Upon hearing this, Li Huaide was so happy that he slapped his thigh.

He had tasted He Yuzhu's cooking before—that bowl of braised pork with vermicelli was glossy but not greasy, melted in his mouth, and left a sweet aftertaste for three days after eating it; he was so full that he could barely walk without leaning against the wall, but he still longed for another bowl.

Even more outrageous, once when I was eating the shepherd's purse and tofu soup he made, I inexplicably thought of the porridge my mother used to cook at night when I was a child, and I almost couldn't hold back my tears.

This isn't cooking; this is bewitching.

The old men got hooked after trying it once.

His father-in-law, along with several veteran cadres, directly submitted a report to transfer He Yuzhu to the government canteen.

Upon learning of this, Li Huaide rushed to the door that very night, pleading and begging until he finally managed to save the person.

You think you can just steal the treasure you finally dug up before it's even warmed up? No way!

The Ministry of Industry had just allocated the machine tools built with Soviet aid, and the experts were about to arrive.

Time was as tight as a screw being tightened, so Li Huaide hurriedly obtained the recipe, making sure He Yuzhu understood the flavors in advance so that he could be prepared for the challenge.

After reviewing the information, He Yuzhu had a good idea of ​​what was going on: Sharif preferred sweet and sour flavors, and could also eat salty and spicy food, but not as satisfying as the former.

The rest was easy.

He immediately had a simple oven set up in the kitchen—many of the dishes he had been planning for a long time involved the word "roasting".

The aroma of charcoal grilling is the best way to overcome language barriers.

Then he asked Li Huaide, "Could you get some milk? I can make cheese."

Li Huaide was taken aback: "Cheese? That stuff is very precious."

But then he thought about it again and gritted his teeth and nodded.

There were dairy factories in Beijing, but milk was still a rare commodity at that time. There was a saying that "one piece of milk candy is worth a cup of fresh milk," which shows how difficult it was to obtain.

Fortunately, Li Huaide had connections and promised several "He Family Special Supply Banquets," managing to squeeze out a monthly supply of thirty catties from the factory.

This amount of milk can make at most three pounds of cheese.

If Sharif were a cheese fanatic, there probably wouldn't be enough to fill his teeth.

At that point, we'll have to rely on other dishes to make a good impression.

Although time was tight, He Yuzhu already had a plan in mind—he had discovered a new use for the Vitality Space: accelerating fermentation.

It takes at least six months to make an authentic cheese outside of China, and if the climate isn't right, it can take up to a year.

In the living space, he can control the temperature and humidity, and the aging process can be completed in about ten days.

The quality may be slightly inferior to the original, but he has plenty of ways to make up for the lack of flavor.

The fire is about to be lit, the aroma hasn't even started to waft, but the outcome is already decided.

Two days later, a bright red banner was hung high at the entrance of the Third Steel Rolling Mill, fluttering in the wind like a burning fire.

Factory Director Yang, along with Wang Shushu, Deputy Factory Director Zhou, the head of the technical department, and a group of others, stood neatly outside the gate, their expressions solemn yet eager—today was the day their elder brother had sent technical support.

Before long, seven or eight jeeps arrived, kicking up dust as their tires rolled over the concrete road, producing a low rumble.

The car door opened, and more than twenty people got off one after another, all wearing thick woolen coats and carrying briefcases and toolboxes on their shoulders.

Seven engineers and technicians walked at the front, their expressions calm, followed by translators and liaisons, their steps orderly.

It's not that no one in the steel rolling mill understands Russian, but when it comes to technical terms, if someone mispronounces a single word, the blueprints can be drawn incorrectly.

There are very few translators in the entire country who can accurately convey technical details.

The team that came this time was Sharif's personal translation team, which had accompanied him throughout his visit to China. Their language proficiency was as high as 90%, enabling them to communicate almost seamlessly.

"A warm welcome! On behalf of all the staff of the Third Steel Rolling Mill, I extend my sincerest greetings to Director Zhang, Mr. Sharif, and all the experts!"

As soon as Director Yang finished speaking, Sharif smiled and took over the conversation: "Comrades should help and support each other."

We are all brothers of the working class, and the ideal of communism binds us tightly together.

After exchanging pleasantries, Director Yang's smile deepened, and he gestured for us to come in, saying, "Please come in and take a tour of our new factory area."

The group walked slowly along the main road.

The expanded Third Steel Rolling Mill features brand-new factory buildings, towering steel frames, and machines arranged in neat rows.

The only weakness is the workforce—more than 60% of them are newly recruited apprentices, who are clumsy in their operations and have a hint of timidity in their eyes.

As for the equipment? Most of it is second-hand goods discarded by the older brother, but for China, it is a rare treasure.

After making the rounds, Sharif and his technical team exchanged a few glances and nodded knowingly.

The machine tools are usable, barely passable; the technicians' skills are lacking, but they can be trained; as for the transfer of new technologies and subsequent maintenance plans? They didn't mention it at all.

If it's not mentioned, it means they're tacitly refusing to provide it.

If the machine breaks down, we'll have to rely on them to fix it.

This tactic has been used to death all over the world.

However, these polar bears are still somewhat considerate right now—they didn't demand exorbitant service fees like they did later on, but their ability to "strangle" you has already begun to show: If you don't obey, no one will save you if your parts break down.

Director Zhang stood to the side, his brows furrowing slightly.

These polar bears really won't open their mouths unless they see meat.

The only time they proactively shared new technology was when a state banquet-level chef from Northeast China personally cooked a bowl of sweet and sour pork, which moved them to tears. They immediately pledged three months of technical support.

But that chef is over seventy years old and only made a comeback last year. How can he possibly travel all over China with Sharif now?

"Never mind," Director Zhang sighed inwardly, "Let's eat first."

Just then, Li Huaide quietly whispered a few words into Director Yang's ear.

Factory Director Yang's eyes lit up, and he immediately greeted with a smile, "It's getting late, let's go have some food first."

Let's eat and chat; we can discuss the matter after the meal.

Everyone agreed and were then led to a small canteen in a corner of the factory area.

The polar bear engineers initially didn't think much of it, until they pushed open the door to the private room—

The air seemed to freeze.

The floor was so shiny you could see your reflection in it, and the tables and chairs were spotless.

The dishes on the table looked as if they had been brought out of a painting!

Even Director Yang was stunned.

A rich aroma hit my nose, and my throat involuntarily tightened, almost making me drool.

This time, He Yuzhu really put all his effort into it.

If his previous dishes were "fragrant for miles," then today's meal was a "triple whammy of color, aroma, and taste," scoring a perfect eleven out of ten!

The presentation is as exquisite as a traditional Chinese painting, so delicate that you almost don't want to touch it.

The braised pork knuckle, glistening with red oil, gleamed with an amber light; the steamed fish lay in the center of the porcelain plate, like a dragon just awakening; a bowl of stewed tofu in old broth steamed hot, its aroma wafting out in layers.

"Gentlemen, please take your seats." Factory Director Yang suppressed his excitement and smiled as he gestured for them to sit down.