The Beauty of Machinery

Then Fang Linyan went to a nearby chain auto repair shop. The shop alone had a workshop spanning several thousand square meters, fully equipped with lathes and the like. For Fang Linyan, who had worked in a repair shop for two years, he was quite familiar with the machining tools inside.

What Fang Linyan lacked now wasn't money—it was time! He directly threw down ten thousand dollars, saying he wanted to borrow the shop's equipment to process something, using it for at most two hours.

The boss, Smith, was actually very unwelcoming toward this uninvited guest, Fang Linyan, but this dissatisfaction was hard to show in the face of those crisp green banknotes—though, out of caution, he still pulled aside a trusted worker and whispered a few words, instructing him to keep a close eye on this outsider, guarding against any sticky fingers or reckless operation that might damage the machines.

Just then, Smith suddenly got a call saying the parts he ordered had arrived and he needed to pick them up quickly, so he drove off. When he returned an hour later, he found that the workers who should have been out in the workshop repairing cars were nowhere to be seen.

Smith immediately flew into a rage. So I'm paying you all to slack off? Don't any of you want to work anymore? He hurried inside, intending to have the foreman, Jack, give those bastards a thorough scolding.

But Smith didn't expect that when he reached the inner processing room, his anger only grew. It turned out those slacking bastards were all crowded around here, packed in layers upon layers, completely jammed tight. Their expressions were like a pack of wolves, starved for seven or eight days, spotting a big piece of tender fatty mutton—every single one of them had eyes gleaming.

And Jack, the one he had placed high hopes in, was standing in the middle of the crowd, holding a small piece of iron sheet in his hands with a look of awe, while his eyes were fixed on another person who was operating the machinery. That person was the one who had come running in to borrow the equipment for ten thousand dollars.

By now, Smith's curiosity had outweighed his anger, so he squeezed in to watch too. The moment he looked, he found it hard to tear his gaze away.

Smith wasn't some rich second-generation heir. He had painstakingly run this repair shop for thirty years to reach its current scale, so while he might not be a master of auto repair skills, his eye for quality was always sharp. Seeing what this stranger before him was doing, he was working without even using blueprints, directly machining parts on a lathe—and not a common CNC lathe at that, but that old, worn-out manual lathe!

That alone was one thing, but the key was that Smith had already spotted several components assembled nearby. These parts were extremely precise; the largest was at most the size of a finger, yet when pieced together, they fit seamlessly into a perfect silver stainless steel cube. If someone hadn't bumped into it and caused it to scatter, you'd never guess it was assembled.

"Such machining precision is outrageous—at least IT7 level, and the surface roughness has probably reached 0.5UM. That's the kind of standard you'd only find in a university specialized lab! Who the hell is this guy, to achieve this with a manual lathe!"

Watching Fang Linyan's movements, Smith suddenly recalled an old memory. He had once overheard two mechanical processing experts chatting about whether artificial intelligence could replace humans. One expert said very decisively that it was impossible, because no matter how perfect machinery became, it could never understand art!

And truly perfect industrial products possess an indescribable artistic beauty—natural and seamless, pleasing to the eye—something machinery would never comprehend.

At first, Smith was quite dismissive of this claim, until he saw the pinnacle of mechanical technology at the time: the B-2 bomber. He immediately felt a stir, something moved within him. Then he thought of Lamborghini, Bugatti Veyron, Aston Martin—these artistic masterpieces forged from centuries of automotive wisdom, hammered and refined a thousand times—and only then did he awaken to what mechanical beauty meant.

Why do those wealthy tycoons have the astonishing habit of collecting dozens of luxury cars? Why do car shows draw so many men like moths to a flame? Setting aside economic factors and the allure of models, it's because the mechanical beauty displayed in cars easily conquers men's senses, letting them—even if they can't own them—experience the same pleasure women get from shopping.

And now, the boss saw the parts Fang Linyan had manually processed. They looked ordinary at first glance, but upon closer inspection, they even carried a hint of that natural, seamless beauty. How could Smith not be utterly amazed?

Fang Linyan, pressed for time, paid no attention to these onlookers. He hurriedly finished making the gadgets he had designed earlier, then rushed to the airport, assembling them along the way. Finally, he managed to get it all done just before boarding.

However, because Fang Linyan was too focused on machining the parts, he failed to notice one thing: every time he finished a part, a faint, almost imperceptible ripple would emanate from its surface, as if something was being concealed.

When going through security, his bag was scanned and revealed a plate-sized wall clock, a peculiar ornament that seemed to be pieced together and welded from screws, parts, and such, and an electric razor.

The clock and razor were naturally allowed through. But the peculiar ornament made the security personnel study it for a while, asking Fang Linyan what it was. Fang Linyan said matter-of-factly that it was a rare art ornament he had bought while traveling in Detroit, a local piece expressing the unique spirit of the Motor City.

The security personnel looked at the odd ornament again, confirmed it really wasn't dangerous, and waved him through.

Successfully boarding and sitting in first class, Fang Linyan finally let out a long sigh of relief—both for completing the first phase of his mission and for being glad his trick hadn't been seen through.

Just as the plane began closing its doors and announcing takeoff, Fang Linyan suddenly noticed that the flow of time seemed to slow down. The flight attendant, who had her back to him and was bending over to pour water, revealing a pleasing curve of graceful lines, now moved as if in slow-motion replay, sluggish beyond measure. His retina began to display a series of messages.

You have successfully boarded American Airlines Flight 11 (from Boston Logan International Airport to Los Angeles).

Main Quest: Delay Means Death (Completed)

Quest Completion Rating: Extremely Poor (E) (You wasted the ample time before boarding on tasks completely unrelated to the main quest)

You have received 1 Universal Point.

Data generating.

Data evaluating.

Data analyzing.

During your exploration of this world, you inflicted minor harm on only one native with a criminal identity.

During your exploration of this world, you helped one elderly native and did not take their money.

During your exploration of this world, you provided aid to as many as six native homeless individuals, improving their financial situation and deeply influencing their lives.

Your personality and behavior pattern leans toward Lawful Good.

Your subsequent main quest is generating.