In fact, Old Clark had already lost hope. A single lathe guide rail—even a level six or seven fitter would need several days to truly smooth it out. Fatty borrowed the tools a little after ten in the morning, and now it was just past one. Subtracting the time for lunch, at most it had been two hours. He could only hope that he hadn’t scraped off too much and that the repair would be passable.

Following Fatty all the way into the lathe workshop, watching as Fatty ignored the lathes in the main area and headed straight for the small room, Old Clark finally breathed a sigh of relief. As long as it wasn’t those lathes outside, it was fine. Inside, there were only two old antiques, not used for production. The most valuable parts were probably just the two lathe beds, so the loss wouldn’t be significant.

If the antique guide rail was really broken, then so be it! It already had issues anyway, and keeping it was just for a bit of sentimental value. But Fatty couldn’t be let off so easily—how could he dare to scrape the guide rail without permission?

“There’s a set of top-notch tools in the fitter’s workshop, but unfortunately, I don’t know whose they are. They’re locked up and not for use.” Henry Grant seemed completely unaware of the change in Old Clark’s mood behind him, casually saying as he opened the door, “What a pity for such a good set of tools!”

“That set belongs to my old man! What makes you think you deserve to use them?” Old Clark was instantly furious when he heard this. Why should it be a pity just because you, Fatty, can’t use them?

Henry Grant shrank his neck and didn’t dare say another word. Getting caught talking behind someone’s back was embarrassing. He kept his head down and walked straight to the old Rheinmetall lathe he was using.

With a stern face, Old Clark walked up to the lathe and pushed Henry Grant aside with one hand. Old Clark was far more familiar with this lathe than Henry Grant was. He knew exactly what problems it had and didn’t need any introduction from Henry Grant.

As he lowered his head, Old Clark suddenly widened his eyes in shock. How was this possible?

This was a lathe from 1933, with severe guide rail wear, not to mention that it had been slightly deformed during a move when it was dropped. Since it was only kept for its commemorative value, it had just been reinstalled as it was.

To fix the guide rail, the simplest way would be to replace it with a new one, but that was obviously impossible. A lathe from 1933 didn’t have spare parts, let alone a brand-new guide rail to swap in. After all, the stories about German sewers were just jokes, not reality.

Without a new one, if the wear was severe, the only option was to do an overall precision grind and then scrape and chisel it by hand—in plain terms, to scrape it out.

Rough machining of the guide rail was done with a grinding machine, but the fine finishing was actually done by hand. A highly skilled worker would use a fine scraper, find the uneven spots with a level gauge, and then scrape those areas with a small tool. It could take several days to finish a single guide rail, and the final result would be a surface covered in dense patterns—these were the marks left by scraping.

Anyone capable of scraping a guide rail had to be at least a level five fitter, which was about the level of James Grant—an entry-level standard.

Even a top-level, level eight fitter would need at least several days to finely scrape out a qualified guide rail. Besides skill, the process was also time-consuming because of the measurements involved.

Fatty was originally just a student. All his spare time had been devoted to fitter’s work, but at his age, it was impossible for him to be a level eight fitter. Not to mention level eight—even if Fatty was diligent, being level two or three would already be impressive.

As the saying goes, “Three years to make a skilled turner, ten years to make a lousy fitter”—this wasn’t just talk. Fitting was the most labor-intensive craft. From the time Fatty borrowed the tools until now, it had only been three hours at most—what could he possibly have accomplished?

But what Old Clark saw before his eyes now completely overturned his understanding. There was actually a brand-new looking guide rail on the lathe bed—how could that be possible?

No, it wasn’t new. Old Clark’s experience was too extensive; after a moment’s surprise, he realized this wasn’t a brand-new guide rail, but one that had been finely machined and polished.

Out of habit, he ran his hand along the guide rail from one end to the other, even closing his eyes and holding his breath as he did so. For old workers of his generation, the touch of their fingers was the most precise measuring tool—sometimes even more accurate than a ruler.

The guide rail was straight, even, and smooth, without the slightest deviation—at least, Old Clark couldn’t feel any. Based on his experience, the flatness error of the entire guide rail was well under one wire (0.01mm); he couldn’t feel any bumps or dips at all, and it was completely different from the patterned feel of a hand-scraped guide rail.

“A master!” That was Old Clark’s first thought. The idea that such a young, chubby student could have this level of skill made Old Clark’s body tremble uncontrollably.

Old Clark’s reaction made Henry Grant extremely nervous. If this old man had some kind of accident here, what would he do?

“Have you had lunch, Fatty?” Old Clark suddenly asked an inexplicable question.

“I have!” Henry Grant didn’t know why Old Clark was asking, but quickly replied, “I ate at Canteen Nine.”

Now Old Clark had a clear idea. From here to Canteen Nine, including the time to line up and eat, it would take at least forty-five minutes round trip. Then, subtracting the time to disassemble and reassemble the old lathe, that meant this unremarkable-looking Fatty had spent at most an hour and a half to complete the entire guide rail scraping and leveling job, and even managed to polish it as well. Was this guy a monster?