Mr. Smith's radio was a "Five-Seven" brand five-tube transistor radio produced by the Qingdao Radio Second Factory. By the twenty-first century, it could be considered an antique relic. The advantage was its simple structure; the downside was that it was especially prone to malfunction.

In my previous life, thanks to my family background, I chose to study engineering (hehe, maybe I'm flattering myself a bit—it was really just being a repairman). After working away from home for many years, I had repaired all sorts of electrical equipment, big and small. My hands were especially skillful, and I was even a director of the city's Amateur Radio Enthusiasts Association. Fixing a broken transistor radio like this was no problem at all.

With a few quick snips of the scissors, I opened up the radio casing, my movements practiced and deft—truly the work of a seasoned hand. After a simple inspection, since I didn't have a multimeter, I couldn't determine if any components were damaged. I just tidied up the wiring, reconnected two broken ends, and then gave it a test. Heh, it actually worked—quite lucky, really. Fortunately, Mr. knew nothing about radio and hadn't randomly fiddled with this poor old radio. Otherwise, it might not have been so easy to fix.

When Mr. and the teacher's wife saw me fix the radio in just a few minutes, they stared wide-eyed in amazement, even forgetting their grief for a moment. Although Jincai Walker was a technician at the electrical station and Little John came from a family of scholars, this repairman was just a bit too young. Most seven-year-old children would only know how to herd cattle, cut grass, or play with mud balls—they might not have even seen a radio before.

Seeing Mr.'s astonished expression, I smiled inwardly. I hadn't intended to step in, but I was afraid the teacher's wife would keep crying and make a scene. If someone overheard, it could be very inconvenient. After all, the Cultural Revolution wasn't over yet, and as they say, "the darkest hour is just before dawn." It wasn't worth causing any more trouble at a time like this.

Fixing a broken radio was certainly surprising, but not enough to make people overthink things.

This move of "removing the firewood from under the pot" proved very effective—the teacher's wife stopped crying and went over to listen to the news on the radio with Mr..

Seeing me standing properly to the side, Mr. waved his hand: "Little John, you can go home now. Uncle can't teach you today."

"Okay. Then Uncle and Aunt, please take care. I'll head back now." Even in his grief, Mr. nodded at me, showing a hint of comfort. Unlike me, he didn't know what would happen in the future; with the sudden passing of the great leader, he only felt the future was bleak. Having such a thoughtful and sensible student as me was at least some consolation.

I thought for a moment, picked up Ouyang Xiu's "History of the Five Dynasties," and took my leave.

The passing of the Chairman caused a huge and far-reaching shock and impact across the country. But for a remote village like the Liujia Mountain Brigade, people mostly mourned the great leader with a simple, heartfelt emotion—though there was also a good deal of confusion and unease.

Dad rushed home the next day.

School was suspended for three days as a sign of mourning. I rarely had some free time, so I took the opportunity to read "History of the Five Dynasties." Grandma couldn't read, so she didn't know what book I was reading, but seeing me study so diligently made her very happy.

As soon as Dad walked in, I put away "History of the Five Dynasties." Dad was someone who knew his stuff, and I didn't want to waste words explaining how, after learning a few new characters, I was suddenly reading "History of the Five Dynasties." In the past, whenever Dad came home, the house would be filled with laughter. My sisters and I would crowd around him, asking all sorts of questions, and even Grandpa and Grandma would sometimes join in. But today was different—Grandpa and Grandma just nodded and said, "You're back." Second and third sisters were especially well-behaved. It turned out the brigade office had issued a notice: for seven days, no singing or laughing was allowed.

This was the simple way the peasant brothers expressed their deepest mourning for the leader.

But I didn't pay much attention to all that. Can you really control everything, even when people eat and go to the bathroom?

"Dad, where's Mom? Didn't she come back with you?" I'd been back for several days and still hadn't seen Mom or my eldest sister. I really missed them.

Dad smiled and said, "Mom is at work; she didn't come back."

"Oh..."

"Father, Mother, I'm going to visit Mr. Smith," Dad said to Grandpa and Grandma.

Huh, why did Dad want to visit Mr. Smith as soon as he got back? Did the two of them hit it off and become friends over the past few days?

"Dad, I'll go with you."

"Alright." To my surprise, we weren't the first guests at Mr.'s house—someone else was already there.

It was a middle-aged man, about forty years old, dressed neatly in a Zhongshan suit, with a square face and an air of scholarly dignity mixed with authority. It was clear he was someone of status. But in front of Mr. Smith, he sat upright and proper, showing clear respect.

When he saw Dad, Mr. Smith smiled slightly and said, "Jincai, come, let me introduce you... This is Director Harris from our Hongqi Commune... Director Harris, this is Jincai Walker, who works at the county film projection management station..."

"Hello, hello, I'm Edward Harris..." Director Harris immediately stood up to shake hands with Dad.

In the twenty-first century, a township party secretary would be considered a big shot in the whole county. An ordinary employee at a county-level public institution would never warrant such a greeting.