Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

The soundproof glass trembled slightly with the terrifying roar.

On the test bench, the silver monster was roaring wildly. The Mach rings on the exhaust nozzles were like dreamlike blue diamonds, one ring after another, so stable it was terrifying.

The hands on the dial were fixed firmly on the red line area.

Thrust: 3000 kg.

Turbine inlet temperature: 1180 degrees.

Continuous running time: 30 minutes.

"Impossible... This is absolutely impossible..."

Ivanov was pressed against the glass, his large face distorted by the pressure, and his breath created a white mist on the glass.

He stared intently at the seemingly tireless engine, repeating only one sentence over and over again.

As one of the Soviet Union's top aerospace propulsion experts, he knew all too well what this data meant.

This means that the performance of the engine in front of us is at least a whole generation more advanced than their next-generation product, which is still on the drawing board!

"Is this what you built?"

Ivanov turned his head sharply, the arrogance in his eyes completely gone, replaced by a terror bordering on the collapse of his faith:

"This level of machining precision, this level of material strength... how could China possibly have this kind of industrial foundation? Did you file this out by hand?"

"Hand file?"

Shen Jinghong smiled, a smile that was calm and serene.

He walked to the control panel and pressed a red button.

"Buzz—"

Another huge metal roller shutter door next to the test bench slowly rose up.

It revealed the even more expansive and futuristic precision machining workshop behind it.

"Comrade, times have changed."

Shen Jinghong made an inviting gesture, her tone revealing a confidence that felt unfamiliar to the Soviets:

"Since we're here, let's not just look through the glass. Why don't we go in and touch it?"

Ivanov and his team of experts walked mechanically into the workshop, as if they were bewitched.

As soon as they entered, everyone was stunned.

There was no noisy crowd, no oil stains on the ground, and no bustling scene of dozens of workers circling around a machine.

Only a few oddly shaped, enormous machines stand silently in the constant temperature and humidity.

They are unmanned.

But under the control of the flashing indicator lights and the complex perforated paper tape, the huge cutting head was flying across a titanium alloy blank at a dazzling speed.

"Sizzle sizzle—"

The cutting fluid is sprayed automatically, and blue iron filings fly up like works of art.

Only a few minutes had passed.

An incredibly complex integrated turbine disk was thus created within this unmanned "iron box".

"My God..."

Following behind Ivanov, his deputy Vasily held the flat stainless steel flask he always carried, preparing to take a sip of vodka to calm his nerves.

Upon seeing this scene, his hand trembled.

"Clang!"

The wine jug fell to the ground, spilling strong liquor everywhere, and the rich aroma of the liquor instantly filled the air.

But he didn't even bother to pick them up.

He pointed at the machine that was automatically changing blades, his voice shrill, like a girl whose tail had been stepped on:

"It...it's moving by itself! There's no one inside! It's alive!"

"What kind of sorcery is this?!"

"This is called numerical control."

Shen Jinghong walked over, picked up the wine jug, put it back in Vasily's hand, and thoughtfully closed the lid for him.

Numeric Control, abbreviated as NC.

He looked at this group of Soviet experts who seemed to have traveled through time and patiently explained:

"No manual cranking or visual inspection is required. Just input the data, and the machine does the work automatically. It has an accuracy of 0.001 millimeters and runs 24/7."

"That's why we were able to build that engine."

Shen Jinghong pointed to the machine, a slight smile playing on her lips:

"While you're still using calipers to measure dimensions, we're already using computers to calculate trajectories. While you're still relying on the skills of your workers, we've already started relying on algorithms."

Ivanov walked shakily to the Cincinnati five-axis CNC machine tool.

He reached out, wanting to touch the smooth fuselage, but then pulled back as if he had been electrocuted.

As an expert, he could tell at a glance how valuable the machine was.

This is hardly a machine tool.

This is an industrial mother machine! A steel womb capable of producing countless advanced weapons!

"This technology... even Moscow doesn't have it..."

Ivanov muttered to himself, his face ashen, "No, not only Moscow, but even the Americans probably don't have this level of equipment on a large scale..."

He turned around abruptly, looking at Shen Jinghong with an extremely complex expression:

"Shen, tell me the truth. Was this made in China, or...?"

Does it matter?

Shen Jinghong interrupted him and casually pulled out a drawing from the file rack next to her.

That was the "aid blueprint" that the Soviet expert team handed to the Chinese side like charity when they got off the plane—an engine improvement plan for the MiG-15.

Shen Jinghong held the blueprint in her hand and shook it, making a rustling sound.

"Comrade Ivanov, you said earlier that you came to guide our work?"

"Take a look at these blueprints."

Shen Jinghong casually tossed the Soviet blueprint into the wastepaper basket next to him, as casually as if he were throwing away a used piece of toilet paper.

"What advantages does this outdated technology, still using centrifugal compressors, have besides being noisy, fuel-inefficient, and having low thrust?"

"Using technology that's a whole generation behind to guide us in building supersonic fighter jets?"

He pointed to the wastebasket, his tone devoid of anger, only conveying a deep, condescending regret:

"To be honest, in our Shenzhou Bureau, this kind of thing is too hard even to be used as toilet paper."

"boom!"

These words were like a resounding slap in the face to all the Soviet experts.

If Ivanov had heard these words half an hour earlier, he would have been furious and might have stormed off.

But now.

Looking at the CNC machine tool that was still running automatically, listening to the deafening roar from the test bench next door, and looking at the discarded blueprint in the wastepaper basket.

Ivanov fell silent.

His face turned a deep purplish-red, but he couldn't utter a single word in rebuttal.

Facts speak louder than words.

In this small workshop, the Chinese technology is indeed more than twenty years ahead of Moscow's!

The shame of being overtaken and even crushed by his "students" made this proud Soviet expert lower his noble head.

a long time.

Ivanov took a deep breath.

He took out from his coat pocket the notebook he had been reluctant to use, which bore the Kremlin crest, and a brand-new fountain pen.

The arrogant "teacher" who was just moments ago at the airport with his nostrils flared up has vanished.

Instead, there was a "primary school student" with a fervent gaze, an eager thirst for knowledge, and even a touch of humility.

"Director Shen... Director Shen."

Ivanov opened his notebook, licked his chapped lips, and spoke in a slightly hoarse but unusually sincere voice:

"Could you... please explain that five-axis linkage algorithm again?"

"And how exactly is the cooling hole technology for those turbine blades achieved?"

He glanced at his team behind him and shouted:

"What are you all standing there for? Throw away the vodka! Take out your notebooks!"

"Write it all down! Don't miss a single word!"

"This is the future! This is the true future of industry!"

Looking at the group of Soviet experts hunched over the machine tools, practically glued to their eyes, Shen Jinghong and Lin Qinghan, who was standing at the door, exchanged a glance.

Lin Qinghan pushed up her glasses, a proud smile curving her lips.

Shen Jinghong smiled faintly, a glint of shrewdness flashing in his eyes.

The goal of deterrence has been achieved.

Next, let's talk about the issue of "tuition fees".

……

Late that night.

A top-secret urgent telegram was sent directly from Beijing to Moscow through the KGB's secret channels.

The telegram was brief, yet filled with terror and shock.

**[To the Kremlin:]**

**[Assessment Report on China's Industrial Capabilities—A Serious Misjudgment!]**

**They possessed more than just blueprints; they mastered an automated manufacturing technology we couldn't comprehend! Its precision and production efficiency were at least twenty years ahead of the Soviet Union!**

**[I suggest an immediate adjustment to our China strategy! If we don't increase aid and offer substantial incentives in exchange, we will completely lose this ally!]**

**[Additionally: We request that China immediately send top mathematicians and physicists to China, not to provide guidance, but to learn!]**

Moscow, the Kremlin.

As Khrushchev looked at the telegram, his pipe fell to the desk with a thud.

His eyes widened as he stared at the words "twenty years ahead," his mind buzzing.

"How is this possible?"

"Did the Chinese...discover an alien spaceship?"