The little star from the Gobi Desert, handed over to the state, is hailed as a national treasure.

The research lab, also known as the "First Design Lab," was a long room filled with slide rules, drawing boards, stacks of handwritten formula papers, and some intricate model parts, unlike the noisy mechanical roar and towering equipment found in experimental fields.

As the overall designer and theoretical founder of missile development, Professor Qian's most core and time-consuming work was never the practical operation in the test field, but rather theoretical derivation, overall design, parameter calculation and scheme demonstration.

These precise and demanding tasks require dedicated work at a desk, blackboard, and various calculating tools. Therefore, he spends most of his time here, leading his team to overcome one challenge after another.

When Sweetie first stepped into the research lab, she was quickly drawn to the huge "Missile Overall Layout Sketch" hanging on the wall. It was covered with crisscrossing lines and various symbols that she couldn't understand, like a mysterious and magnificent blueprint.

The room was very quiet. Sweetie's arrival did not cause much of a ripple. Everyone in the room was buried in their desks. The only sounds were the scratching of pencils on paper, the soft clatter of slide rules, and the occasional hushed discussion, which together constituted the main melody of the room.

Professor Qian sat in front of the blackboard, with the latest missile structure blueprints spread out in front of him. His pen tip hovered in a certain place, clearly deep in thought.

Sweetie was placed on a specially made high chair behind and to the side of Professor Qian, so that she could see his desk. Chief Designer Wang handed her a small drawing board so she could draw whenever she was bored.

However, Sweetie kept Grandpa Qian's "three rules" firmly in mind. Her little hands held the drawing board properly, her little mouth pursed, and she used only her big, dark eyes to follow the adults' every move, trying to understand everything in front of her.

Several designers from the projectile group surrounded Professor Qian, discussing in hushed but intense voices the optimization of the curve of a certain component.

A designer used a compass and a curve sculptor to draw a smooth arc on a sketch, then compared it to the original drawing to explain it.

"The original curvature meets basic aerodynamic requirements, but combined with our existing propulsion system, the flight drag will likely exceed expectations. I suggest that, based on the latest wind tunnel test data, the curvature here be increased by another 0.15%."

"What was the actual profit?"

"I've calculated it, and it can effectively reduce transonic drag by 1.2%."

The designer next to him quickly checked the data using a slide rule, and nodded after a moment: "The data derivation is correct, but this will cause new problems."

He pointed to a connection point, "If the curvature is adjusted to fit the new curve, the stress distribution must be recalculated, and the material also needs to be adjusted accordingly."

"Oh dear, we have to be careful about this." The third designer quickly interjected, "We don't have much alloy sheet left in our inventory, only enough for three test pieces. New materials can't be supplied in time, and if the test fails, we'll have to wait at least three months for subsequent trial production."

"Comrades, we've overlooked one issue." The fourth designer circled a spot on the drawing with his pen. "The tail fin dimensions also need to be recalculated; otherwise, subsequent assembly will be difficult and may even affect the overall balance of the missile."

"In other words," the first designer quickly jotted down on paper, "what needs to be coordinated now is: the contradiction between performance optimization—adjusting the curves—and engineering realities—material limitations, schedule risks, and the compatibility of installation techniques."

This draft paper, which recorded all the questions, was gently placed in front of Professor Qian.

Professor Qian remained silent, his pen hovering in mid-air. He didn't directly engage in the detailed debate, but instead focused his attention on the overall design specifications on the missile's structural drawings: range, load, accuracy, stability, construction period...

A moment later, he lightly touched the word "stability" with the tip of his pen.

This silent action, however, acted like a sudden enlightenment, guiding the heated discussion in the right direction.

Everyone understood that the chief designer was reminding them that they must think from a higher perspective, and that all adjustments must be based on the premise of absolute stability during launch and flight.

I understand, but figuring out the specific trade-offs and how to balance performance, resources, and risk control remains a daunting challenge.

"How about this, Mr. Qian, I'll contact the source factory again and see if they can work overtime to urgently improve a batch of alloy sheets?" a designer suggested.

"This isn't the main problem," Professor Qian finally spoke, picking up the calculation drawings from the first designer. "A local optimization of 0.15% won't solve the fundamental issue. Ideally, we need to reduce transonic drag by another 2.5% to ensure the missile maintains structural integrity and flight stability during severe vibrations."

"2.5%?"

Several designers gasped almost simultaneously. In today's design landscape, where aerodynamic optimization is quite sophisticated, this sounded like a complete fantasy.

"Mr. Qian," the first designer said, his voice hoarse, "this number is something we never dared to imagine."

"Reducing transonic drag by 2.5%" is a highly challenging strategic goal from a technical standpoint, which means that the previous design logic needs to be re-examined and much of the work may need to be scrapped and started over.

Professor Qian remained unmoved. He pushed a materials performance report from the table in front of everyone.

"Comrades, the reason we must set this goal is because the fundamental constraint we face now is materials."

He pointed to key data in the report, "Currently, the alloys produced domestically do not achieve optimal performance in terms of specific strength and heat resistance. This has led to a serious consequence: to ensure structural safety, we have had to increase the thickness of the projectile walls and add reinforcing components, ultimately resulting in the overall weight exceeding the standard by 8%."

He clasped his hands together, his gaze sweeping over each designer.

"The excessively heavy missile body requires greater thrust, a thicker shell, and less drag. If we cannot make a breakthrough in materials in the short term, we must come up with a revolutionary solution in aerodynamic design to make up for at least one-third of this 8% weight disadvantage. Otherwise, even if the missile is built, it will not be able to hit where it is meant to hit."

The room fell silent. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at Mr. Qian with solemn expressions.

Holding the sketches, a designer said with a troubled expression, "Mr. Qian, this means we may have to make a complete overhaul of the aspect ratio, the head configuration, and even the tail wing layout. All systems will need to be re-matched."

"I know," Professor Qian interrupted him, raising his hand. "This is tantamount to increasing your workload several times over, but comrades, we are racing against the harsh limitations of reality in order to make up for the shortcomings in the materials industry."

"The West is now imposing a comprehensive technological and process blockade on us, but I believe that even without top-notch advanced materials, we can still launch missiles into the sky with our own wisdom and hard work."

So my decision is—

He looked around at everyone, around the entire room, his eyes filled with a power that inspired conviction and even inspired people to fight for him.

"The original plan is on hold. Let's change our approach and start over!"