Courtyard House: Initial Donation of 50 Million

The autumn of 1958 seemed higher and clearer than ever before. Sunlight pierced through the increasingly thin clouds, shining on Beijing, which had just celebrated National Day, and also quietly illuminating the courtyards and workshops marked with signs that read "Confidential Area, No Unauthorized Personnel Allowed." A silent yet powerful force was surging, infiltrating, and spreading throughout the Republic, centered on Beijing and originating from the top-secret laboratory of the Red Star United Industrial Corporation, along newly laid cables and accompanied by encrypted radio waves.

The first to feel the impact of this wave of change were the communication network—the postal and telecommunications system—rooted in the city's lifeblood and connecting every household. Overnight, from the central telegraph building in the capital to post offices in provincial capitals and important industrial bases, everyone received a concise yet unquestionable notification stamped with a bright red top-secret seal, followed by batches of wooden crates with special seals, escorted by armed personnel.

Old Zhang is a veteran switchboard operator at the Xicheng District Post and Telecommunications Bureau in Beijing, having worked there for nearly twenty years. He knows the huge, manually operated switchboard room at the headquarters—a place filled with shouts of "hello! hello!", a forest of plugs, and a scattering of sockets—as well as the lines on his own palm. Every plug and unplug, every inquiry during a transfer, carries the warmth of human hands and the rhythm of breathing. He once thought he would work in this "forest of plugs," accompanied by the beeping of buzzers and the shouts of his colleagues, until retirement.

Until that autumn morning, the bureau chief personally led a team of serious-looking technicians in Zhongshan suits and soldiers in military uniforms, armed to the teeth, to open those mysterious wooden crates. Inside were not the new switch components one had imagined, but rows of silver-gray, square, metallic-looking "iron cabinets" covered with indicator lights and neatly arranged interfaces. They were carefully moved in, replacing the old switches that had accompanied Old Zhang for half his life and were worn smooth by countless hands.

"Automatic... switchboard?" Old Zhang put on his reading glasses and looked at the thin "Simplified Operation and Maintenance Manual for Automatic Telephone Exchanges" handed to him by the technician. The words on the cover left him somewhat bewildered. He looked at the silent "iron cabinets," and then at his own hands, calloused and rough from years of plugging and unplugging cables. A strange sense of loss and a vague sense of panic welled up in his heart.

Installation, debugging, wiring, powering on. The whole process was quiet, swift, and undeniably precise. Old Zhang and his colleagues were instructed to stand outside the cordon and watch from a distance. The young technicians' fingers tapped on unfamiliar keyboards (connected to a debugging terminal), and lines of characters and numbers he couldn't understand scrolled across the screen. There was no noise, no shouting, only the low hum of the machine and the rhythmic flashing of indicator lights.

Three days later, the old switchboard was completely dismantled and removed. The brand-new automatic switchboards stood silently and imposingly in the spacious equipment room. The director personally announced that the bureau, as one of the first pilot units, would immediately activate the automatic switching system, and the original operators would be reassigned as monitoring and maintenance personnel after a short training period.

Old Zhang got his new job—monitor. Before him were no longer cables and sockets, but a huge signal light panel embedded in the wall, and a control panel with a small screen and several buttons. The screen displayed complex line status diagrams and flow data. His work changed from constantly plugging and unplugging and shouting to quietly observing indicator lights, occasionally recording abnormal codes in the logbook, or pressing a reset button according to procedure.

The first few days were agonizing. The silence made him anxious, and the flashing indicator lights and fluctuating numbers made his eyes dizzy. He kept unconsciously reaching for the now-missing trunk line. Until that midnight, while he was on duty, a red indicator light on the control panel, signifying "relay line malfunction," began flashing rapidly and emitted a low alarm. Following the manual, he quickly located the faulty line port, brought up the diagnostic program on the screen, and after a few simple steps, the system indicated a minor fault in the external line interface module, automatically activating the backup route, and the main indicator light returned to a steady green. The entire process took less than two minutes and did not affect any ongoing calls. Previously, such a fault would have required him to trace each trunk line one by one, call for colleagues' assistance, and interrupt calls for at least ten minutes.

Old Zhang stared, stunned, at the screen that had returned to normal. For the first time, he truly felt the efficient, precise, and terrifying power contained within this silent "iron cabinet." It never tired, never made a mistake, and its reaction speed far surpassed that of human power. His hands, accustomed to threading cables, trembled slightly as he stroked the smooth control panel. The sense of loss was gradually replaced by a deeper shock and a vague sense of awe. Times had truly changed. And he, it seemed, was standing on the threshold of this change, transforming from a "hand that connects cables" into a "man who watches over the machines."

Meanwhile, a more profound transformation was quietly taking place in those sectors that determined the nation's destiny. Batches of tightly sealed wooden crates were being secretly transported to major military industrial enterprises, national research institutes, important government planning departments, and the core laboratories of a few top universities.

In the newly built technology center of Hongxing Steel Rolling Mill (now a core steel production unit under Hongxing United Industrial Corporation), a "Longteng II" computer was placed in a dedicated air-conditioned room. The mill's chief engineer and several top technicians participated in a two-week intensive, closed-door training program. When they first saw the "HarmonyOS" logo appear on the gray screen, when they first used that little thing called a "mouse" to click on an icon on the screen and see a clear production report; when they tried to input a complex hot rolling process parameter, and the computer almost instantly provided optimization solutions and suggestions; when they connected to the printer next to them through that strange cable called "USB" and instantly printed out ten copies of an urgently needed production instruction list... these tough men, forged in steel and fire, stared wide-eyed, speechless for a long time.

"This...this thing is hundreds...no, thousands of times faster than our hand-cranked calculator!" An old engineer's voice trembled. He recalled that not long ago, in order to calculate the parameters of a new type of rolling mill, he and his apprentices fiddled with the abacus for three days, and then used that precious hand-cranked calculator for a whole day and night, before they finally got an approximate value.

"It's more than just fast," the chief engineer took a deep breath, pointing to the clear structural diagram on the screen. "Look at this drawing. It can be modified directly. The lines, dimensions, and annotations are all crystal clear. Once modified, the strength can be recalculated immediately! On a drafting board, a complex drawing like this would take at least ten days to two weeks to complete! And this..." He picked up a freshly printed process sheet, the ink still wet, "Every workshop and team can print and distribute whatever parameters and requirements they need directly from here. It's exactly the same, absolutely no mistakes! How much work does this save? How many errors does it avoid?"

Efficiency, an unprecedented increase in efficiency! Quality, unprecedented precision and control! This single machine, in its first month of trial operation, helped Hongxing Steel Rolling Mill optimize the process parameters of three important steel rolling production lines, increasing the yield of a certain type of special steel by five percentage points, equivalent to producing hundreds of tons of high-quality steel out of thin air each month! And all it consumes is a negligible amount of electricity.

The news spread like wildfire, causing a huge stir within the limited circle of those who knew about it. More orders poured in like snowflakes to the Red Star Electronic Equipment Factory (secret codename "Factory 704"). Although production increased slowly under strict control, "Dragon Soaring II" and its supporting equipment, like the most precious blood, were prioritized for delivery to the "heart" and "brain" parts of the Republic that needed the strongest support.

Northwest. Deep within a highly secretive base, the biting wind howled across the Gobi Desert, whipping up clouds of dust. But inside a fortified underground bunker in the base's core area, the lights shone brightly, and the atmosphere was warm as spring. Fifty "Dragon Soaring II" computers were neatly arranged on brand-new racks, their indicator lights flashing like a galaxy. Young and old researchers, dressed in simple military uniforms or Zhongshan suits, sat around the computers, intently watching the screens, their fingers clumsily but excitedly tapping the keyboards, or carefully moving the mice.

They were the Republic's top mathematicians, physicists, and engineers. They once used the most primitive hand-cranked calculators, even abacuses and slide rules, working day and night to calculate complex formulas and vast amounts of data concerning national security and the future of the people. Their draft papers could fill several rooms; their eyes were bloodshot; their bodies were exhausted from the heavy mental labor and harsh conditions. But now, everything is different.

A set of ballistic data, which previously required dozens of people and a month to complete preliminary calculations, was input into "Longteng II". Accompanied by the slight read and write sounds of the hard drive and the hum of the fan, the progress bar on the screen, representing the calculation progress, advanced at an unprecedented speed. Just a few hours later, clear result tables and fitting curves appeared on the screen. An elderly professor with gray hair adjusted his glasses, leaned close to the screen, carefully checking each number, his fingers trembling slightly with excitement.

"Yes...it matches perfectly! It matches the theoretical value exactly! The iteration error is less than one ten-thousandth!" His voice choked with emotion as he turned to the equally excited crowd behind him, saying, "Comrades, what we've saved isn't just time! We can use that time to think about more crucial issues and to verify more possibilities! This machine is a 'supercomputer' we've never imagined!"

In another corner, a group of researchers were using computers to conduct complex fluid dynamics simulations. On the screen, dynamic lines and color blocks representing airflow or liquid flow, generated based on input parameters, were presented in an unprecedentedly intuitive way. "Look! This vortex region! Before, we could only speculate using formulas, but now... now it's right in front of us!" A young researcher excitedly pointed at the screen, as if he had discovered a new continent.

A preliminary network was also set up here. Several key computers were connected via encrypted dedicated lines and automatic switches, forming a small internal network. Project reports, experimental data, and design sketches began to be transmitted between research groups via email. Although the speed seemed as slow as a snail by hindsight, it was a world of difference compared to sending people on bicycles or jeeps to deliver paper documents across the vast base. An important structural strength verification report, which used to take half a day to travel from the theoretical group to the experimental group, could now be sent with a notification received within minutes. Confidentiality and timeliness had both seen a leap forward.

Qian Xuesen was among this group of eager learners. With his profound expertise in aerodynamics and engineering cybernetics, understanding and mastering the basic operation of "Longteng-2" and the logic of the "Hongmeng" system was not difficult. What he was more concerned with was the design philosophy behind this system, the logical expression brought about by "Chinese language" programming that was more in line with the Eastern way of thinking, and the concept of the "Hongmeng" system that attempted to make human-machine interaction more natural.

"It's very interesting," Qian Xuesen said to his assistant and the technical support staff sent by Wang Huanbo during an internal seminar, pointing to a small program written in Chinese for orbit calculations on the screen. "Unlike some foreign language programming, which is full of rigid grammatical structures and cold symbols, it has logic, hierarchy, and even a bit of the feel of writing an article or outlining. This is very beneficial for cultivating our own computer talents with systemic thinking and engineering implementation capabilities. Machines are ultimately meant to serve people. It's very important to make them easier to use and easier to think about."

He personally tried to recalculate a set of important formulas using a computer. Watching the results appear almost instantly, even this seasoned scientific giant showed a barely perceptible flicker of excitement in his eyes. "The things Comrade Huanbo has created are not just a revolution in tools, but also an expansion of our way of thinking. Some of our research, previously limited by computing power, could only be greatly simplified. Now… perhaps we can try to create models that are closer to reality." He paused, looking at the flashing indicator lights and focused faces in the computer room, and added softly, "This thing is a powerful tool. Used well, it can help us avoid many detours in certain fields, and even… achieve a certain degree of transcendence."

Qian Xuesen's words provided the best commentary on this silent yet profound technological revolution. The "Network" project accelerated under top-secret conditions. The military's command center and intelligence analysis departments began to attempt to establish an encrypted communication and intelligence processing network based on automatic exchange and computer processing; important economic management departments such as the State Planning Commission and the State Economic Commission began to use computers to conduct nationwide material allocation simulations and economic data analysis; the mathematics, physics, and engineering departments of several top universities established the earliest computer science majors, with the core textbooks being Wang Huanbo's "Fundamentals of Chinese Language Programming" and "Introduction to the HarmonyOS Operating System." The first batch of students were the most outstanding young students selected from across the country.

Dedicated, reinforced communication cables, painstakingly laid by engineers and signal corps, traversed plains, crossed rivers, and penetrated deep into mountains, connecting Beijing with vital strategic nodes such as Shenyang, Shanghai, Xi'an, Chengdu, and Lanzhou. Although the network's coverage was still limited, the number of nodes was few, and the transmission speed couldn't compare to later generations, the methods of information transmission, the models of knowledge production and collaboration, and even some underlying logics of national governance and social operation had quietly undergone irreversible changes. An invisible "nervous system," based on bits, radio waves, and logical operations, was quietly growing and weaving deep within the body of the Republic.

While all this grand narrative unfolded, life continued to flow at its inherent, slow pace in the courtyard at No. 95 Nanluoguxiang. Yan Jiecheng's obsession was temporarily suppressed by his strict father's warnings and the coldness of reality, but the flame of resentment in his eyes, which occasionally peeked into the courtyard, had not been completely extinguished. Sha Zhu and Yu Li's wedding was approaching, and their new house was completely finished and entering the decoration stage, with a festive and busy atmosphere filling the air. He Yushui was busy reviewing her lessons, preparing for the new semester. Lou Xiao'e's belly was growing bigger day by day, and Wang Huanbo would always take time to accompany her for walks in between his busy schedules, feeling the wonder of the new life growing in her womb.

Wang Huanbo himself became even busier and more low-key. He frequently visited the Red Star Research Institute and other classified units, his face often showing fatigue, but his eyes grew increasingly calm and bright. He knew that the seeds had been sown and the seedlings had sprouted. All he could do was continue to provide sunlight, rain, and necessary support, watching them grow strong on their own, eventually connecting to form a self-governing, towering forest that could shelter this ancient nation.

The autumn wind swept through the courtyard, rustling the last few yellow leaves on the jujube tree, and also stirring the blueprints under the ever-burning light in the study of the west wing. On the blueprints lay more complex network topologies, more powerful next-generation processor architectures, and some bold, forward-thinking ideas about "mobile communication" and "fiber optic transmission." Inside the window, a dialogue between a person and an era unfolded; outside, a nation, at the dawn of information age, strained its eyes, trying to discern the outline of the future that would be utterly transformed. In the primordial chaos, with its burgeoning development, an invisible net had already been drawn across the land.