Courtyard House: Initial Donation of 50 Million

Section 1: The Code of Longing in Film Reel

On the morning of November 20, 1958, sunlight streamed through the carved wooden windows of the west wing of No. 95 courtyard, casting dappled shadows on the mahogany desk. Wang Huanbo picked up the last negative with tweezers and gently swirled it towards the developing solution. A clear image gradually emerged on the photographic paper: his wife, Lou Xiao'e, cradling the infant Yan Yan in her arms, the gold lock reflecting shimmering light in the sunlight; he himself stood under a pomegranate tree, a half-drawn pen peeking out of the pocket of his Zhongshan suit—a Parker 51 that Wang Huanbo had brought back from the United States.

"Mr. Wang, the washing is done." Driver Xiao Zhao brought in the photo album, the cover made of US military parachute fabric. "Old Zhang at the post office said there's an international cruise ship going to Tianjin Port today; it'll arrive in San Francisco in three days via a secret channel."

Wang Huanbo took the photo album, his fingertips tracing his wife's pale cheek. The kidnapping three months ago left a centipede-shaped scar on her shoulder blade, now concealed by her turtleneck sweater. The childcare worker, Zhang Cuilan, walked in carrying Yan Yan; the silver bell on the child's wrist jingled crisply—it was a silver bracelet melted down from the deaf old lady's own home.

"Engineer Wang, Secretary Yao wants you to attend a meeting at the factory committee." The footsteps of bodyguard Lin Zhan interrupted his thoughts. "The Soviet experts will arrive tomorrow."

Wang Huanbo locked the photo album in the drawer, with Yan Yan's baby teeth hanging from the keychain. Outside the window, Sha Zhu was squatting under the pomegranate tree chopping wood, humming a Hebei opera tune amidst the flying wood chips—he had just made angelica and astragalus chicken soup for Lou Xiao'e that morning, and the aroma of the herbs still wafted from the earthenware pot.

Section Two: Warm Years in Medicinal Cuisine

In the east wing, Lou Xiao'e leaned against the headboard, flipping through a "Childcare Encyclopedia," while Zhang Cuilan was using an imported American electric breast pump to manage her breast milk. A month postpartum, her complexion had returned to normal, though she would occasionally frown when she touched her C-section scar.

"Sister-in-law, it's time for your soup." Sha Zhu pushed open the door, carrying a blue-and-white porcelain bowl. His coarse cloth apron was stained with stove ash. "I added ginseng rootlets from Changbai Mountain to this soup; it's the best for replenishing qi and blood."

Lou Xiao'e took the bowl of soup, and through the rising steam, she noticed the old wound on his right arm—a cut inflicted by pebbles during an attack by enemy agents. She suddenly remembered something: "Zhu Zi, your father He Daqing's injury…"

"It's all better now!" Sha Zhu grinned, revealing two rows of teeth stained yellow with tobacco. "The other day he was having a wok-flipping contest with Master Nan Yi, throwing the wok into the fish tank, startling the koi fish!"

The sounds of children's laughter and play drifted from outside the courtyard. Jia Dongxu was teaching Banggeng to write, while Qin Huairu was airing out the quilts with Xiao Dang; the sunlight made the peony patterns on the quilts glow. Xu Damao's new house frame was already erected, the sound of trowels striking the floor mingling with his shouts: "Build it up another half meter! The balcony must be wider than Shazhu's!"

When Wang Huanbo pushed open the door, he saw the caregiver Zhang Cuilan feeding Lou Xiao'e medicinal food with a soup spoon.

"Huanbo," Lou Xiao'e's cheeks flushed slightly, "Zhuzi prepares all sorts of nourishing dishes for me every day, while you, as my husband, have nothing better to do..."

Wang Huanbo took out a tin box from his briefcase, inside which were some donkey-hide gelatin cakes he had asked someone to buy from Shanghai: "How could I dare to be idle?" He glanced at Sha Zhu standing next to him, "Thanks to Zhu for taking care of me, otherwise I would have had to hire a nanny."

Sha Zhu scratched his head, then suddenly lowered his voice: "By the way, I saved the best piece of rib from the beef your American dad sent. I'll make radish soup for your sister-in-law tomorrow."

Section 3: The Factory Committee's Secret Agenda

In the conference room of the Red Star United Industrial Corporation, a ceiling fan futilely stirred the stifling air. The factory party secretary, Yao Jianghe, had a strong tea brewing in his enamel mug, the tea stalks standing upright like a row of small flags. He tapped the table, his gaze sweeping over the twenty-odd cadres present: "Comrades, the Soviet experts are arriving tomorrow. This is a key project personally approved by Chairman Mao!"

Li Huaide immediately stood up, his blue overalls crisply ironed: "Secretary Yao, don't worry! Accommodation is arranged in Building 3 of the Phase II staff quarters, a separate building for experts, equipped with a heating boiler and flush toilets—Soviet comrades are used to flush toilets." He opened his notebook, "The meals will be prepared by the three master chefs, He Yuzhu, Nan Yi, and He Daqing, on a rotating basis. The main factory canteen has a newly built Russian-style oven; they'll be baking rye bread tomorrow."

"What about your travel plans?" Deputy Factory Director Zhang, who was in charge of factory management, asked.

"We'll select six drivers for the motor pool, working in three shifts," Li Huaide said confidently. "We'll get the latest Xingyao S600L from the Hongxing Automobile Factory. The Soviet comrades are tall, and this car has plenty of space."

Lin Hongjie, the head of the security department, suddenly coughed, interrupting the heated discussion: "Regarding security, I'd like to add three points." He unfolded a floor plan: "The area around the experts' building will be secured in three layers: the outer layer will be patrolled by plainclothes police officers from the local police station; the middle layer will be manned by armed sentries from the factory's security department; and the inner layer will have two veterans assigned as service personnel on each floor of the experts' building—all of whom participated in the Korean War and are highly skilled."

Wang Huanbo sat in the corner, his fingertips unconsciously drawing five-pointed stars on his notebook. He knew that at least two of these "Soviet experts" were KGB agents—a coded telegram intercepted by the Security Department last week revealed that the "technical advisor" Ivanov was actually an agent of the KGB's Second Directorate, specializing in collecting intelligence on China's military industry.

"Comrade Huanbo," Yao Jianghe suddenly called out, "you studied in the United States, so prepare some technical materials for the experts."

Wang Huanbo closed his notebook: "The materials are all prepared and locked in the secure room." When he looked up, his eyes met Lin Hongjie's—both of them knew that some of the materials contained false intelligence, a "gift" for the KGB.

Section 4: The Steel Torrent in the Warehouse

After the meeting, Wang Huanbo called out to Li Huaide in the corridor: "Old Li, let's talk in private."

The two arrived at a small warehouse behind the office building. Wang Huanbo took out a key from his pocket: "This used to be used for storing miscellaneous items. Have someone clean it up, and we'll ship a batch of 'special supplies' over tomorrow."

Li Huaide unlocked the door, and a musty smell hit him. He was about to turn on the light when Wang Huanbo stopped him: "Use a kerosene lamp, don't turn on the electric light—this batch of goods can't withstand the light."

In the halo of the lantern lamp, Wang Huanbo took a photograph from his briefcase: several American-made M35 military trucks and M113 armored personnel carriers were parked at the port. "These are military trucks from the US military base," he lowered his voice, "My father transported them in via ocean-going fleet. Arrange for some reliable people to transfer them to the factory tomorrow."

Li Huaide gasped. The M35 truck has a payload capacity of 3 tons more than the existing Jiefang trucks at the Hongxing Factory, and the armor of the M113 armored personnel carrier can withstand a 12.7mm machine gun—if this can be successfully copied, our army's mobility will be elevated to a whole new level!

"Engineer Wang, this..." He was about to ask about its origin when Wang Huanbo patted him on the shoulder: "Just say it's a 'private collection' my father acquired from America. Anyway, his family's ocean-going fleet did indeed sail the Americas."

"That imitation plan..."

"Have the technical department set up a task force, and I'll be the advisor." Wang Huanbo's gaze was particularly sharp in the dim light. "Use our newly improved 12V150 diesel engine, and copy the transmission system from the M35. Prototype vehicle within three months."

Li Huaide suddenly realized: Wang Huanbo was trying to use "American products" to stimulate technological innovation! He nodded vigorously: "I'll call a meeting of the technical department tonight and guarantee the task will be completed!"

Wang Huanbo pulled a metal box from his pocket, inside which were several blueprints for US military vehicle parts: "These are genuine blueprints, taken from a US military base, and they're more accurate than domestic imitations." He paused, "Remember, only say 'referencing advanced foreign technology' when reporting to outsiders."

Section 5: Steel Overture in the Dark Night

That evening, the technical department of Hongxing Factory was brightly lit. Photos of the M35 truck brought by Li Huaide covered the entire conference table, and more than a dozen engineers were arguing endlessly around the blueprints.

"This hydraulic power steering system needs to be modified," said Xiao Liu, an assistant engineer who had just graduated from Harbin Institute of Technology, pointing to the blueprints. "Our manufacturing process doesn't meet American standards; it's prone to oil leaks."

"The 12V150 engine is fine," said veteran engineer Zhang, stroking his beard. "But the transmission needs to be redesigned. The M35's five-speed manual is too complicated; it's better to simplify it to a three-speed automatic."

Wang Huanbo sat in a corner, listening silently to the debate. He recalled his mentor's words during his studies in the Soviet Union: "True innovation is turning the strengths of others into your own."

Suddenly, police sirens wailed outside the window. Lin Hongjie rushed in with two security officers: "Comrade Huanbo, something's happened!"

He unfolded a photograph: at the construction site of Xu Damao's new house, a man wearing a baseball cap was secretly taking pictures of the direction of the expert building.

"He's a KGB informant!" Wang Huanbo's face darkened. "I've seen this man before; he was the lookout during the wedding banquet attack."

Li Huaide slammed his fist on the table and stood up: "I'll go and arrest him!"

"Don't alert him," Wang Huanbo said, pressing him down. "Have the security department send two people to keep an eye on him and see who he meets with."

The sirens faded into the distance, but the debate in the technical department intensified. Wang Huanbo gazed out the window, the silhouette of the M35 truck casting a huge shadow on the blueprints in the moonlight. He knew that once these steel behemoths hit China's roads, they would completely transform the country's industrial landscape—and it all began tonight with this sweltering warehouse meeting.

Three days later, the cruise ship sounded its horn at Tianjin Port. Xiao Zhao, carrying a wooden crate covered with "Fragile" labels, secretly delivered the photo album to the captain of the American merchant ship "Statue of Liberty".

Tucked inside the photo album was a note written in pen by Wang Huanbo: "Father, Yan Yan can smile now, and she's clutching your photo tightly with her little fist."