Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

He Yuzhu opened the documents that had been delivered that afternoon, his fingernails digging into the seams of the kraft paper seal, and with a "rip," he tore it open. The three Song typeface characters "Ministry of Industry" on the cover were printed in bright red. He pulled out the papers inside and turned the pages one by one.

The paper edge cuts your hand.

He stopped on the third page.

"Develop a high-power diesel internal combustion engine with a power output of over 1000 horsepower for use in heavy machinery and defense equipment. Mission level: Classified. Completion timeframe: One year."

He read the line of text twice.

One thousand horsepower. Heavy machinery. Defense equipment.

He knew better than anyone what to put this thing on. He had seen those behemoths—not now, but decades later, on the frozen soil of the north, their tracks grinding through the snow, their steel backbones bearing the heaviest breaths of a nation.

Ma Yuejin stood to the side, craning his neck to see: "Dean, what is it?"

He Yuzhu folded the document and put it in his pocket.

"Meeting."

The conference room was full of people.

The long table was completely surrounded: Ma Yuejin, Li Zhiming, Sun Fulai, Zhou Guoqiang, Wang Erzhu, and the few new college students. Even more people stood behind, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, all staring at He Yuzhu.

He placed the document on the table.

"We've been given a new task."

The room fell silent.

"High-power diesel internal combustion engine, over 1,000 horsepower."

Someone gasped. The sound was very soft, yet it was like sandpaper scraping against glass, making one's eardrums ache.

Li Zhiming pushed up his glasses, the lenses reflecting the light from the window: "Dean, one thousand horsepower... we're only making a little over two hundred right now."

He Yuzhu looked at him: "So it's a new mission."

A hushed discussion began below. The voices were very low, like a swarm of bees trapped inside a jar, buzzing with unease.

Ma Yuejin remained silent, staring at the document on the table, the wrinkles on his forehead etched as deeply as if by a knife. He had forgotten to smoke the cigarette he was holding; a long piece of ash fell to the ground with a "thud" and shattered.

Sun Fulai muttered to himself, "A thousand horsepower, what cylinder bore would that require? Is the bed length of our old lathe long enough? And the rigidity of the headstock..."

Zhou Guoqiang chimed in, "It's not just the cylinder diameter, what about the materials? High-speed steel has just been developed, and it's not even in mass production yet. The materials used in internal combustion engines are even more demanding than rolling mill rolls. How high a temperature do piston rings have to withstand? Can our furnaces even produce that?"

Wang Erzhu scratched his head, dandruff falling in clumps: "I just want to ask, what's the point of putting this thing in here?"

He Yuzhu glanced at him.

His gaze was flat, devoid of expression. But Wang Erzhu paused, then fell silent.

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the front of the blackboard.

"One year, one thousand horsepower. Materials, design, processing, testing—every step has to be started from scratch. Anyone have any ideas? Speak up now."

No one said a word.

The smell of smoke in the room grew stronger. Someone shifted their feet, the soles of their shoes scraping against the cement floor with a rough, grinding sound.

Ma Yuejin looked up: "Dean, do you have a direction?"

He Yuzhu looked at him: "We have a direction. But we have to take it one step at a time."

He picked up the chalk from the blackboard and drew a circle.

"For the cylinder block, we have high-speed steel as a base material, so we can move up to a higher level."

Then I drew another line next to it.

"The piston needs to withstand high temperatures; we can modify the alloy formula."

I drew another square.

"The fuel injection system—we have to build this from scratch; we've never done this before."

He turned around and looked at the people below.

The light from the window shone on his profile, creating a half-light, half-shadow effect.

"A year is neither a long nor a short time. Those of you who are willing to work here, stay. Those who are not, you can leave now."

Nobody moved.

Ma Yuejin stood up. The chair legs scraped against the ground, making a screeching sound.

"Dean, I'll do it."

Li Zhiming also stood up: "I'll do it too."

Sun Fulai, Zhou Guoqiang, and Wang Erzhu all stood up. The others behind them also stood up, sparsely, but no one sat down. Among those standing, some clenched their fists, some rubbed the hem of their clothes, and some had frighteningly bright eyes.

He Yuzhu looked at them and nodded.

"Alright. Starting tomorrow, the internal combustion engine project team will be officially established. Ma Yuejin will be the team leader, and Li Zhiming will be the deputy. The rest will be assigned later."

He put down the chalk.

Meeting adjourned.

That evening, He Yuzhu sat alone in his office.

He brought up the system interface, flipped to the technology category, and scrolled down several pages.

[Diesel Internal Combustion Engine Basic Design Package (1957 Compatible Version)]

[Includes: cylinder block structure design, piston material formulation, fuel injection system principles, combustion chamber simulation data, and draft testing standards]

[Redeemable Points: 1,000,000]

He looked at the words and tapped his fingers twice on the table.

After two taps, his fingers stopped and clenched into a fist.

Three million points. How many high-speed steel formulas can that buy? How many days can that keep this factory afloat?

But some things can't wait.

He nodded.

[Redeem successful. Points consumed: 1,000,000]

Current points: 51,080,000 - 3,000,000 = 48,080,000

He took out the stack of papers from the system space; it was a thick pile, more than three hundred pages. The cover was printed with the words "Basic Design Package for Diesel Internal Combustion Engines," and there was a line of smaller print below: "1957 Adapted Version, Do Not Distribute."

He placed the documents on the table and turned to the first page.

Cylinder block structure design. Piston material formulation. Fuel injection system principle. Combustion chamber simulation data. Draft testing standards.

He flipped through a few pages, then stopped.

His finger rested on a page—a cross-sectional diagram of a combustion chamber, covered with densely packed data. Some of these numbers he had memorized countless times in his past life.

This stuff is enough for Ma Yuejin and his men to eat for a year.

He put the documents away and locked them in the safe.

His hand hovered over the safe's combination lock for two seconds, the metal feeling cold to the touch. He didn't immediately scramble the combination; he just squatted there, staring at the cover of the stack of papers. Over three hundred pages, a thousand horsepower, a year.

After a long while, he took a deep breath.

With a click, the password was scrambled. The crisp sound of metal hitting metal echoed in the empty office.

He stood up.

I had just locked the door when the phone rang.

He answered the phone; it was Yang Deming on the other end.

"Old He, there's something I need to tell you."

He Yuzhu gripped the microphone, his knuckles turning white.

"explain."

Yang Deming remained silent for two seconds.

"Zheng Huaiyuan's application to visit has been approved. He'll be there next week."

He Yuzhu looked out the window.

The lights in the steel rolling workshop illuminated half the sky, like an inextinguishable fire.

"understood."

Yang Deming hung up the phone.

He Yuzhu stood there, looking out the dark window.

The documents just arrived, and the person is about to come.

He turned and looked at the safe. The safe's iron door was tightly closed, gleaming dimly in the night.

He couldn't let Zheng Huaiyuan see anything he shouldn't see. At least, not within this year.

We need to prepare something for Zheng Huaiyuan.

You need to prepare a bustling, open, and aboveboard workshop. Prepare a few eloquent and meticulous people. Prepare a set of ledgers that, even if thoroughly searched, will not reveal a single "out-of-scope" item.

He sat down again and took out paper and pen from the drawer.

The pen tip scratched across the paper.

Outside the window, the ever-burning fire reflected his profile.