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

The further west the train travels, the lighter the colors outside the window become.

From green to yellow, from yellow to gray. Finally, only a vast expanse of yellowish-brown remained, stretching as far as the eye could see. He Yuzhu leaned against the car window, watching the occasional mud-brick houses and barren mountains flash by, recalling his journey to Lop Nur years ago, along a similar road. This time, it was even further, even more remote.

He got off the train in Lanzhou, changed trains, and headed towards Xining. When he arrived in Xining, someone picked him up. A military jeep took him deeper into the mountains. The road became increasingly narrow, and the bumpy ride made his backside ache. The driver, a local from Qinghai surnamed Ma, only spoke three sentences the entire way.

"The road ahead is rough, hold on tight."

"Soon."

"arrive."

The car stopped in a mountain hollow. He Yuzhu jumped out, and the wind immediately rushed into his collar, carrying the dry, distinctive smell of the Gobi Desert. The gray brick houses stood at the foot of the mountain, their walls painted whitewashed, most of it peeling away by wind and sand, revealing the mottled adobe bricks beneath. A few antennas stood on the distant hillside, swaying back and forth in the hazy sky. The entire base was so quiet that only the wind could be heard, howling like someone crying in the distance.

A man in military uniform walked over and saluted him.

"Dean He, welcome. My surname is Liu, and I am the director of the base."

He Yuzhu shook hands with him. The hand was rough and calloused.

"Director Liu, how is the situation?"

Director Liu's expression was not good.

"Let's go inside and talk."

The meeting room was filled with smoke, and seven or eight people were gathered around a long table. They all stood up when they saw He Yuzhu enter. Director Liu waved his hand.

"Please sit down. This is Director He from the Chengshan Research Institute, who came specifically to address the fuel issue."

A middle-aged man wearing glasses walked over and extended his hand.

"Dean He, this is Engineer Chen from the fuel team. You've come at the perfect time; we were really worried sick."

He Yuzhu shook hands with him and sat down. A report lay on the table, its edges curled up and stained with oil.

Engineer Chen pushed the report forward a bit.

"The test launch happened the day before yesterday. It exploded right after ignition. It wasn't the missile that exploded; it was the fuel that exploded in the combustion chamber. Luckily, it didn't take off, or the entire launch pad would have been blown away."

A tall, thin man wearing glasses chimed in, "I still maintain that it's a problem with the ignition timing. The oxidizer valve was opened too early."

Another older man shook his head: "No, the temperature profile shows that the deflagration occurred before the oxidizer entered. It was spontaneous combustion of the fuel."

The two started arguing.

He Yuzhu didn't speak, but picked up the report and flipped through it page by page. He paused on the third page.

"What's the ratio?"

Engineer Chen recited a series of numbers.

He Yuzhu went through the string of numbers in his mind, then flipped back to the previous page showing the temperature curve.

What's the outdoor temperature?

Engineer Chen paused for a moment, then looked down at the documents: "The temperature was minus eight degrees Celsius at the time of launch."

He Yuzhu pointed to the standard ratio table: "This is calculated based on 15 degrees Celsius. The activity of the oxidant decreases at low temperatures, so you added 0.3% to compensate."

The argument stopped.

The man with glasses leaned closer, looking at the paper: "A difference of three per thousand? Could it really be that much?"

He Yuzhu didn't look up: "At the moment of ignition, the temperature rises from minus eight degrees to three thousand degrees. The premature decomposition of three-thousandths of the oxidizer results in a deflagration."

The room fell silent.

Director Liu stood up, walked behind him, and looked at the paper.

"Can you adjust it?"

He Yuzhu nodded.

"Yes, but it needs to be re-prepared."

For the next seven days, He Yuzhu did not leave that workshop.

On the evening of the third day, the first batch of re-blended fuel was ready. Engineer Chen led his team to conduct an ignition test. Everyone stared intently at the combustion chamber.

ignition.

boom--

The fire shot out, but only burned for three seconds before going out.

Engineer Chen's face turned pale.

"No, that's not right either."

He Yuzhu walked over and looked at the data. The pressure curve was different from before; it wasn't a deflagration, but rather an engine stall.

No one spoke inside the room.

Director Liu stood at the door, his expression changing repeatedly.

"Dean He, this..."

He Yuzhu did not turn around.

"Recalculate. Start with the temperature field."

On the fifth day, in the early morning, he fell asleep at his desk. He had a dream in which Nianhua was crying. Her little face was scrunched up, and she was crying her heart out. He tried to reach out and hug her, but he couldn't lift his arm. Looking down, he saw that his hands were covered in data, densely packed, as if etched into his flesh.

Someone pushed him.

He opened his eyes, and there stood Engineer Chen in front of him, holding the paper in his hand.

"Dean He, I've calculated it again. Please take a look."

He Yuzhu rubbed his eyes. They felt incredibly dry, like he'd gotten sand in them. He took the book and looked at it for a long time.

"try."

At 3 a.m. on the seventh day, the machine stopped.

Engineer Chen ran over and stared at the data. He looked at it three times, then a fourth time. Then he turned around and looked at He Yuzhu.

"It's done."

He Yuzhu leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Two days later, the second test launch took place.

The launch site was located on a stretch of Gobi Desert five kilometers from the base. The wind was stronger than in the mountain valley, whipping the flags loudly against the flagpole. The missile stood in the center of the launch pad, its gray body gleaming coldly in the sunlight. Everyone around had already retreated to the bunkers; He Yuzhu stood at the edge, able to hear his own heartbeat.

The countdown starts.

Ten, nine, eight...

ignition.

boom--

A burst of flame erupted from the base of the missile, billowing thick smoke. The missile shuddered and began to climb. It accelerated, its long trail of flame shooting straight into the sky.

Some people in the crowd started to cheer.

Director Liu grabbed He Yuzhu's arm tightly.

"It's done! It's done!"

The missile disappeared into the clouds. The crowd erupted; some people jumped and hopped around, hugging those next to them. Engineer Chen squatted on the ground, covering his face, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Some shouted, some cried, and some threw their hats into the air.

He Yuzhu stood there, motionless.

The wind blew across the Gobi Desert, hitting his face with a chill. He looked down at his hands. There were several cuts on them, from carrying cans over the past few days; the blood had long since dried and formed black scabs.

Director Liu ran over, grabbed his hand, and shook it vigorously.

"Dean He! It's done!"

He Yuzhu nodded.

He looked up at the sky. The clouds were thick and grayish-white, completely obscuring the sunlight. The missile was long gone; only a wisp of smoke remained, blown away by the wind.

He didn't hear what Director Liu was saying next to him.

He thought of Qian Lao's rough hands, the tents on the Gobi Desert, and the sandstorms of Lop Nur.

Someday.

He squinted, looking at the cloud.

One day, our satellites will also fly up from here.