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

When the explosion came from the test stand, He Yuzhu was looking at the data sheet.

It wasn't a single sound, but a dull tremor that felt like it was trapped in his chest. The control room window shook, and the edge of the paper in He Yuzhu's hand trembled as well. He looked up and saw the orange-red flames outside the window explode against the gray sky. Smoke and dust rose, obscuring half of the test stand.

Then the alarm went off.

Sharp and drawn out, as if something was tearing the air apart.

There was a moment of stunned silence in the control room. Some people knocked over chairs, some rushed out, and some stood still—He Yuzhu was the third to run out. He stepped on something soft, looked down, and saw it was the shattered enamel mug, the hot water still steaming.

He stepped over the shards and rushed out.

Thick smoke billowed from the test stand. Some people were running out, some were lying on the ground covering their heads, and some were shouting "Help!" The smoke was so thick that it was hard to open one's eyes. He Yuzhu covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve and rushed in.

He reached the edge of the test bench.

A person was lying on the ground. Young, face down, the back of his clothes was torn, and blood was gushing out of the tear.

He Yuzhu squatted down and turned him over.

Xiao Li.

His eyes were closed. His face was cut by shrapnel, and blood smeared half of his face. His right hand hung limply on the ground, his fingers still twitching slightly.

He Yuzhu picked him up. He was very light, so light that he didn't seem like a grown man.

He carried the person outside. Smoke billowed in from all directions, choking him and making him cough. The person in his arms was also coughing, very softly, as if they had no strength.

As he ran out of the smoke-filled area, people gathered around. Some called for medics, others carried a stretcher. He Yuzhu placed the person on the stretcher, but before he could loosen his grip, the people around him pried his hands off.

He watched as the hand was carried away on the stretcher. The right hand hung limply beside the stretcher, swaying, blood dripping from the fingertips, one drop, two drops, leaving tiny red dots on the ground.

The lights in the hospital corridor were a stark, pale white.

He Yuzhu sat on the bench, staring at the opposite wall. Some of the plaster had peeled off, revealing the grayish-white putty underneath. His hands rested on his knees, palms up. The dried blood, dark red, clung to his skin in streaks, like rivers on a map.

Old Sun sat down next to him and offered him a cigarette.

He Yuzhu did not answer.

Old Sun put the cigarette in his mouth but didn't light it.

Footsteps echoed at the end of the corridor. A nurse pushed a cart past, its wheels creaking as they rolled on the floor. A moment later, footsteps sounded again; a doctor walked by, his leather shoes clicking on the terrazzo.

waited for so long.

The operating room door opened, and the doctor came out.

He Yuzhu stood up, his legs were a little numb, and he swayed for a moment before he could steady himself.

"Doctor, how is he?"

The doctor took off his mask and looked at him.

"His life has been saved."

He Yuzhu waited for him to continue.

The doctor remained silent for a few seconds.

"I can't save my right hand. Shrapnel severed the nerves. Even if it's reattached, I won't be able to use it properly."

He Yuzhu stood there, motionless.

The doctor walked past him, his footsteps fading into the distance.

Old Sun stood up and walked to his side.

"Old He, it's not your fault."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

He looked at his hands. There were still dried blood streaks in his palms. He remembered Xiao Li's hand, dangling from the side of the stretcher, swaying, blood dripping down.

The next afternoon, He Yuzhu went to the ward.

Xiao Li lay on the bed, his right hand wrapped in a thick bandage, looking like a white cotton ball. His eyes were closed, and his face was even whiter than the pillow. His lips were dry, cracked, and peeling.

He Yuzhu sat down on the edge of the bed. The bed frame creaked.

Xiao Li opened his eyes. His eyes darted around, and when he saw him, he paused, startled.

The moment of stunned silence was brief, lasting less than a second, but He Yuzhu saw it. He had seen that look on the battlefield—the instinctive reaction of a wounded soldier seeing his superior, wanting to laugh but unable to.

"Where is the director?" Xiao Li asked, his throat dry and hoarse.

He Yuzhu nodded.

Xiao Li moved his lips but didn't speak. He pulled his left hand out from under the blanket and looked at it. Five fingers, all intact. He stared at it for several seconds, then put it down and pulled it back under the blanket.

"The doctor said," Xiao Li said, looking at the ceiling, "that it might not be possible to save it."

silence.

The fluorescent light tubes were buzzing.

"It's alright," Xiao Li said again, his voice lowered, "and my left hand too."

He Yuzhu looked at that young face. Twenty-three years old. He had only been at the base for three months.

He wanted to say something, but didn't.

The door opened.

A woman in her fifties stood in the doorway, her hair gray and her face full of wrinkles. She wore a faded blue cotton jacket and carried a net bag containing a few apples.

She stared at the bandaged hand on the bed for several seconds. She didn't speak, didn't cry, just stared.

Then she came in and placed the net bag on the bedside table. The apple rolled, hit the cup, and stopped.

She stood by the bed for a while, looking at her son's face.

Xiao Li opened his eyes, saw her, and his mouth moved slightly.

"mom."

The woman nodded. She still didn't say anything.

She turned around and looked at He Yuzhu.

He Yuzhu stood up.

"Auntie, I'm sorry."

The woman looked at him but didn't say anything.

The fluorescent lights were still humming. Someone walked past in the corridor, their footsteps fading into the distance.

The woman stared at him for a long time. There was no hatred, no resentment, nothing in her gaze. It was as if she were looking at a complete stranger.

Then she reached out and took He Yuzhu's hand.

The hands were cold, with large knuckles and calluses on the palms.

"Comrade," she said, her voice hoarse, "His father passed away five years ago. In that same place."

He Yuzhu was stunned.

The woman released her grip, turned around, walked to the bedside, and sat down in a chair. She picked up an apple, wiped it with her sleeve, and placed it on the bedside table. She picked up another, wiped it, and put it away.

Xiao Li looked at her without saying anything.

He Yuzhu stood there, watching that scene.

He wanted to say something, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something.

By the time we got back to base, it was already dark.

He Yuzhu locked himself in his room and spread out the fuel formula. Data, parameters, proportions, temperature, pressure—he went through it line by line. He read it three times, then five.

At 2 a.m., he discovered the problem.

It's not a problem with the formula. It's a problem with the order. Adding the oxidant first and then last yield completely different results. The formula provided by the system is correct, but in practice, they reversed the order.

He pushed open the door.

Ma Yuejin was squatting by the door, asleep against the wall. Hearing the door open, he woke up with a start and stood up.

"Dean, you..."

He Yuzhu handed him the paper.

"Re-mix in this order."

Ma Yuejin took it, glanced at it, and then turned and ran.

Three days later, the second test launch took place.

He Yuzhu stood in the control room, watching the fluctuating data on the screen. Fuel injected, ignition, the engine roared to life. One minute, two minutes, three minutes.

No one spoke.

Ten minutes later, the data stabilized.

Lin Jianguo watched the screen from the side, without saying a word. Ma Yuejin stared at the dial, motionless. Everyone stared at the numbers, completely still.

Five more minutes passed.

The data is still within the normal range.

Someone leaned back, and the chair back creaked.

He Yuzhu turned and walked out.

Ma Yuejin shouted from behind.

"Dean, it's done!"

He Yuzhu did not turn around.

He walked to the test stand, squatted down, and looked at the blackened marks on the ground from the explosion. Some places still had dried blood, dark red.

He squatted there for a long time.