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

The workshop lights were blindingly white.

He Yuzhu stood beside the metal sphere, watching the assembly worker put the last part inside. It was a small component, less than twenty centimeters in diameter, its surface polished to a shine, reflecting the light. The worker's hands were steady as he tightened the screws, but his forehead was covered in sweat.

It's been three days already.

He Yuzhu rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept much for three days; his eyelids were sore and his vision was blurry. He shifted to the side, leaning against the iron pipes of the scaffolding. The pipes were icy cold; he could feel the chill even through his clothes.

Old Qian stood opposite him, the cigarette in his hand almost burning his fingers, but he didn't notice. The ash fell to the ground, piling up in a small heap at his feet.

The young technician was hunched over the control panel, his eyes glued to the part, almost popping out of their sockets. His lips were dry and chapped, the peeling skin curling up, and he would lick them every now and then, only to have them dry again.

The lathe stopped.

The operator stood up, removed the part, and walked over.

"Mr. Qian, it's done."

Mr. Qian took the part and examined it under the light. He then took out calipers and measured several points. He moved very slowly, measuring each point twice.

Then he looked up.

"Alright."

No one spoke in the workshop.

The workers who had been leaning against the wall slowly slid down to the ground. Some closed their eyes, some stared at the ceiling, and some just stared at the component, motionless. For three days and three nights, in three shifts, iron filings fell in clumps, piling up into small mountains at their feet. Now it was finally over.

Mr. Qian handed the part to the assembler.

"Install it."

The assembler took it and walked over to the metal ball.

He Yuzhu stood there, watching the component being installed bit by bit. When it was halfway installed, he suddenly frowned.

He couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.

But the color of that part under the light was different from the previous batch.

He took a step forward.

The assembler stopped and looked at him.

"Consultant He?"

He Yuzhu didn't speak, staring at the part.

The color is grayish-black. The previously approved parts should have been silver-gray.

They're almost identical. To the average person, the difference might be imperceptible.

But he figured it out.

"Wait a moment."

His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear in the quiet workshop.

The assembler pulled his hand back.

He Yuzhu walked over and picked up the part. He held it up to the light and ran his fingers over its surface. It was smooth. No burrs, no scratches, everything met the standards.

But the color is wrong.

He turned around and looked at Old Qian.

"Mr. Qian, please take a look at this material."

Old Qian walked over and took the part. He examined it against the light for a long time, then lightly scratched the surface with his fingernail.

"The color... seems a bit too dark."

He Yuzhu nodded.

"Yes. It should be silver-gray, this one is grayish-black."

He placed the parts on the workbench and looked at the young technician.

"Where did this batch of materials come from?"

The technician's face turned pale.

"It came from...the supplier. They said it was a qualified product."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything, just looked at him.

The technician's voice lowered even further.

"Curry has spares... but they need to be reworked."

Mr. Qian glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Fifteen hours left."

He Yuzhu remained silent for a few seconds.

The workshop was quiet. Everyone watched him, waiting for his decision. The workers leaning against the wall stood up, and those who had been squatting also stood up. No one spoke; they just watched him.

He Yuzhu picked up the part and looked at it again.

The color is still grayish-black.

He raised his head.

"Change it. Do it again."

The lathe started turning again.

Iron filings fell in rolls, landing at my feet and mixing with the previous pile, making it impossible to tell which were new and which were old.

He Yuzhu stood beside the lathe, staring at the part being processed, without moving an inch.

Old Qian was standing beside him. He lit another cigarette, took two puffs, and then left it there; the ash grew long, but he didn't flick it off.

The young technician was hunched over the control panel, notebook in hand, counting each item on the blueprints one by one. His lips were even drier than before, and the peeling skin was even more pronounced.

No one spoke.

The only sounds were the hum of the lathe turning and the soft rustling of falling iron filings.

Time passes slowly.

He Yuzhu glanced at the clock on the wall. Only half an hour had passed. There were still fourteen and a half hours left.

He looked away and continued staring at the part.

I remember that batch of grayish-black material. It came from the supplier. It was qualified.

But the color is wrong.

He remembered what Sun Deming had said the day he was arrested. He remembered the code name "X". He remembered the damaged communication lines and the burning grain depots.

Perhaps this is not a coincidence.

The lathe stopped.

The operator came over and handed him the new part.

He Yuzhu took it and examined it against the light. It was silver-gray. Just like the previous batch. He measured a few points with calipers, and the dimensions were correct.

He handed it to Mr. Qian.

Mr. Qian took it and measured it as well.

"Alright."

He handed the parts over to the assembler.

"Pack."

The assembler took it, his hands trembling slightly. He held the part, aligned it with the hole, and then began to tighten the screws. Slowly, but steadily, he tightened them one by one.

He Yuzhu stood to the side, watching the part being installed piece by piece. When it was almost finished, the assembler stopped, wiped the sweat from his brow, and continued screwing it in.

The last screw was tightened.

He stepped back, stood there, and looked at the metal sphere.

"It's installed."

The workshop was silent for two seconds.

Then someone let out a long sigh of relief.

Old Qian walked over and patted the person assembling the equipment on the shoulder. He didn't say anything, just patted him twice.

He Yuzhu leaned against the scaffolding and realized that his palms were covered in sweat.

The supplier's issue was discovered three days later.

Old Sun spoke very slowly on the phone, pausing after each sentence.

"That factory was bought three years ago by a man surnamed Sun. His name is Sun Deming. He bought it under someone else's name, but it can be found in the accounts."

He Yuzhu held the microphone but didn't speak.

"In the past few days, incidents have occurred all over the country. Seventeen communication lines have been cut, railway switches have been deliberately damaged, and grain depots have caught fire everywhere. There have been dozens of incidents, large and small."

Old Sun paused for a moment.

"A number of them were arrested, but some escaped. They wanted to take advantage of... take advantage of that time to create chaos throughout the country."

He Yuzhu looked out the window. The wind was still blowing across the Gobi Desert, and the swirling sand and dust turned the sky grayish-yellow.

"That supplier," he began, "did you check the material formula they used?"

Old Sun was silent for two seconds.

"I checked. That kind of formula isn't something an ordinary factory can produce. It uses special alloy components, and only a few military industrial units have it."

He Yuzhu's fingers tightened on the microphone.

Which organization?

Old Sun said a name.

He is the vice president of a military industrial group.

After hanging up the phone, He Yuzhu stood there, listening to the howling wind outside the window.

That vice president is a higher-ranking official than him.

That person, you may have never met them. They may have only appeared in documents.

But now, the name is right in front of me.

He looked out the window at the gray sky and thought of that gray-black part.

Almost.

Just a little bit short