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

The ashtray is full.

Ma Yuejin stubbed out his cigarette, the ash rising and landing on the blueprints on the table. He didn't wipe it away, just stared at the pressure curve on the blueprint. The curve dropped at the three-minute mark, becoming a straight line.

He's been watching for almost an hour.

When He Yuzhu pushed the door open, the smell of smoke in the room was enough to knock someone over. Ma Yuejin looked up, his eyes were dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were dry and chapped. He didn't say anything, he just stared at He Yuzhu.

He Yuzhu walked over and sat down opposite him.

"Finished calculating?"

Ma Yuejin pushed the report over. His hand was trembling slightly, and the report slid across the table, not landing properly.

"The engine's reached its limit." His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper scraping wood. "The materials' reached their limit too. Everything's reached its limit."

He Yuzhu picked up the report but didn't read it.

Ma Yuejin looked at him.

"Dean, we've failed three times already."

It was a hazy gray outside the window, and smoke was still billowing from the chimney over at the workshop. The radiators were making a clicking sound; I didn't know where the air was leaking.

"On the third attempt, I thought it would work," Ma Yuejin said. "The data was stable, and the pressure curve was a straight line. I looked at that line and thought, 'This time it'll work.' But after three minutes, the line dropped."

He stretched out his hand and gestured on the table.

"Just like that, it fell. Straight down."

He Yuzhu put the report down.

"What did Lin Jianguo say?"

Ma Yuejin shook his head.

"The trajectory calculation is complete. The thrust is 5 percent short."

He paused.

"Five percent. Just that little bit more."

The light bulbs in the conference room were badly worn out, making a buzzing sound and flickering.

Lin Jianguo sat at the far end of the long table, a stack of documents spread out in front of him. Qian Nian sat next to him, holding a notebook and writing something down. Ma Yuejin leaned against the wall, not sitting, just standing.

When He Yuzhu walked in, no one spoke.

He placed the document on the table.

"Something new. A booster."

Lin Jianguo picked it up and flipped through it. He paused on the third page.

"This structure is completely different from ours."

He Yuzhu nodded.

"Yes. It's been changed."

Lin Jianguo turned a few more pages and looked up.

"Dean, if this thing works, how much more thrust will it generate?"

"Ten percent."

Lin Jianguo paused for a moment. He turned the page of the drawing over and looked at it under the light for a few seconds.

"Ten percent."

He put down the blueprints and looked at He Yuzhu.

"Dean, please tell me, where did this come from?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

Lin Jianguo waited a few seconds. The light flickered again, the buzzing stopped, and then started again.

"Okay." He nodded. "I won't ask."

He pushed the blueprints forward a bit.

"But we can't do this."

Ma Yuejin walked over from the wall and glanced at the picture. His face darkened.

"He's right. The precision requirements are too high. Our machine is an order of magnitude short."

Qian Nian whispered from the side.

"What should we do then?"

The room quieted down. The radiators were still clicking, and the distant hum of the machines in the workshop was faint and indistinct.

He Yuzhu looked at the three people. The bloodshot eyes of Ma Yuejin, the handprints on Lin Jianguo's glasses that hadn't been wiped clean, and the machine oil that Qian Nian couldn't wash off his fingernails.

"If you can't do it, find a way to do it," he said.

Ma Yuejin raised his head.

"Start all over again?"

He Yuzhu nodded.

"Start over."

Ma Yuejin didn't say anything. He walked to the window, turned his back to everyone, and looked at the gray sky outside.

"Three years," he said, his voice muffled. "We've almost lost a year. Is it too late to start over?"

He Yuzhu walked over and stood next to him.

The chimney over there in the workshop is still smoking. The workers are still working. Yang Xiaobing and the others are still on the front lines. Everything is still going on.

"There's still time," He Yuzhu said.

Ma Yuejin did not turn around.

After a long silence, he spoke.

"Dean, I'm scared."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

"I'm afraid that if I try again, it still won't work."

He Yuzhu pressed his hand on his shoulder.

"We have to do it, even if we're afraid."

That night, He Yuzhu walked back and forth in the corridor three times.

On his third visit, he pushed open the door.

The room was dark, with only the table lamp on the desk lit. Ma Yuejin was asleep, slumped over the table. His head was resting on his arm, and he was still clutching the blueprint in his hand, his knuckles white. A red mark was imprinted on the blueprint, pressed against half of his face.

The lamplight cast his shadow on the wall, which remained motionless. He was asleep, but his brow was furrowed.

The ashtray on the table was overflowing, cigarette butts had rolled out and landed on the table. The water in the teacup had long since cooled, and a film had formed on the surface.

He Yuzhu walked over, poured out the cold water, and replaced it with a hot one.

Then he took a small bottle out of his pocket and placed it next to the hot water cup.

Transparent, small, and shimmering faintly under the light.

He stood there for a while, then turned to leave.

Ma Yuejin moved slightly.

"The Dean?"

He Yuzhu stopped.

Ma Yuejin raised his head, his eyes half-open, making it difficult to see clearly.

"What time is it?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

Ma Yuejin rubbed his eyes and saw the small bottle on the table.

"What is this?"

He Yuzhu walked out.

"I drank it."

"Dean..."

The door closed.

Ma Yuejin picked up the small bottle and looked at it under the light. The liquid was pale blue and swayed slightly in the light.

He opened it and took a sip.

It's cold and a little sweet.

He drank the rest and leaned back in his chair.

A few seconds later, the aches and pains that had been building up all night began to subside. It was as if someone had pulled him out of the water and placed him on the shore.

He stared at the closed door for a long while.

When the countdown ended, the control room was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.

He Yuzhu stood behind Lin Jianguo, staring at the pressure curve on the screen. It climbed steadily, like a mountain climber taking one step at a time.

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds.

Qian Nian whispered from the side.

"It's safe."

Lin Jianguo didn't speak, his hand resting on the control panel, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.

One minute.

One and a half.

Two minutes.

He Yuzhu's heart slowly calmed down.

Then he saw the temperature curve start to curve upwards.

It's not undulating, it curves upwards, like a fishhook.

Lin Jianguo took half a step forward.

"wrong."

The temperature is still rising. It's exceeded the limit by five percent, and it's still rising.

He Yuzhu shouted.

"Turn off the car!"

Ma Yuejin lunged at the red button.

The screen flickered just a second before his finger touched the button.

The temperature curve is gone. The pressure curve is gone too. All that's left is a gray expanse.

There was a half-second of silence in the control room.

Then a muffled thud came from outside.

It wasn't a deafening explosion; it was a muffled sound, like someone slamming a sledgehammer on a quilt.

He Yuzhu rushed out.

Over at the test bench, the engine was on fire. Flames, orange-red, licked at the pipes as they seeped out from the gaps. Black smoke billowed upwards, swirling and rising into the air before being dispersed by the wind. Firefighters sprayed water, the jets hitting the flames and creating plumes of white steam.

Ma Yuejin stood to the side, motionless. He was still clutching the unpressed red button model in his hand—the kind used for training.

He stared at the fire, his expression inscrutable.

He Yuzhu walked over and stood next to him.

When Ma Yuejin spoke, his voice was hoarse, as if he had a mouthful of sand in it.

"This is the fourth time."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything.

He looked at the ball of fire, at the people running around, and at the water jet that was still spraying water.

The wind blew in from the Gobi Desert, scattering the smoke, which then gathered again.