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

The curtain was so thick it could absorb all sound.

He Yuzhu stood backstage, rubbing his palms on his pants, but they were still wet. He peered through the gap in the curtain; the stage lights were so bright they made him squint.

The audience was packed, a sea of ​​faces. He recognized the figures in the front row—Old Qian was hunched over, Old Yuan was looking down at something, and several old men from the Academy of Sciences were chatting together. In the back row, among the younger ones, Ma Yuejin craned his neck to look ahead, Lin Jianguo nudged him with his elbow, and Yang Xiaobing stood ramrod straight, the newly changed white bandage on his arm standing out starkly in the shadows.

There was a splash of red in the corner. Qin Huairu was sitting there holding He Nianhua, the little one wearing a red cotton-padded jacket today, like a tiny flame. She was holding up the tank made from a bullet casing to look at it in the light, her little face bathed in a warm yellow glow.

The host came on stage and read out a list of names.

"Comrades Qian Zhiyuan, Yuan Longping, Lin Jianguo, Ma Yuejin, Yang Xiaobing..."

One by one, they walked up from below the stage. Old Qian walked very slowly, his legs not very strong; someone tried to help him, but he waved them off and continued on his own. Old Yuan was still clutching a small notebook in his hand, only remembering to put it back in his pocket when he reached the stage. Lin Jianguo tripped and was supported by Ma Yuejin; the two exchanged a glance but said nothing. Yang Xiaobing, holding onto the stairs with one hand, walked steadily.

He Yuzhu was the last to walk onto the stage.

Applause erupted.

He stood on the stage, looking at the faces below. Some he recognized, some he didn't, but they were all applauding.

The microphone was first handed to Mr. Qian.

Mr. Qian took the microphone, cleared his throat, and spoke in a slightly hoarse voice.

"In my whole life... I've only done one thing: work with materials."

He paused for a moment, then looked down at the certificate in his hand.

"When I came back from abroad, I didn't bring anything except a few books. People have asked me if it was worth it, but I've never answered."

He looked up, smiled, but his smile was somewhat forced.

"Standing here today is not the achievement of one person alone. It's the result of everyone working together."

He handed the microphone to Mr. Yuan.

Yuan took the microphone, gripped it firmly with his fingers, and didn't speak immediately. He glanced in a certain direction below the stage—the place where he had spent three years working on the experimental fields.

"I've been growing rice for decades. A few years ago, someone gave me a packet of seeds, saying they could save people's lives. I asked him where they came from, but he wouldn't tell me. So I planted them."

He paused again, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"It survived. It was harvested. Now, those seeds have been planted in several provinces."

He turned to He Yuzhu, as if to say something, his lips moved, but in the end he only said one sentence.

"It's better for ordinary people to have enough to eat than anything else."

The microphone was passed to Lin Jianguo.

He held the microphone, his hand trembling slightly, and cleared his throat twice before he could speak.

"I...I work in computers."

After saying that, he suddenly didn't know what to say and just stood there, stunned.

Someone in the audience chuckled softly, not mockingly, but in a good-natured way.

Lin Jianguo also smiled, but his smile looked a bit silly.

"Our Galaxy-3 satellite can calculate atomic bomb data and satellite orbits. We didn't have this kind of thing before. Now we do."

He shoved the microphone at Ma Yuejin as if it were burning his hand.

Ma Yuejin took the microphone, hesitated for a long time, and his face turned red.

"I... I work with tanks."

He scratched his head.

"Our tanks are better than the enemy's."

After finishing, he felt it was too short, so he added another sentence.

"Really, I'm not kidding."

The crowd burst into laughter, and some people started clapping.

Ma Yuejin stood there, stunned, not knowing what had happened.

The microphone was passed to Yang Xiaobing.

He took it with one hand, his other arm still in a sling. He glanced at the people in military uniforms below the stage, all of whom were sitting ramrod straight.

"I was a soldier. I followed my regimental commander, fought in battles, and was wounded. The new weapons are effective, and my brothers shed less blood."

He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice.

"In the future, many fewer people will die."

The microphone was finally handed to He Yuzhu.

The audience fell silent. He saw Qin Huairu waving He Nianhua's hand at him from the corner. The little thing was waving at him and shouting something, but he couldn't hear what it was.

He spoke.

"Backstage just now, I kept thinking about what to say."

The voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

"Over the years, we've developed tanks, missiles, satellites, and atomic bombs one by one. People ask me how we did it, and I can't explain it. We just had this strong drive; we had to develop it."

He paused for a moment.

"Back at Chosin Reservoir, lying in the snow, I wondered what I would do if I made it back alive. Now I know."

He glanced at the people standing beside him.

"It wasn't done by one person. It was done by everyone together."

He turned his gaze to the faces below the stage, some familiar and some unfamiliar.

"We were born under the red flag and grew up in the spring breeze. This is not just a slogan. It is our destiny."

He put down the microphone.

"This is just the beginning."

The applause rang out, growing louder and louder until it made the entire auditorium vibrate.

He raised his head and looked at the red star at the very top of the Great Hall of the People.

The five-pointed star shines brightly.

As I stepped out of the Great Hall of the People, it was snowing outside.

A cold wind swept over me, instantly dispelling the previous heat. Snowflakes fell, landing on my shoulders and hair, melting quickly.

Qin Huairu stood beside him, holding He Nianhua, the little one wrapped up tightly, only his face showing. He Nianhua reached out to catch the snowflakes, giggled as he caught them, and then sneezed.

Qin Huairu quickly pulled her into his arms.

Are you cold?

He Yuzhu shook his head.

Ma Yuejin walked over, stood next to him, lit a cigarette, took a puff, and exhaled the smoke into the snow.

"Dean, what's next?"

He Yuzhu looked at the gray sky.

"There's still a lot to do."

Yang Xiaobing walked over, leaning on his crutches, and stood on his other side. Snowflakes fell on his bandages, but he didn't wipe them away.

"Commander, what will we do after we stop fighting?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

He remembered the blueprints in the archives and the old leader's last words.

"Send our people to heaven."

The snow is getting heavier.

Ma Yuejin stubbed out his cigarette and put it in his pocket.

"Let's go back."

He Yuzhu nodded.

They walked down the steps and into the snow.

Behind me, the lights of the Great Hall of the People were still on, and the red star shone brightly in the snowy night.

After walking a few steps, He Yuzhu stopped and looked back.

The red star is still there.

He touched his pocket. He always carried the commemorative medal that his former leader had given him.

The old leader is no longer able to see.

But we still have to keep going.

He turned around and continued walking forward.

Snowflakes fell on his shoulders, but he didn't wipe them off.

He knew this was just the beginning.