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

When Zhao Deming arrived, it was snowing in Beijing.

He jumped out of the jeep, his feet crunching on the snow in front of the research institute. He didn't move forward, first glancing up at the iron gate, then at the sentry standing guard. The sentry stood ramrod straight, rifle at the ready, a layer of white snow clinging to his hat brim. Zhao Deming pulled his cotton-padded coat collar up tighter, looked down at his oil-stained cotton shoes, and rubbed them a couple of times in the snow. Not clean. He rubbed them a couple more times.

When He Yuzhu came out, Zhao Deming was taking the letter of introduction out of his pocket. His cotton-padded coat was tightly buttoned, and it took him a while to pull it out; his hands were red with cold. When he handed it over, his fingers were bent, as if afraid of getting the letter dirty.

"Director He, I am Zhao Deming from Daqing."

His voice was a little hoarse when he said this, and his eyes weren't on He Yuzhu, but on the gray building behind He Yuzhu. The building wasn't tall, but it had many windows, lights were on, and people were moving around inside.

He Yuzhu took the letter, glanced at it, and put it in his pocket.

"Come in."

The archives room is on the second basement level, and the iron door is so thick it could withstand artillery shells.

He Yuzhu took out his keys, and Lin Jianguo and Old Zheng, the head of the security department, also took out theirs. All three keys were inserted into the locks and turned simultaneously. The iron gate opened, revealing a dark interior. He Yuzhu reached for the light switch on the wall, and the lights came on, illuminating rows of iron cabinets that gleamed coldly in the light.

Zhao Deming stood at the door but didn't go in.

He glanced inside, then glanced again, shuffled his foot on the threshold, and finally stepped inside. He stopped in front of the row of cabinets, looking at the labels on the doors. Energy: Nuclear Power. Energy: Solar Power. Energy: Tertiary Oil Recovery. His finger hovered over the "Tertiary Oil Recovery" label for a moment, then hesitated, withdrawing it.

He Yuzhu opened the cabinet door, took out the document, and handed it to him.

Zhao Deming took the document, opened the first page, and read a few lines. His hand began to tremble. He turned the page again, then another. When he reached the third page, he closed the document, looked up, and stared at He Yuzhu.

"Where does it grow?"

He called out, then fell silent. He Yuzhu waited for him. After several seconds, Zhao Deming lowered his head, opened the document again, turned to the previous page, and pointed to a line of text on it.

"We've tried this parameter before, but it didn't work."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. Zhao Deming turned another page and pointed to another line.

"We tried that too. It didn't work either."

He closed the document, hugged it tightly to his chest. He Yuzhu asked him, "Will it work?" Zhao Deming hesitated for a moment, then didn't answer. After a few seconds, he nodded, his voice unsteady, as if he wasn't quite sure.

"It can be done."

A few seconds later, he added a sentence, this time in a steady voice.

"Director He, with this, our oilfield can operate for another twenty years."

He Yuzhu didn't reply, but turned and walked out. At the door, he turned back and said something.

"Copy it here. You can't take it away."

They spent five days in the archives.

He Yuzhu visited him once a day. On the first day, Zhao Deming was hunched over the document, copying word by word until his fingers cramped, then he would shake his hands and continue copying. On the second day, he asked Lao Zhang to help him copy, while he squatted on the ground, drawing with a twig, drawing and erasing, leaving a patch of charcoal marks on the ground. On the third day, he asked Xiao Liu to get food from the cafeteria, while he ate in the document room. He left his lunchbox on the ground, taking a bite of rice, copying a line of text, taking another bite of rice, and copying another line of text. On the fourth day, when He Yuzhu went, he was asleep against the wall, still clutching the pen in his hand. The notebook had slipped to the ground, open, and the ink bottle was tilted to one side, a small patch of ink spilled, which he hadn't covered and was already mostly dry.

He Yuzhu bent down, picked up the notebook, closed it, and placed it on the table. He then tightened the ink bottle. Zhao Deming remained asleep.

On the fifth day, I finished copying it.

Zhao Deming neatly stacked the copied papers, wrapped them in kraft paper, and stuffed them into the wooden box he had brought. He stood at the door of the archives, waiting for He Yuzhu to lock it. Three keys were inserted into the lock and turned simultaneously, and the iron door closed. He stared at the door for a while.

He Yuzhu asked him, "Is there anything else?"

Zhao Deming rubbed his hands together, wanting to say something, but then remained silent. He Yuzhu didn't urge him, just stood there waiting. After several seconds, Zhao Deming finally spoke.

"Director He, did you prepare this data all by yourself?"

He Yuzhu shook his head.

"no."

Zhao Deming then asked, "And what about the people under your command...?"

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"Busy with other projects."

Zhao Deming stopped asking. He put his hands in his cotton-padded coat pockets, lowered his head, and rubbed the cigarette butts on the ground with his feet. He rubbed them several times, then raised his head, then lowered it again. He Yuzhu hadn't left; he was still standing there.

Zhao Deming finally spoke.

"Where to grow, those formulas, there are some parts... we're not sure."

He didn't look at He Yuzhu when he spoke; he looked at the flattened cigarette butt on the ground. After speaking, he paused for a few seconds, then added another sentence.

"It would be great if someone could come with us."

After saying that, he shook his head first.

"Never mind, you're busy. We'll figure it out ourselves."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. Zhao Deming turned and left. After a few steps, he heard He Yuzhu speaking behind him.

"We'll leave tomorrow. I'll find someone to go with you."

Zhao Deming stopped, turned around, opened his mouth slightly, but didn't say anything. He Yuzhu had already turned and walked towards the office building.

Qian Nian was called to the office.

He stood at the door, still clutching a rag used for wiping machines. He Yuzhu asked him to sit down, but he didn't. He stood there, wringing the rag back and forth in his hand.

"Dean, you wanted to see me?"

He Yuzhu looked at his hands. There were several fresh oil stains on his fingers, and black iron filings were embedded in his fingernails.

"There's a technology that needs to be implemented in Daqing. You and Engineer Zhao will go there together."

Qian Nian was stunned for a moment. He neither agreed nor refused, but just stood there, wringing the rag in his hand even tighter. After several seconds, he lowered his head.

"Dean, I'm afraid I won't do a good job."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. Qian Nian's voice was even lower.

"Those things, you taught me. If we get there and people ask..."

He Yuzhu interrupted him.

"If they ask, just say I taught you. If you can't do it well, learn. If you still can't do it well after learning, come back."

Qian Nian looked up at He Yuzhu. He stopped wringing the rag in his hand. After a few seconds, he nodded.

"OK."

He turned to leave, but when he reached the door, he turned back.

"Dean, it's cold over there."

He Yuzhu didn't say anything. Qian Nian stood there for a while, then left.

The day Qian Nian left, He Yuzhu stood at the entrance of the research institute.

The jeep started, and Zhao Deming leaned out of the window and waved. He Yuzhu didn't move. The car drove out of the gate, onto the highway, and drove further and further away. Ma Yuejin stood beside him, a cigarette dangling from his lips, but he didn't light it.

"Dean, is that kid up to the task?"

He Yuzhu did not answer.

In the first month, Qian Nian wrote a letter. The letter was very short, just a few lines, written on crumpled paper, as if torn from a notebook.

"Dean, we tried it once, but the pressure wasn't enough. Engineer Zhao hasn't slept for three days."

He Yuzhu read the letter twice and put it in the drawer.

The following month, another letter arrived. This one was a bit longer.

"We changed a few parameters, and the pressure went up, but it's still not enough. Engineer Zhao has blisters all around his mouth. He stayed at the well site until 2 a.m. last night. I brought him a cotton-padded coat, but he refused it."

He Yuzhu put the letter into the drawer as well.

The third letter arrived in late February.

"Zhao said that if things didn't work out, we'd have to leave. That night, he squatted alone at the well site smoking until dawn. I stayed with him, but he didn't say anything, and neither did I."

He Yuzhu held the letter and sat in his office for a long time.

The fourth letter arrived in the middle of the night a month later. The gatekeeper knocked on his door, saying it was a telegram from Daqing. He Yuzhu got up from the kang (a heated brick bed), put on his clothes, and went to receive it. The telegram contained only one line of text, the handwriting was messy, as if it had been sent in a hurry.

"It's done. Engineer Zhao cried. I cried too."

He Yuzhu stood at the door for a long time, holding the paper. A gust of wind blew, and the corner of the paper curled up. He pressed it flat with his hand, but it curled up again. He turned around, put the telegram back on the table, and weighed it down with a teacup.

The phone rang at daybreak.

He Yuzhu answered the phone, and on the other end was Zhao Deming, whose voice was hoarse, as if there was a wad of cotton stuffed in his throat.

"Where it grows, it's done."

He Yuzhu held the microphone but didn't speak.

Zhao Deming's voice became even hoarseer.

"A flowing well. High-pressure. The oil gushed out like a fountain. For three days and three nights, it didn't stop."

He paused, and He Yuzhu heard people shouting, laughing, and crying on the other end of the line. Zhao Deming shouted something into the phone, his voice cracking.

"Director He, our oil can be exported now!"

He Yuzhu stood there, listening to the busy tone on the receiver. Outside the window, it was dawn; the snow had stopped, and the sun shone on the roof, making the accumulated snow appear white.

The phone rang again.

He Yuzhu answered the phone, and the voice on the other end was unfamiliar, hurried, as if it had run all the way there.

"Director He, I'm from the North China Pharmaceutical Factory. Our penicillin production isn't up to par, and the higher-ups are pressuring us; if we can't deliver soon..."

He Yuzhu asked, "How much is the shortfall?" The person on the other end hesitated for a moment. "Thirty percent short." He Yuzhu asked, "Are the raw materials sufficient?" The person on the other end said, "Yes, they are. But the process is not up to par." He Yuzhu said, "Send over the approval documents." The person on the other end said, "They've already been sent, but the approval will take three days."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. There was a two-second silence on the other end, and then the voice became even lower.

"We can't wait any longer. If we wait any longer, the soldiers on the front lines will run out of medicine."

He Yuzhu's hand tightened on the microphone. He stood up and walked to the window. Outside, the sun had already risen, shining into the courtyard of the research institute, making the snow-covered ground dazzlingly white. In the distance, someone was sweeping snow, the broom scraping against the concrete with a soft, rustling sound.

"Come tomorrow. I'll figure out a way to get the approval."

There was a pause on the other end. "Director He, this isn't in accordance with the rules..."

He Yuzhu interrupted him.

"The lives of frontline soldiers are more important than rules."

The phone call ended. He stood by the window, looking out at the yard. The snow shovelers had already reached the doorway, piling the snow into a heap. The sun shone brightly on the snowdrift.

He turned around and walked back to the table. The three keys were still in the drawer.