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

Old Sun spent a month dealing with the matter of exchanging gold for foreign currency.

The first week, he went back and forth between the bank and the foreign trade department, returning with a blank expression. When He Yuzhu asked him about it, he said, "It's being processed." The second week, he brought back a form with several lines of numbers on it. He Yuzhu looked at it for a long time but couldn't understand the technical jargon, so he handed the form back to him. "You handle it," Old Sun said, putting the form away. He didn't come the third week, but he did come the fourth week, carrying a bulging briefcase.

He sat opposite He Yuzhu, opened his briefcase, and took out the receipts one by one. He glanced at each one before placing it on the table. When he got to the last one, he paused.

"It's done. A batch of precision machine tools from Switzerland: milling machines, grinding machines, boring machines, and a machining center. The asking price is 400,000 Swiss francs, which is equivalent to 96,000 US dollars."

He Yuzhu took the contract and flipped through a couple of pages. The text was densely printed, a mix of German, English, and Chinese, making it dizzying to read. He put the contract down and looked at Lao Sun. Lao Sun didn't look at him; he was staring at the papers on the table.

"There's one more thing."

He Yuzhu waited for him to continue.

"This batch of machine tools was purchased from a Swiss company, and it changed hands several times, so we can't find the end user. The other party asked, 'What will this stuff be used for once it's shipped to China?'"

He Yuzhu picked up the receipts and then put them down again.

"What did you say?"

Old Sun lit his cigarette, took a drag, and slowly exhaled.

"I said it would be used in factories to build tractors."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. It was a hazy gray outside, looking like it was about to snow. He remembered his trip to Moscow years ago, when the Soviets tried to fool him with technology from ten years ago, and he cursed them in Russian before leaving. Now, even buying something required hiding it. He turned around and walked back to the table.

We'll talk about it when we get there.

Two weeks later, Tianjin Port called.

When He Yuzhu answered the phone, Ma Yuejin was standing at the office door, clutching the calipers in his hand, seemingly wanting to ask something but not saying anything. He Yuzhu put down the phone and glanced at him.

"Walk."

The three of them remained silent on the road. He Yuzhu drove, Ma Yuejin sat in the passenger seat, and Lin Jianguo sat in the back. Ma Yuejin placed calipers on his lap and tapped them repeatedly with his fingers the entire way. Lin Jianguo leaned against the car window, watching the fields outside recede into the distance, changing from green to yellow, and then from yellow to gray.

It was getting dark when they arrived at the freight yard. The train car was parked there, covered with a tarpaulin, looking dusty and gray. Ma Yuejin was the first to climb up, lifted the tarpaulin, and revealed a wooden crate underneath, taller than a man, with its corners covered in sheet metal and foreign characters printed on it. He squatted down next to the crate, his hands on the wooden planks, and didn't move.

"Dean, is this all?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer, but told the workers to pry open the box. A crowbar was inserted into the crack, and with a pull, the wooden board creaked open, revealing pale yellow rust-proof paper underneath. Ma Yuejin reached out and tore off a piece, revealing a silver-gray machine tool underneath, gleaming coldly under the light.

He paused for a moment, then withdrew his hand.

Lin Jianguo came up from behind, squatted down to touch the base, and then stood up.

"Dean, our beds can't achieve this level of precision."

Ma Yuejin didn't speak. He stood up and walked around the machine tool. The first circle was quick, just to get a general overview. The second circle slowed down, and he squatted down to examine the screws and slide rails. The third circle was even slower; he stood up, took two steps back, and inspected the entire machine tool.

He Yuzhu stood beside him, looking at the back of his head. Ma Yuejin squatted there, his hands on the machine tool, fiddling with it for a while before speaking.

"Dean, we can make this ourselves."

The voice wasn't loud, as if it were being spoken to oneself.

He Yuzhu did not respond.

Ma Yuejin repeated himself, this time in a louder voice.

"It can be made."

He Yuzhu looked at him.

"Is it possible?"

Ma Yuejin fell silent. He stood up, circled the machine tool again, stopped, put his hand in his pocket, then pulled it out again.

"Not now. But take it apart, look at it, learn from it... maybe then you'll be able to."

When he said "maybe," he didn't look at He Yuzhu; he was staring at the tips of his shoes.

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He turned around and looked at the twelve wooden crates, neatly stacked in the train car. He remembered Zhao Deming from Daqing Oilfield coming to copy data that year, saying, "These things are enough for us to work for ten years." Now, he didn't know how long these machine tools would last them.

"Ship it back. Disassemble one unit first, and draw up the blueprints."

Ma Yuejin raised his head, looked at He Yuzhu, and his lips moved.

"Dean, are we really going to demolish it?"

He Yuzhu didn't answer immediately. He squatted down, covered the rust-proof paper back up, and stood up.

"dismantle."

Ma Yuejin remained squatting, not moving.

"If it gets damaged, it's on me," He Yuzhu said.

Ma Yuejin stood up, wiped his hands on his trousers, and went to get a crowbar. Halfway there, he glanced back at He Yuzhu, as if to say something, then turned back.

By the time the machine tools arrived at the research institute, it was already completely dark.

He Yuzhu stood at the workshop entrance, watching the boxes being hoisted down one by one and placed on the ground with a loud bang, shaking the ground. Ma Yuejin squatted next to the first box, shining a flashlight on the screws, examining them one by one. The flashlight beam flickered on the screws, and his shadow, cast on the wall, swayed accordingly.

Lin Jianguo flipped through the instruction manual, making a rustling sound.

"Dean, this instruction manual is entirely in German. I can't understand it."

He Yuzhu took it and glanced at it; it was covered in dense letters, and he didn't recognize a single one. He returned the instruction manual to Lin Jianguo.

"Find a translator. There are German-speaking people in Beijing."

Lin Jianguo nodded and stuffed the instruction manual into his bag. Ma Yuejin was still squatting there, his flashlight off, leaving him in complete darkness. He Yuzhu walked over and squatted down beside him.

"What did you figure out?"

Ma Yuejin didn't turn on his flashlight, but said something in the dark.

"I didn't see anything special. I just felt that their work was really meticulous."

The next morning, when He Yuzhu went to the workshop, Ma Yuejin was already squatting there.

A pile of parts, large and small, lay scattered on the ground. He held calipers, measuring each one one by one, noting the measurement in a small notebook beside him. When he unscrewed the first screw, his hand trembled, and it slipped. He stopped, put down the calipers, took two deep breaths, and picked up the wrench again.

He Yuzhu stood at the door for a while, but didn't go in. Ma Yuejin didn't know where he was, so he continued measuring. When he reached the measuring rod, he lifted it up and looked at it against the light from the window. The surface was smooth, like a mirror, and he could see his reflection in it.

He held the lead screw in his hand and weighed it; it was heavy. Then he picked up calipers and measured the diameter, pitch, and thread angle. He wrote down each measurement in his notebook, glancing back at it afterward to make sure he hadn't made a mistake.

He Yuzhu turned and left.

In the afternoon, He Yuzhu was reviewing documents in his office. When the phone rang, he was staring blankly at the blueprint for a rocket launcher.

He answered the phone, and the person on the other end said a few words. He listened without saying anything, then switched the microphone to his other hand.

"understood."

He stood there for a while after hanging up the phone.

Old Sun pushed the door open and came in, his expression not good.

"The General Staff is calling."

He Yuzhu did not turn around.

"What did you say?"

Old Sun came in and closed the door.

"India might retaliate. They're not happy about the loss. The higher-ups asked if we could produce more rocket launchers."

He Yuzhu stood by the window, looking at the gray sky outside. Ma Yuejin was still drawing blueprints in the workshop, the pencil stub making a scratching sound. The General Staff's phone call made those scratching sounds seem very distant.

"I'll handle the rocket launcher issue."

That evening, He Yuzhu came out of the workshop and lit a cigarette at the door. The lights in the workshop were still on, and Ma Yuejin's shadow was cast on the window, head down, motionless.

He finished his cigarette, threw the butt in the snow, and walked home.

When he pushed open the courtyard gate, the lights were still on inside. He stood at the doorway, brushed the snow off his shoulders, and went inside.

He Nianhua was already asleep. Qin Huairu was sewing clothes under the lamp, her stitches very fine, one after another. She looked up and glanced at him.

"You're back?"

He Yuzhu sat down next to her and took off the gloves, placing them on the table.

"I'm back."

Qin Huairu didn't ask any more questions. She put away the needle and thread and stood up.

"There's still some porridge in the pot, have some before you go to sleep."

He Yuzhu nodded. Qin Huairu went to serve the porridge, and he sat on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed), watching He Nianhua sleep. The child turned over, his little hand resting on his leg, warm and soft.

He gently placed the small hand back and pulled the blanket up. Qin Huairu brought in a bowl of porridge, which he took and drank a sip of; it was scalding hot. He sipped it slowly, listening to the wind outside.