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

When the Ministry of Foreign Trade forwarded Albania's request, it included a note. He Yuzhu picked it up and glanced at it; it read, "The other party has no foreign exchange and is willing to pay with chromium ore and copper concentrate." He put the note down and picked up the official document. Albania wanted a synthetic ammonia production line with an annual capacity of 50,000 tons, to be built on the outskirts of Durrës. The document included a copy of a map, densely packed with contour lines marking water sources, roads, and railways.

He stood up and walked to the world map on the wall. Albania was on the west coast of the Balkans, facing Italy across the Adriatic Sea. That place produced chromium, which we lacked. He looked down further; Tanzania was in East Africa, on the Indian Ocean. They wanted a small hydroelectric power station, one thousand kilowatts, to supply electricity to the rural areas. Lacking foreign exchange, they traded sisal and cashew nuts for it.

He Yuzhu pulled his finger away from the map. Chromium ore, copper concentrate, sisal, and cashews were all things the country needed. He turned around, picked up the phone, and dialed the design institute's number.

On the other end of the line at the design institute, Dean Sun answered the phone. He Yuzhu explained the situation, and Dean Sun was silent for a few seconds before asking, "How tight is the timeframe?" He Yuzhu replied, "The sooner the better." Dean Sun hummed in agreement and didn't ask anything else.

The archives room had only two of the three keys left. Lin Jianguo was still in Xishan, his key hanging around his neck. Old Zheng's key was there, as was He Yuzhu's. The door opened, and He Yuzhu walked to the innermost row of cabinets, pulling open the one labeled "Energy - Small Hydropower." Inside, a stack of documents was wrapped in kraft paper, labeled "Small Hydropower Station Design." He untied the rope and turned to the first page. Turbines, generators, speed governors—from the dam to the transmission lines, each component was interconnected.

He rewrapped the documents, tucked them under his arm, and locked the door.

The design institute spent two months on it. He Yuzhu went there every few days to look at the drawings and listen to reports. Dean Sun, wearing reading glasses, traced the lines on the drawings with his finger and said, "The turbine speed and model are set, but where will the materials come from?" He Yuzhu replied, "The materials are available domestically; if not, we'll import them." Dean Sun nodded and wrote a note in the margin of the drawing.

The hydroelectric power station in Tanzania was even more complicated. The river's flow rate, drop, sediment content, and water volume variations between the rainy and dry seasons—every single detail had to be calculated. He Yuzhu sat opposite Dean Sun, waiting for him to finish one set of data, then the next. The office was filled with smoke, and the ashtray was overflowing with cigarette butts. Dean Sun placed the slide rule on the table, took off his reading glasses, and rubbed his nose. "Alright. We can do it now." He Yuzhu rolled up the drawings and stuffed them into the paper tube.

The Albanian production line requires coal as raw material. He Yuzhu retrieved the coal chemistry textbook from the archives, flipped to the gasification chapter, and marked a few lines next to the flow chart with a pencil. He tucked the textbook under his arm and went to the design institute. Dean Sun glanced at the marks, looked up, and his glasses gleamed. "Director He, your mind is sharper than ours in the chemical industry." He Yuzhu didn't reply, only saying, "Just do it as instructed."

On the day the equipment was loaded onto the ship, He Yuzhu went to Tianjin Port. The jeep bumped along the Beijing-Tianjin highway for two hours, and he leaned against the window, his mind still racing with the equipment list. Yang Xiaobing dozed off in the front seat, his head bobbing up and down. On both sides of the road stretched vast expanses of salt flats, grayish-white, seemingly endless. Occasionally, a crooked tree would flash by, a black crow perched on its branch.

The wind was stronger at the dock than in the city, making clothes flutter loudly. Containers were hoisted onto the ship one after another, some labeled "Albania," others "Tanzania." Yang Xiaobing stood beside them, checking each container against a list. The Albanian production line had thirty containers, and the Tanzanian hydroelectric power station had twenty.

He Yuzhu stood by the dock, watching the crates being hoisted up, swaying in the air for a moment, and then falling into the ship's hold with a loud thud. Old Sun walked over from behind, stood beside him, didn't say anything, lit a cigarette, took a puff, and slowly exhaled.

"Old He, this ship full of stuff is worth a lot of money."

He Yuzhu didn't answer. He recalled 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, their products are being exported. It's not about begging, it's about helping others. Sailors were running around on the deck, some untying mooring lines, others retrieving gangplanks. The ship's horn sounded, and the ship slowly left the dock, heading towards the channel.

He Yuzhu stood there, watching the ship recede into the distance. The waves at the stern churned, white and fluffy, before quickly dissipating. He remembered that year at Changjin Lake, lying prone in the snow awaiting the bugle call, having seen a similar sky. A hazy, indistinct gray, blurring the line between sea and sky. Now it was different. The contents of those crates could help people build factories, generate electricity, and produce fertilizer. People would trade ore, copper concentrate, sisal, and cashews. No one owed anyone anything.

Old Sun threw his cigarette butt on the ground and crushed it out with the sole of his shoe. "The boat's gone. Should we go back?"

He Yuzhu didn't move. He stood there for a while longer before turning around and walking back. Yang Xiaobing had already opened the car door; the engine was still running, and white smoke was billowing from the exhaust pipe.

That evening, He Yuzhu sat in his office. The phone rang, and he answered it. It was the project manager from Albania on the other end; his voice was intermittent.

"Director He... the equipment has arrived... but there's a problem with the installation... the communication is too poor... we can't contact you..."

Before he could finish speaking, the call was cut off. He Yuzhu held the microphone, listening to the busy tone.

The communication bottleneck isn't something for tomorrow; it's for today. He put down the receiver, stood up, and walked to the window. It was dark outside, and the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, shining on the courtyard wall. The shadows of the big-character posters were cast on the ground, patchy like welts.