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

The telegrams on the table were piled up to half a foot high.

He Yuzhu flipped through the telegrams one by one—from Xinjiang, Heilongjiang, Tibet, Yunnan—each one urging for equipment. The microwave station's antenna was erected, the tower was built, all that was left was the transceiver and multiplexing equipment. But the chips from Shanghai couldn't be delivered, the equipment couldn't be installed, and the station would be an empty shell. He stacked the telegrams, clipped them together, and placed them on the corner of the table.

The phone rang. He answered it, and the person on the other end sighed but didn't say anything.

"Factory Director Zhou?"

"Where is the head?" Zhou Demao's voice was hoarse and strained, as if it contained sand. "You're still awake, aren't you?"

He Yuzhu glanced at the alarm clock on the table; it was 11:20. "I'm not asleep. Go ahead and tell me."

"The factory operates on three shifts, the machines never stop, and people work in shifts. But we can only produce two hundred pieces a day. The microwave communications team is pressing us hard, and I'm really worried..." He sighed again, "I can't keep up."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He stood up, walked to the wall, and looked at the map. Xinjiang, Heilongjiang, Tibet, Yunnan—the red dots were one after another, like an unfinished string of beads. The lines were there, but the beads weren't enough. He turned around, picked up the pencil on the table, and wrote a line in the corner of the map: Shanghai, the chip shortage.

"What about the equipment? Are the lithography machine, diffusion furnace, and testing and sorting machine sufficient?"

"We have enough equipment," Zhou Demao paused, "but the technology is outdated. The lithography machine is manually aligned, and one machine can only produce a maximum of a hundred wafers a day. The diffusion furnace temperature fluctuates greatly, so the yield rate is low. Testing and sorting rely on human eyes, which is slow and prone to leaks. Where are we going wrong? I'm not complaining, I really can't keep up."

He Yuzhu gripped the microphone, staring at the red dots on the map. At the Xinjiang station, the iron tower had stood in the snow for two months, but the equipment still hadn't arrived. At the Heilongjiang station, border guards relied on wired communication, but the lines would freeze and break in winter. The Tibet station was even higher, at 4,700 meters; workers carried the equipment up, eagerly awaiting the wafers.

"The archives have an expansion plan. I'll have Lin Jianguo go there."

There was a two-second silence on Zhou Demao's end. "Okay. I'll wait for your reply."

The phone call ended. He Yuzhu sat down at the table, picked up the stack of telegrams from the corner, and read them again. Xinjiang, Heilongjiang, Tibet, Yunnan. He put the telegrams down, got up, and walked towards the archives. One of the corridor lights was broken, and the green light from the emergency exit illuminated the water stains on the floor. He took out his key, opened the door, stopped in front of the innermost row of cabinets, and pulled open the cabinet labeled "Chip & Integrated Circuits." Inside, a stack of documents was wrapped in kraft paper, with the title "Integrated Circuit Production Line Expansion Plan" written on it. He took it out, untied the rope, and flipped through it. The flowchart showed dozens of processes from silicon wafers to finished products, with improvement methods marked next to each process. He closed it and rewrapped it.

The next morning, Lin Jianguo arrived. He stood at the door of He Yuzhu's office, a little fatter than when he went to Xishan, his face had regained some color, and his glasses were still as thick as ever, but the frames were new. He Yuzhu handed him the documents.

"Shanghai. The supply of microwave communication chips is lagging behind. Go and keep an eye on it, and increase production."

Lin Jianguo took the documents and weighed them in his hand. "How long?"

He Yuzhu thought for a moment. "Two months. Is that enough?"

Lin Jianguo opened the first page, read a few lines, and closed it. "That's enough."

He turned and walked away. The sound of his footsteps faded into the distance in the corridor.

Two months later, one afternoon, He Yuzhu was in his office reading a telegram from Xinjiang. The iron tower had been inspected and accepted; they were just waiting for the equipment. The door opened, and Lin Jianguo stood in the doorway, his clothes wrinkled, his face greasy, and his glasses covered in dust. He clutched a chip in his hand, about the size of a fingernail, dark green, gleaming in the light. He didn't speak, but walked in and placed the chip on the table.

He Yuzhu picked up the chip and examined it against the light from the window. The circuitry was clear, and the solder joints were full.

"How many?"

Lin Jianguo sat down in the chair, took off his glasses, and wiped them with the corner of his shirt. "Daily production is one thousand pieces, with a good product rate of ninety-five percent."

He Yuzhu put the chip down. "How did you do that?"

Lin Jianguo put on his glasses. "The lithography machine has an automatic alignment system, so it can produce 150 wafers a day. The diffusion furnace has a new temperature controller, reducing temperature fluctuations from ±5 degrees to ±1 degree, and the yield rate has reached 85%. The testing and sorting machine is installed, automatically testing and sorting, without human supervision. The production line is running smoothly, and the workers are skilled." He paused, "In the first month, the daily output reached 800 wafers, with a yield rate of 92%. In the second month, we adjusted it again, reaching 1,000 wafers, with a yield rate of 95%."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. The sky outside was overcast, looking like it was about to rain. The big-character posters on the courtyard wall had been replaced with new ones, the edges of the paper curling up and rustling in the wind. He looked at them for a while, then turned around.

"I'll go take a look."

He Yuzhu boarded the train, leaning against the window, watching the fields recede into the distance. In Hebei, the wheat was lush and green, stronger than last year. The crops were noticeably different after the fertilizer plant went into operation. After Jinan, rows of utility poles appeared along the roadside, topped with new microwave antennas that gleamed in the sunlight. At a small station, several farmers boarded the train carrying woven bags, the words "Urea" clearly printed on them in red on a white background. Looking at those bags, He Yuzhu remembered the old man kneeling on the ground during the drought years ago. Now, those old men no longer needed to kneel; the fields had fertilizer, the water, and smiles on their faces.

When the train arrived in Shanghai, he transferred to a public bus to go to the radio factory. The streets outside the window were cleaner than they had been a few years ago, and there were more people riding bicycles; some had newly bought televisions strapped to their backs, while others had pork and fish hanging from their handlebars. An old woman carrying a shopping basket filled with tomatoes and eggs crossed the street, walking slowly but steadily. He Yuzhu leaned back in his seat, squinting as he watched the people coming and going. They didn't know what a chip was, or what microwave communication was, but their lives were getting better.

At the factory gate, Zhou Demao waited, his face still dark, but his eyes lit up. He led He Yuzhu inside. All the lights in the workshop were on, blindingly bright. The production line was running, silicon wafers moving slowly on the conveyor belt, going through each process before finally becoming wafers and falling into the material bins. The workers wore white work clothes, hats, and masks, only their eyes visible. An experienced worker stood in front of the lithography machine, pressing a few buttons on the control panel, and the machine started running. He stepped back, arms crossed, watching. A young technician walked over carrying a material bin, his hands trembling slightly. The experienced worker patted him on the shoulder without saying a word.

Lin Jianguo stood beside the component box, holding a freshly produced chip up to the light. He Yuzhu walked over, took the chip, and placed it under the microscope. The circuitry was clear, the solder joints were full, and there were no short circuits or open circuits. He stood up and returned the chip to Lin Jianguo.

"Is the pass rate really 95%?"

Lin Jianguo nodded. "Ten batches were sampled, each with 1,000 pieces. The lowest was 94.5, the highest was 96.2, and the average was 95.1."

He Yuzhu turned around and looked at the workers. The conveyor belt was still turning, and the machines were still running. The young technician carried the material box over, his steps more steady than before.

"Is the microwave communication system ready to supply it?"

Zhou Demao chimed in from the side, "Yes, we can. A thousand pieces a day is enough. We can even export some to earn foreign exchange."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He walked out of the workshop and stood at the door. The sun was out, its heat making his back feel hot. He took off his coat and draped it over his arm, standing there for a long time. Zhou Demao followed him out and stood beside him.

"Director He, could you please name this batch of chips?"

He Yuzhu thought for a moment. "Let's call it 'Dongfang' (Eastern)."

Zhou Demao nodded and turned to go back. He Yuzhu stood there, looking at the dusty factory buildings in the factory area. The wind blew by, hot and smelly, carrying the scent of machine oil.

That evening, He Yuzhu sat in his office and took the list out of his drawer. Turning to the page for "chips," after the words "integrated circuits," he added a line: "Shanghai Radio Factory's expansion is complete, daily output of 1,000 wafers, 95% pass rate." After writing that, he put the list back and locked the drawer.

The phone rang. He answered it; it was Lin Jianguo on the other end.

"Dean, the chip issue is settled. Is there anything else you need to do?"

He Yuzhu held the microphone and remained silent for a few seconds. "There's something new. Galaxy IV."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. He Yuzhu could hear Lin Jianguo's breathing, one breath at a time, as if he were thinking about something.

"Starship Trooper IV?" Lin Jianguo asked.

"Hmm. Ten times faster than number three. We'll talk about it when you get back."

Lin Jianguo was silent for two seconds. "Okay. I'll be back tomorrow."

The phone call ended. He Yuzhu stood by the window, looking at the night outside.