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

The train wheels clattered over the tracks. He Yuzhu leaned against the window, watching the birch forest outside blur past. His eyes were closed, but the fire in his head was still burning. A bright, blinding orange-red. Zhao Dayong's voice echoed in his ears—"That was a perfect shot." His voice was hoarse, as if it held sand in his throat.

He opened his eyes and touched the canvas bag on the seat next to him. The strap was worn white, and inside was the handwritten battle report. The Soviets had retreated more than ten kilometers, but they hadn't gone far. The tanks were still lying in the ravine, their guns pointed in their direction. He knew they wouldn't let it go so easily. Having suffered a loss, they would be better prepared next time. He thought of that "youngest kid," who had gone to the Soviet side and was hanging out with that "Old Chen." These people wouldn't be idle.

Back at the research institute, the corridor light was still the same broken one. The green light from the emergency exit illuminated the water stains on the floor, making it a little slippery. He pushed open the office door; the asparagus fern on the desk was withered, unwatered. He stood there for a while, then picked off the withered leaves and threw them into the wastebasket. His fingers touched the leaves; they were brittle, crumbling at the slightest touch. He poured himself a glass of cold tea, took a sip—it was bitter. He put down the glass, picked up the list on the desk, flipped to the "rocket launcher" page, looked at it for a moment, then put it back.

The conference room was filled with smoke. Engineer Zhou stubbed out his cigarette, leaving a small mountain of ashtray. Sun Desheng flipped through his notebook, pausing briefly on a certain page before continuing. Li Dehou leaned back in his chair, eyes closed, seemingly asleep, but his fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, one tap after another.

He Yuzhu walked to the blackboard and picked up the chalk. The chalk was broken in one piece, but he didn't replace it. He held onto the broken piece and wrote the numbers line by line.

"Twelve cannons, one hundred and forty-four rounds of ammunition. More than thirty tanks, more than forty armored vehicles, and more than sixty trucks. More than three hundred people were killed or wounded."

After he finished writing, he threw the chalk stub into the chalk box and turned around.

No one spoke. Engineer Zhou picked up his teacup, didn't drink, and put it down again. Sun Desheng wrote a few words in his notebook, crossed them out, and then wrote them again. Li Dehou opened his eyes, looked at the numbers on the blackboard, and didn't move.

He Yuzhu leaned against the blackboard, waiting.

Engineer Zhou spoke first. "The range isn't enough. Forty kilometers is barely enough to hit the Soviet assembly points. If they retreat, we won't be able to hit them." After he finished speaking, he paused, glanced at He Yuzhu's expression, and then added, "Next time they'll definitely retreat even further."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. Sun Desheng stood up, the chair legs scraping against the floor with a screeching sound. He'd forgotten to hold it up. He walked to the blackboard, picked up a new piece of chalk, and drew a line next to the number He Yuzhu had written.

"Switching the propellant to RDX with aluminum powder will increase the specific impulse by 10%. However, the engine casing needs to be made of a different material. The steel casing is too heavy; replacing it with fiberglass will reduce the weight by 30%."

He lowered his voice when he said the word "fiberglass," as if afraid of being overheard.

Li Dehou spoke from the back row. He didn't stand up, leaning back in his chair, speaking slowly, as if drawing words from his throat. "Fiberglass, we've never worked with that before." He glanced at He Yuzhu, his eyes carrying a hidden meaning. "Director Qian has experience. He's worked with similar things before."

He Yuzhu clenched his fist in his pocket. Qian Zhiyuan. When was the last time he was hospitalized? Last year? The year before? How many more times can that cup of tea save him? He pulled his hand out of his pocket, picked up the blackboard eraser, erased the line Sun Desheng had drawn, and redrawn it.

"I'll contact Director Qian. You guys finish the plan first. Reduce engine weight, improve propellant, and optimize the warhead. With these three measures combined, the range can be increased to sixty kilometers."

Sun Desheng didn't go back to his seat; he stood in front of the blackboard, staring at the line. "Sixty kilometers is enough. The Soviet assembly points can be pushed back as far as they want."

Engineer Zhou slammed his teacup down on the table, making a rather loud noise. "Enough? You said it was enough at the last meeting too. And what happened? Forty kilometers, barely enough." His face was a little red, whether from the smoke or from being anxious, it was hard to tell.

Sun Desheng turned around and looked at him. "Last time is last time. This time, the fiberglass reduces the weight by 30%, the propellant specificity is 10%, and the warhead has been optimized. The 60-kilometer range was calculated, not just guessed."

Engineer Zhou stood up, pushed his chair back with a creak. "Calculated that? You've used fiberglass before? Real-world combat? What if it exploded? The battlefield isn't a laboratory!"

Sun Desheng's face also turned red. "How will we know if we don't try? The Materials Institute has done something similar before, and Director Qian said it would work."

"Is Director Qian absolutely right?" Engineer Zhou's voice rose even higher.

"That's enough." He Yuzhu's voice wasn't loud, but the room fell silent. He looked at Engineer Zhou, then at Sun Desheng. Engineer Zhou turned his face away, picked up his teacup, took a sip, and winced at the heat. Sun Desheng walked back to his seat, sat down, and the chair slid to the floor again; this time he steadied himself.

He Yuzhu turned around and wrote a few words on the blackboard: Sixty kilometers. Circular probability error of forty meters. After writing, he put down the chalk and dusted his hands.

"I'll give it a try. I'll take responsibility if anything goes wrong."

No one spoke. Li Dehou closed his eyes again, tapping his fingers on the armrest, one tap after another.

It was already dark when the meeting ended. He Yuzhu stood by the window, watching the streetlights outside light up one by one. Footsteps echoed in the corridor, fading into the distance. He turned around, picked up the phone, his finger hovering over the dial pad, then stopped. He had visited Qian Zhiyuan when he was hospitalized last time. The old man had lost weight, but his eyes were still bright. He wondered how much longer his cup of tea would last. He put down the receiver, stood up, walked around for a moment, then sat back down and picked up the receiver again.

I dialed the number.

The phone rang three times before I answered. A young woman's voice said, "Materials Research Institute, who are you looking for?"

He Yuzhu held the microphone. "I'm looking for Director Qian."

The person on the other end said, "May I ask who you are...?"

"Chengshan Research Institute, He Yuzhu."

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Please wait a moment."

I heard footsteps, a door opening, and people talking on the phone, but I couldn't make out their voices. After a while, a hoarse voice came through, sounding a bit older than the last time we spoke.

"Xiao He, what's up?"

He Yuzhu gripped the microphone, his throat tightening. "Director Qian, the rocket launcher needs improvement, and we need fiberglass material. For the engine casing. Can you procure it?"

Qian Zhiyuan was silent for a few seconds. "Fiberglass? Where is it used?"

He Yuzhu said, "The rocket engine casing. The steel casing we're using now is too heavy. Replacing it with fiberglass can reduce the weight by 30%."

Qian Zhiyuan remained silent for a few more seconds. He Yuzhu heard the rustling sound of paper turning on the other end of the line.

"It's possible. But it will take time. We've worked on similar formulas and processes for fiberglass, but we haven't used them in rockets. We need to try."

He Yuzhu asked, "How long?"

Qian Zhiyuan thought for a moment. "Three months. I'll give you samples in three months."

He Yuzhu said, "Okay. I'll wait for your message."

The phone call ended. He Yuzhu sat there, listening to the busy tone on the receiver, without hanging up. The wind outside blew in, rustling the papers on the table. He put down the receiver and took the list out of the drawer. Turning to the "Materials" page, after the words "fiberglass," he wrote a line: "Undertaken by Qian Zhiyuan Research Institute, samples to be produced in three months."