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

When the train arrived at Ranghulu Station, it was still dark. He Yuzhu stepped onto the thin ice on the platform and slipped. Ma Yuejin reached out from behind to support his arm. "Dean, be careful." There weren't many people on the platform. A middle-aged man in a military overcoat ran over, his breath steaming in the air, his face red from the cold. He stared at He Yuzhu for two seconds to make sure he was right before speaking.

"Director He? Chief Engineer Zhao asked me to pick you up. The car is in the square."

He Yuzhu followed him outside. At the exit, there was an old woman selling tea eggs; the lid of the pot on her stove was off, and puffs of steam rose up. Ma Yuejin went over, bought six, wrapped them in newspaper, and tucked them into his pocket. A cold wind blew in from the doorway, carrying the pungent smell of coal smoke and diesel fuel.

A jeep was parked on the edge of the square, its canvas tarpaulin covering the door, the words "Daqing Oilfield" painted on it, though a patch of red paint had chipped off. The driver started the engine, and a plume of white smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe, lingering in the cold air for a long time. The jeep drove off, and the fields outside the window receded one after another. Most of the snow had melted, revealing the black, oily soil beneath, and occasionally a few mud-brick houses could be seen, their chimneys belching white smoke.

"How is Chief Engineer Zhao's health?" He Yuzhu asked.

The driver gripped the steering wheel, not turning around. "Still healthy. He goes to the well site every day. Last year during his physical exam, his blood pressure was high, and the doctor told him to eat less salt, but he didn't listen. He said he wouldn't have any energy if he ate bland food." He paused, "His legs aren't as good as they used to be; he walks slowly and sometimes limps."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He remembered that year when Zhao Deming came to Beijing to copy materials, spending five days copying from that book on "Tertiary Oil Recovery Technology," until his fingers cramped, then shaking his hands and continuing to copy. When he finished, he held that stack of papers, his eyes red.

After driving for over an hour, the car stopped beside a well site. He Yuzhu opened the car door, his feet sinking into the soft, muddy ground. Rows upon rows of oil pumps stretched as far as the eye could see, their pump heads swaying slowly, emitting a rhythmic clanging sound. The air was thick with the smell of oil, not pungent, but so dense it was almost unbearable.

Zhao Deming walked over from the well site. He walked slowly, his left leg dragging slightly, as if he were pulling radishes from the mud. He wore a faded blue cotton jacket, the cuffs frayed and the elbows patched. His hair was completely white, and his face was deeply wrinkled, but his eyes were bright. He walked up to He Yuzhu, reached out his hand, grasped it, and held on tight.

"Director He, you've finally arrived."

He Yuzhu looked at his hands. The calluses were thick and yellow, and black oil was embedded in his fingernails, which couldn't be washed off.

"What happened to your leg?"

Zhao Deming glanced down at his left leg. "An old ailment, rheumatism. It's worse in winter, but fine in summer." He smiled, released his grip, and turned to point at the oil pumps. "Look, in the last ten years, production has increased from five million tons to twenty-five million tons. All thanks to that data you had back then."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He walked along the dirt road until he reached the nearest oil pump and touched the bare rod. It was iron, cold, and shiny from being polished by oil. The donkey head swayed slowly, clanging and clattering, like a heartbeat.

"Has the tertiary oil recovery technology been widely adopted?" he asked.

Zhao Deming followed behind, walking very slowly. "It's been rolled out. The entire oilfield is using it. Injecting polymers, surfactants, and carbon dioxide—a complete combination. The recovery rate is 20% higher than before."

He Yuzhu turned around. "What about energy consumption?"

Zhao Deming thought for a moment. "It's a bit more expensive than the old method, but it's more cost-effective overall. The extra energy consumption is negligible compared to the extra oil extracted."

He Yuzhu nodded. He continued walking until he reached a drilling rig. Workers were pulling up the drill bit by bit, mud splattering everywhere. A young worker, his face covered in mud except for his eyes, smiled at He Yuzhu, revealing his white teeth. Zhao Deming pointed to the drilling rig.

"Where is the director? Shall we go up and take a look?"

He Yuzhu looked up. The scaffold was high, dozens of meters high, with iron ladders winding around it. He grabbed the handrail and started climbing. The ladder was narrow, and the wind was strong, making his clothes flutter loudly. Halfway up, he stopped and looked down. Zhao Deming was still at the bottom, holding onto the ladder, inching his way up step by step, very slowly, pausing after each step. He Yuzhu waited for him.

"Please take your time," He Yuzhu said.

Zhao Deming, panting heavily, waved his hand. "I'm fine. I just can't climb fast anymore."

They climbed to the top and stood on the small platform. He Yuzhu looked around. Oil pumps stretched out in rows, reaching to the horizon. In the distance were oil storage tanks, white and round, conspicuous against the hazy sky. Further away were the chimneys of the oil refinery, belching white smoke that was blown away by the wind.

The wind blew, but it wasn't cold. He Yuzhu stood there, looking at the oil pumps, the oil storage tanks, and the chimneys. He remembered that year at Changjin Lake, lying in the snow waiting for the bugle call to charge, the wind cutting like knives on his face. Now, the wind on his face was just cool.

Zhao Deming leaned against the railing, catching his breath, and stared at the oil pumps for a long time without saying a word. After a while, he finally spoke.

"Director He, your information from back then was really valuable."

He Yuzhu didn't reply. He turned around and patted the rust on the railing. "Let's go down. It's windy."

They climbed down one after the other. He Yuzhu walked in front, and Zhao Deming followed behind, making sure each step was firm before letting go. Once on the ground, He Yuzhu dusted off his hands and turned around.

"How long can production levels sustain this?"

Zhao Deming thought for a moment. "With the current harvesting methods, we can harvest for another twenty years. If we use new technologies, we can extend that period even further."

He Yuzhu nodded. "Do a good job."

Zhao Deming gripped his hand tightly. Black oil from under his fingernails smeared onto the back of He Yuzhu's hand, but he didn't wipe it off.

They spent the entire day at the well site. He Yuzhu inspected the polymer injection station, the oil production team, and the joint station. At noon, they ate in the canteen: steamed buns, cabbage stew with vermicelli, and a bowl of millet porridge. Zhao Deming ate quickly, slurping his food, and after wiping his mouth, went back to the well site. The canteen was noisy; workers held their bowls, talking and laughing loudly.

Ma Yuejin sat opposite He Yuzhu, finished his porridge, and put the bowl down. "Dean, things are really good here in Daqing."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He watched the workers come and go, some wearing oil-stained work clothes, some wearing safety helmets, and some carrying wrenches. They spoke loudly and laughed loudly.

That evening, in his guesthouse room, He Yuzhu retrieved the list from his system space. Turning to the page for "Daqing," he added a line after the word "production": "In ten years, production increased from five million tons to twenty-five million tons, with a 20% increase in the recovery rate."

Once you've finished writing, put the list back.

The next morning, He Yuzhu went to Zhao Deming's office. The room wasn't large; an oil field map hung on the wall, densely covered with red and blue pencil markings. The desk was piled high with documents and reports. Zhao Deming sat at the desk, his reading glasses perched on his nose, the lenses reflecting the light. Seeing He Yuzhu enter, he took off his glasses and stood up.

"Director He, you can rest assured about Daqing's affairs."

He Yuzhu extended his hand. Zhao Deming grasped it and shook it.

"Take care of yourself."

Zhao Deming nodded without saying anything.

He Yuzhu walked out of the office; people were coming and going in the corridor. He went downstairs and got into the jeep. The car drove out of the compound and onto the highway. Outside the window, rows of oil pumps reversed, their donkey heads swaying slowly, as if bidding him farewell.

Ma Yuejin sat down next to He Yuzhu and took out the packet of tea eggs from his pocket; they were already cold. He peeled one and handed it to He Yuzhu.

"Dean, have one."

He Yuzhu took it and took a bite. The egg white was hard, and the yolk was a bit dry, but it was a little salty and delicious.

On the train, He Yuzhu leaned against the window, watching the fields recede into the distance. The snow had melted away, revealing the dark, fertile earth. Farmers were busy in the fields, some turning the soil, others applying fertilizer.

Ma Yuejin was asleep across from him, snoring. He Yuzhu pulled the letter from his pocket. The letter was written by Sun Xiuying last year; the edges were a little wrinkled, as if it had been soaked in water and then dried. The handwriting was a bit unsteady, with a few strokes crooked, but every stroke was forceful.

"Director He, the factory's penicillin production has reached a new high. We export to more than 30 countries, earning a lot of foreign exchange. You can come and take a look when you have time."

He Yuzhu folded the letter and put it back in his pocket. He leaned against the car window and closed his eyes.

Ma Yuejin turned over, mumbled something, and fell asleep again. The train rumbled forward, and the fields outside the window rushed past.

Tomorrow, I'm going to Shijiazhuang. I wonder how Sun Xiuying is doing.