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

After leaving the venue, He Yuzhu sat in the back seat of the Jeep for a long time. He still held the sample of the carbon nanotube composite plate that Qian Zhiyuan had handed him in his hand; it was cool, smooth, and felt weightless. Outside the window, it was pitch black, and the streetlights receded one by one.

"Go to Anshan Iron and Steel," he said.

The driver paused for a moment. "Now?"

"Now."

The workshops at Ansteel were lit up even at night. Dozens of chemical vapor deposition furnaces stood in a row, their silvery-white shells gleaming coldly under the lights. Pipes hung from the ceiling, densely packed like a tangled mess. Workers in blue overalls busied themselves at their workstations. Qian Zhiyuan stood beside the foremost furnace, a notebook in his hand, his reading glasses perched on his nose, the lenses reflecting the light.

He Yuzhu walked over, didn't say anything, and first glanced at the dial on the stove. The temperature was still fluctuating, 1420 degrees Celsius.

Which batch is it?

"The seventh batch." Qian Zhiyuan took off his reading glasses, wiped the lenses with the corner of his clothes, and put them back on. "The first five batches were all ruined. The temperature was uneven, the carbon tubes were not straight, some were thick and some were thin, and the strength was insufficient. The sixth batch was barely acceptable, but the output was too low. One furnace ran for a whole day, and less than half a meter came out."

He paused, then lowered his voice. "They can't even weave a single rope."

He Yuzhu squatted down, picked up a fallen fiber from the ground, and examined it against the light. It was thin, almost invisible to the naked eye, and when he rubbed it between his fingertips, it felt smooth.

"What about energy consumption?"

Qian Zhiyuan remained silent for a few seconds.

"The cost of one kilowatt-hour of electricity," he flipped to a page in his notebook, "is not enough to make half a meter."

He Yuzhu gently placed the fiber on the table. The smooth, slippery feel still lingered on his fingertips.

"That's why costs can't be reduced."

"It won't come down." Qian Zhiyuan's voice was muffled, as if it were being squeezed out of his throat. "At this rate, the electricity cost for one ton of fiber would be enough to build half a blast furnace."

He Yuzhu didn't speak. He walked to the front of the furnace and looked inside through the observation window. The furnace was glowing red, making it impossible to see any details. After standing there for a while, he turned around.

"Keep running. Turn off the furnaces that aren't running smoothly, and increase the speed of the ones that are running smoothly. Reduce energy consumption as much as you can."

Qian Zhiyuan looked up. "Then the cost..."

"I'll figure out the cost issue." He Yuzhu turned around and looked at the blast furnaces billowing smoke outside the workshop. "In three years, once fusion power is available, energy consumption won't be a problem. These three years, our priority is survival."

Qian Zhiyuan opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then swallowed it back. He lowered his head, opened his notebook, and crossed out the number.

"OK."

The seventh batch of trial production was scheduled for two weeks later. He Yuzhu went to Ansteel again. The workshop was packed with people—from Ansteel, Baosteel, and Qian Zhiyuan's Materials Institute—surrounding the furnace. Qian Zhiyuan stood in front of the control panel, his hand on the start button, his palms sweaty. His reading glasses were askew, and he didn't straighten them.

"Shall we try it?"

He Yuzhu nodded.

The furnace started up. The temperature slowly climbed, 1000 degrees, 1200 degrees, 1500 degrees. The gas valve opened, and a mixture of methane and hydrogen flowed into the furnace, where it cracked on the catalyst surface, depositing carbon atoms that grew into nanoscale tubes. Time passed slowly, and the workshop was quiet except for the hum of the furnace. He Yuzhu stared at the instruments—temperature, pressure, flow rate—the pointers fluctuating slightly within the normal range.

Six hours later, the furnace stopped.

The worker opened the furnace door, and hot air rushed out. He used long tongs to pick up the thin black sheet and placed it on the cooling platform. The sheet was about a foot square, not much thicker than paper, and gleamed dimly under the light. After a few minutes, it cooled down. Qian Zhiyuan took it, touched it with his hand, and examined it for a long time with a magnifying glass. He didn't say anything, put down the magnifying glass, and took off his reading glasses.

"It's done. The strength meets the standard, the pipe diameter is uniform, and the defect rate is less than one percent."

The workshop was silent for a second.

The Ansteel plant manager stood at the back of the crowd, his hands clenched behind his back, saying nothing. Baosteel's chief engineer squatted down, gently touching the thin plate with his fingers, again and again, as if handling some precious treasure. Qian Zhiyuan handed the plate to He Yuzhu.

He Yuzhu took it and weighed it in his hand. It was light, almost weightless.

"What about production volume?"

Qian Zhiyuan opened his notebook. "This batch yielded two meters."

He Yuzhu returned the thin plate to him. "Continue to optimize. Energy consumption needs to be reduced, and production needs to be increased."

Qian Zhiyuan nodded. He carefully wrapped the thin sheet, put it in the tin box, closed the lid, and patted it down.

He Yuzhu walked out of the workshop. It was getting dark, and in the Ansteel plant area, the blast furnaces were still smoking. Workers were walking towards the canteen in twos and threes, some smiling, some silent. He stood at the door and lit a cigarette—he didn't usually smoke. The smoke made him cough twice.

"Where is Mr. He? Shall we get in?" The driver was waiting beside the jeep.

He Yuzhu stubbed out his cigarette and threw it into the tin bucket next to him.

"Walk."

As the car drove out of the Anshan Iron and Steel Group's gate, he glanced back. The shadows of the blast furnaces loomed dark in the twilight, like a row of silent giants.

Back in Beijing, it was already completely dark. He Yuzhu sat in his office and took the list out of his drawer. Turning to the page on "carbon nanotubes," he added a line after the word "mass production": Ansteel and Baosteel jointly introduced a CVD production line. Qian Zhiyuan successfully debugged it. The first batch of qualified fibers rolled off the line, with a production capacity of two meters per furnace. It has high energy consumption and awaits fusion power supply.

After finishing writing, put the list back and lock the drawer.

The phone rang. He answered it, and it was Sun Xiuying on the other end, her voice trembling—not from fear, but from an overwhelming, heartfelt excitement.

"Chang He, the official product of Huayuan No. 1 is now available. One thousand vials, two milliliters per vial. Purity: 99.8%."

He Yuzhu held the microphone but didn't speak.

"The clinical trial involved 300 people. All indicators of various chronic and geriatric diseases improved. Blood pressure decreased, blood sugar decreased, and liver and kidney function improved. Physical strength, energy, and sleep quality all increased."

She paused, her voice lower, as if she were talking to herself.

"Where does it grow? This stuff can add ten years to your life. Ten years."

He Yuzhu stood up and walked to the window. The moon outside was bright, shining on the courtyard wall, making it appear grayish. He thought of Qin Huairu's lab report, the arrows, and the numbers.

"Let's give it to retired cadres first," he said, his voice low but each word steady. "Then we'll expand it to other areas."

Sun Xiuying responded on the other end and hung up.

He Yuzhu was still standing by the window, holding the microphone, listening to the busy tone. The busy tone beat like a heartbeat. He stood there for a long time before finally putting the microphone down.