Courtyard House: I'm an engineer, and a fairy godmother transferred me to a different position.

"Chief Engineer Liu, can we really produce our own second-generation fighter jet in such a short time?"

"able."

Liu Guangqi's tone was calm, yet carried an undeniable force:

"Not only should we be able to make it, but we should also make it better than the West."

As soon as the words were spoken, a very soft laugh came from the corner, like a taut string suddenly slackening. Then, more low laughter spread out—the laughter was not mocking, but mixed with a kind of absurdity and helplessness, as if marveling at the young chief engineer's almost naive certainty.

But Engineer Cheng and Engineer Fu, sitting by the window, exchanged a glance. They didn't laugh; instead, they clenched their fists on their knees, their knuckles turning slightly white.

They were all too familiar with this kind of scene.

This is Liu Guangqi's consistent style: efficient, calm, and with an almost precognitive confidence. He condensed a three- to five-year plan into a single year, which sounded like a tall tale to outsiders, but to them it was like the bugle call to charge.

Based on past experience, Liu Guangqi's confidence in making such a statement meant he already had a complete blueprint in mind, with even the smallest details meticulously planned. Working with him might initially raise doubts, but after only a brief interaction, one would be completely awestruck by his unfathomable technical abilities, leaving only one thought in their mind—

You can't go wrong by following him.

So at this moment, they don't need to ask questions, much less question them. All they need to do is prepare themselves and embark on this seemingly impossible journey with the chief engineer.

As expected, Professor Lu Hai was the first to stand up and respond to Liu Guangqi's plan.

A chorus of discussion quickly filled the conference room. Most of the people here had participated in the development of the first generation of mainframe computers and were thoroughly familiar with the overall architecture; even those who had not worked on the first generation had gone through the modification project of the Type 104 B mainframe with Professor Lu.

Strictly speaking, the computing power of the 104B machine was not far from that of the second-generation transistor computers. The real leap came from the breakthrough in transistor technology itself—it was this core progress that led to a comprehensive leap in performance, size and computing power.

The discussion quickly heated up. Liu Guangqi presented the overall framework, and everyone filled in their respective parts like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Any disagreements were immediately verified, and he gently corrected any slight deviations in direction. Electronic components that needed testing were directly custom-made by factories under the National Chung-Shan Institute of Science and Technology.

Everything progressed swiftly and steadily. Liu Guangqi also temporarily put aside his miscellaneous tasks and devoted himself wholeheartedly to this newly started research and development journey.

After things got on track, Liu Guangqi suddenly realized that the rhythm of his work had completely changed.

In the first few days, his desk was piled high with calculation papers, but in just a few days, these mountains of paper disappeared—not because the work was finished, but because the task had just emerged and was immediately taken away by the eager researchers at the Institute of Computing Technology.

He had to admit that the researchers here were all highly skilled.

Compared to the technicians I used to work with in the research department of the First Ministry of Machine Building, it was like night and day. Those days felt like an ordeal: when working on projects in ministries, I often had to break down every step and feed it to the technicians, who would still hesitate and question, even asking, "Is this plan... really reliable?"

At the Institute of Computing Technology, all that is needed is to point out the direction, and the engineers will spontaneously prepare the materials and clarify the path, as if they are just waiting for him to raise his hand and ignite that final spark.

They may not often come up with disruptive ideas, but they are all adept at execution and solving specific problems. Technical levels are the most direct proof: in ministries, level 10 or 11 technicians are considered the backbone; here, to obtain a formal position as a researcher, level 8 engineer is just the entry-level requirement.

As morning light streamed into the office lobby of the Institute of Computing Technology, a tense yet efficient atmosphere permeated the air.

Liu Guangqi stood in front of the blackboard and tapped it lightly twice with the chalk.

Two things this morning.

The first task is to test the dynamic weight model of the multi-task scheduling algorithm.

"Cheng, take a few people to test the response speed under different loads. I need to see the limit value."

"Secondly, we contacted the electronics factory to verify the test data of the transistor components."

As soon as the command was given, everyone sprang into action.

Engineer Cheng picked up the blueprints and gathered his team, while Engineer Fu took out his notebook and wrote down the parameters to be verified, without saying a single unnecessary word.

The entire computer conference room was silent except for hushed technical discussions and the soft clatter of slide rules.

I remember the days when we were working on the seven-axis linkage problem at the First Ministry of Machinery Industry—

At that time, he was both the chief engineer and in charge of production scheduling, and sometimes he even had to repair equipment by hand.

And now?

Structural verification doesn't require urging; engineers will use slide rules to repeatedly check the calculations more than three times until there are no omissions.

There's no need to keep a close eye on component testing; Mr. Fu will promptly place a well-organized data report on his desk every day.

That's the difference.

"Deputy Team Leader Liu!"

As the workday was drawing to a close, a young engineer wearing black-rimmed glasses strode over, his cheeks slightly flushed with excitement, clutching two sheets of paper covered in formulas tightly in his hands.

"Regarding the floating-point data error correction you mentioned yesterday, we tried two methods. Which one do you think is more feasible?"

Liu Guangqi took the paper, his eyes quickly scanning the calculations.

In less than ten seconds, his fingertip lightly touched a formula on one of the pages.

"That's a good idea."

"But here, the initial variable settings are too idealistic. Actual signal attenuation is not linear, so let's add this correction factor and recalculate."

The young engineer paused for a moment, then a look of understanding flashed in his eyes.

"I understand!"

He clutched the manuscript paper as if it were a priceless treasure, almost ran back to his seat, and immediately buried himself in recalculating.

No need for hands-on instruction; it's easy to understand.

This highly efficient collaboration finally allowed Liu Guangqi to extricate himself from the complexities of algorithm and structure verification.

And he himself—

This allows them to focus more energy on the unsolved problems in electronic components.

……

The lights in the computing room are often on until late at night.

Inside, researchers who hadn't left were always gathered: some were hunched over their desks, repeatedly deriving algorithm parameters with slide rules; some were gathered around the blackboard, debating how to optimize the size and power consumption of the transistor computer; and others were writing and drawing with a stack of blueprints.

They were not asked to stay.

Instead, they voluntarily stayed here—

In reality, the institute's formal overtime procedures are cumbersome and require organizational approval and reporting. Overtime is strictly prohibited unless there is an urgent task.

This is because the power-on time and power quota of each computer must be reported in advance, and the destination of every unit of electricity must be clearly recorded.

Ultimately, the reason can be summed up in just two words:

electricity.

Currently, the country's infrastructure is still weak, and power infrastructure development remains a persistent challenge. Even in the 1960s, there were only two established power grids nationwide: the 154 kV grid in Northeast China and the 77 kV grid in the Beijing-Tianjin-Tangshan region. Their coverage was limited, and the voltage was low. Power resources were mostly concentrated in cities and industrial areas, leaving remote areas with virtually no electricity.

Electricity supply must be prioritized for industry.

Industry is related to the national planned production; every bit of output value is capital and the foundation of development.

As for scientific research, which requires meticulous work and patience, we can only save money as much as possible.

Unless there is an urgent task that is extremely pressing.

If someone wants to work overtime and use power-consuming equipment like a computer, they simply won't get permission.

Is Deputy Team Leader Liu still here?

I have another question about index registers that I'd like to ask…

At 2 PM, Engineer Cheng went to Liu Guangqi's office with his laptop, only to find that Liu had already left.

Fu Gong followed from behind and patted him on the shoulder:

"He left a long time ago, have you forgotten? Deputy Team Leader Liu has to go back to the department to handle work at this time every day."

Engineer Cheng was taken aback, then smiled and shook his head:

"That's true. He's laid out such a clear framework, we need to hurry up and not fall behind."

After saying that, the two turned and went back to the calculation room to continue their discussion while referring to the blueprints.

Computer simulations were performed without electricity.

It's easy to calculate by hand.

No overtime pay

They brought their own dry food.

That relentless drive, like a silent current, quietly flowed through the corridors and laboratories of the Institute of Computing Technology. Liu Guangqi's life was gradually woven into a precise network, with the Institute of Computing Technology and the First Ministry of Machine Building being the two most resilient warp and weft threads.

Every morning at 8:30, as the first rays of sunlight set, his figure would punctually appear in the silhouette of the deputy group leader's office at the Institute of Computing Technology. The door was often pushed open with a rapid knock, carrying an air of anxiety. "Deputy Group Leader Liu!" A young researcher with a tense expression spread a stack of data on the table, pointing to one line with his fingertip, "The threshold of the triode is swinging like a swing; we've tried several methods, but we can't control it."

Liu Guangqi's gaze lingered on the paper for only a moment before landing precisely on a certain coordinate, like a probe. "The direction is off." His voice was steady, followed by a clear and methodical explanation, untangling a tangled mess into a clear path. These half-hour of guidance each day always ended in a moment of enlightened silence, as if a match had been suddenly struck in a dim room.

Then came an hour-long meeting where he outlined the key tasks for the next day. After that, he had two hours of quiet time alone—facing the electronic component challenges that choked the project, like a lone bomb disposal expert. For the rest of the time, he transformed into a helmsman, shuttling between the various teams to ensure that the ship never strayed from its intended course.

The lunch break at the canteen was simple and unpretentious. By 2 PM, he was already in the First Ministry of Machine Building's office, filled with the smells of machine oil and blueprints. The work here was surprisingly easy; the assembly of the seven-axis machine tools was handled by technicians. However, due to the bottleneck of the control panel, mass production remained a distant dream; producing one machine per month was the limit. Liu Guangqi wasn't anxious. He approved a batch of documents each week and then poured all his energy into another set of blueprints.

Those were "special edition" seven-axis machine tool drawings prepared for a distant guest. The foreign trade department's urging remained politely distant, giving him ample time to meticulously refine them. In his view, this work required even more ingenuity than pure research and development: it had to subtly conceal the true core while simultaneously making the performance parameters on paper dazzling enough to impress potential buyers. This was akin to removing the keel of a giant ship, filling it with ample material, and finally, making it gleam with the brilliance and value of the keel. The delicate balance required was both technical and artistic.

At 5:30, the second hand returned to its place. The Volga sedan, already steadily parked in front of the building by the guards, picked him up, and drove off to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs for the end of the workday. The car door opened, and his wife, Zhao Mengyun, got in, still slightly chilly from the outside air. She handed him a warm oil paper package, its sweet fragrance wafting out.

"They say people at the Chinese Academy of Sciences practically bring their bedding into the lab," she said jokingly, but her eyes held a smile. "How come you're so punctual, like a clock?"

Liu Guangqi took a bite of the sweet cake, the sweetness melting on his tongue. "I'm still busy, just in a different way," he explained. "Many details have been delegated, and the people below are more capable than expected. I only need to keep an eye on the core threads." Zhao Mengyun's lips curved into a smile upon hearing this. She naturally knew how late the study lamp stayed on every night. Her words were merely a gentle, everyday teasing remark.

The car drove towards the ministry compound. Liu Guangqi gazed at the twilight flowing outside the window, a clear sense of control settling within him. This state of being unhindered by trivialities and able to clearly grasp the progress was far more powerful than blindly staying up all night. He thought that true research and development should perhaps be like this: not the effort of one person, but ensuring that every effort is placed in the most appropriate position.

The Volga slowly glided into the courtyard and stopped in front of the familiar building. The rustling of the wheels on the ground ceased, and silence returned. Liu Guangqi was about to get out of the car when his gaze fell upon three white figures standing quietly at the entrance of the building. They carried silver metal boxes and stood ramrod straight, like three quiet cedar trees.