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

Encountering sections of road buried by quicksand—

Without any instructions, the soldiers and guards accompanying each vehicle jumped out of the carriage, wielded entrenching tools, and silently and swiftly shoveled away the piled-up sand in the howling wind.

When they got back into the car, everyone's face and ears were covered in sand, and their trouser legs were so heavy that they seemed to be able to shake out half a bucket of sand.

No one complained.

Everyone knows what's on the vehicle.

This road is tied to the future of the nation; arriving even a moment earlier will give the base a head start in its progress.

Bumpy rides became the norm for these nine days.

On the ninth day, a hazy outline finally broke free from the swirling sandstorm on the distant horizon, revealing a rusty signboard—the Jin Yin Tan Base.

The roar and vibration that had been going on inside the carriage for nine days finally stopped for the first time.

Everyone breathed a long sigh of relief.

Liu Guangqi pushed open the car door and got out. A cold wind carrying the smell of salt and alkali hit him in the face, causing him to cough twice.

"Chief Engineer Liu, we've arrived!"

A simple smile spread across Gao Jianjun's dark face as he pointed to several figures rushing towards them in the distance: "Look, the people from the base are already waiting."

Several men in military green overalls acted swiftly, saluting, checking orders, inspecting all the trucks, and confirming that the equipment was in good condition before turning to Liu Guangqi.

The captain, who was in the lead, spoke with a smile:

"Chief Engineer Liu, welcome back to the Jinyintan base!"

He paused briefly, then pointed to two jeeps not far away:

"Base regulations stipulate that personnel other than transport vehicles are not allowed to enter the core area. We will take you directly to Director Deng's research institute."

Liu Guangqi nodded; he was already aware of this rule.

Before boarding the vehicle, Gao Jianjun stuffed a heavy cloth bundle into his arms.

"Chief Engineer Liu, take it with you!"

"My wife makes dry rations at home, which go well with Fu brick tea to keep you full! The food here is bland; you, a scholar, mustn't starve yourself!"

Gao Jian patted him on the shoulder, shaking off a cloud of sand.

"I'll come pick you up to return home after you finish your mission!"

Thank you.

Liu Guangqi clutched the cloth bag tightly, a warm feeling welling up in his heart. He nodded solemnly, then boarded the jeep with his guard.

Soon, the vehicle drove deep into the base, and a massive, secret city hidden in the Gobi Desert gradually came into view.

The jeep undulated across the vast Gobi Desert, its wheels grinding through the rough sand and gravel, leaving a long trail of yellow dust. Liu Guangqi leaned against the rear window, his hands loosely resting on the frame, his body swaying gently with the vehicle's movement. The soldier in the driver's seat was young, his face tanned a deep bronze by the scorching high-altitude sun, his lips cracked from dryness. He stared straight ahead, silent as a frozen statue.

"Engineer Liu," the soldier suddenly spoke, his voice deep amidst the roar of the engine, "the third guard post is just ahead, hold on tight."

As soon as he finished speaking, the barrier in front slowly rose, and several armed soldiers strode forward, their eyes sharp as knives. Another round of rigorous checks began: identification, travel documents, passwords, one after another. A soldier bent down, meticulously examining every inch of the vehicle's undercarriage with a long-handled scope. Liu Guangqi quietly gazed out the window; this land, considered barren by outsiders, felt burning and sacred to him.

Back then, tens of thousands of engineers, railway soldiers, and construction workers rushed here from all over the country, forming the largest military mobilization since the liberation of Northwest China. They painstakingly carved out a nuclear test site deep in the Gobi Desert that would later shock the world. In Liu Guangqi's distant memory, this place had long been publicly known and given a resounding name—Atomic City. And in this life, he once again set foot on the land of Northwest China, becoming a part of this magnificent history. This feeling was both wondrous and profoundly weighty.

The entire Jin Yin Tan base covered 1,170 square kilometers—an area larger than the entire bustling Hong Kong at the time. Later generations may find it hard to imagine the sheer scale of the project the nation undertook in an era of scarcity. The base was divided into two zones: Zone B was the living area; while Zone A, which they were about to enter, was the core of scientific research and production, comprising eighteen departmental-level units scattered like stars. Highly skilled technicians drawn from factories across the country, along with 100,000 engineering soldiers, poured their sweat and wisdom into this work.

Here, secrecy is paramount. Fathers and sons working in different workshops might not know each other's work for years; even couples in the same branch factory would never mention work at home. To date, the base has been developed into numerous parts, including a research center, production area, and underground command post. Even Liu Guangqi, before this, only operated within the scope of the research institute under Director Deng's supervision. Different branch factories, workshops, and departments often have no idea about each other's specific responsibilities. The strictness of secrecy is evident.

The sound of wheels rolling over the gravel road gradually subsided, and the jeep finally came to a stop in a heavily guarded area. Liu Guangqi got out of the car, and before he could even brush the dust off his clothes, he saw a group of people quickly walking out of the research institute's unassuming main building. The figure of the leader was extremely familiar: a faded blue Zhongshan suit, seemingly his only ever-present attire; his white hair had increased considerably since a year ago, but his eyes, even in the dry air, remained as bright as stars.

"It's nice to see you again, Comrade Guangqi!"

Before the person even arrived, the voice came first. Director Deng stepped forward and grasped Liu Guangqi's hand firmly. The hand was rough and strong, causing a slight pain, but conveying a burning expectation.

"Director Deng!" Upon seeing that resolute yet weary face again, Liu Guangqi's heart warmed. He gripped the other's hand tightly, a smile spreading across his face. "I'm back! I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

Old friends reunited, a thousand words unspoken in their clasped hands. They smiled at each other, skipping all formalities. Behind Director Deng, the researchers stood silently, each with faint dark circles under their eyes.

That face bore the marks of time, yet the gaze it gave Liu Guangqi at that moment was like that of a thirsty traveler who had found water at the edge of a desert.

"Gentlemen, how have you been?"

Liu Guangqi slowly scanned the room, nodded and smiled at everyone, then turned to Director Deng, ending their brief reminiscing.

He said calmly, "Director Deng, all the components of the second-generation computer have been properly housed in the shockproof box. Starting tomorrow, I will lead the computer team to begin the assembly work."

"The machine will be fully operational in at most half a month."

"Once the computer is debugged, I will immediately begin assembling the machine tool, ensuring that the project's progress is not delayed."

Upon hearing this, Director Deng gently pressed his shoulder, a wave of relief welling up in his eyes: "With your words, I feel at ease!"

"Everyone at the base is eagerly awaiting the new equipment you bring, hoping that our 'Spring Thunder' will soon resound through the skies."

"Spring Thunder"—that was the code name for that special project.

Liu Guangqi had been staying here for two months and was already familiar with these codes.

A group of people escorted Liu Guangqi into the depths of the research institute.

As he passed by, the researchers who had been hunched over charts and numbers looked up one after another, recognized him, and their weary faces lit up instantly as they cast knowing glances at him.

That was not a polite greeting, but a deep respect from the heart.

They understood better than anyone how powerfully Liu Guangqi's previous achievements had propelled the entire research process.

Northwest Base, Institute of Nuclear Theory.

In the days that followed, Liu Guangqi and the research institute team developed a tacit understanding and collaboration.

The members of the computing team moved their knuckles rapidly, the cranks spinning, and the fine clicking sounds from the hand-cranked computers became a unique rhythm in the computing room.

Meanwhile, several engineers who had worked with Liu Guangqi to modify the Type 104B machine were now surrounding him as his core assistants.

There seemed to be an invisible connection between them, and they could understand each other's intentions without saying a word.

Liu Guangqi set foot on this land again, with an even tighter schedule than before.

He moves through intricate circuits and precise components every day, like a shadowy figure in flight.

The prototype of the second-generation transistor computer gradually appeared between his fingers.

Various parts are meticulously assembled, with every joint striving for perfection.

The faint, warm scent of solder lingered in the air—the smell of technology spreading forward.

The lights in the computer room often burned late into the night, sometimes slowly going out just before dawn.

Often, Liu Guangqi would just finish the most complicated assembly of the day and before he could even catch his breath, he would be pulled away by his colleagues in the computing group to assist him.

He had no choice but to skillfully sit down in front of the hand-cranked calculator, his fingers lightly touching the crank handle, once again immersing himself in the river of numbers.

"Comrade Guangqi," a young female researcher looked at him with admiration, "you operate this machine more skillfully than those of us who have used it for years."

Upon hearing this, Liu Guangqi simply smiled faintly and said nothing more.

Over the past year, he has spent every day with computing tools. Before the advent of the second-generation computer, he had repeatedly debugged that 104B machine, so familiarity with it was only natural.

……

At the research institute, everyone often worked until late at night, but no one complained.

In such an atmosphere, the word "rest" seems to never exist.

On an iron shelf in the corner of the computing room sat some long-cold, hardened steamed buns and a kettle—the researchers' simplest meal.

He would often take a few bites of his steamed bun, gulp down a couple of spoonfuls of cold water, and then bury himself back in his work.

Time slips away quietly amidst this intense assembly and hustle.

Unbeknownst to many, the framework of the second-generation transistor computer had already been established, with complex circuitry extending like veins within it, awaiting the moment when it would be given life.

Not only Liu Guangqi, but all the researchers who came to the Northwest deeply understood that they were not only there to work, but also to fulfill a weighty mission and promise.

The dozens of bags of calculation manuscripts piled up in the warehouse are a testament to the hard work that Director Deng led the theoretical design team to overcome.

Each page carries the nation's expectations and is connected to the nation's future.

Liu Guangqi knew that the second-generation computer he was about to create would become another powerful tool to urge the "spring thunder" to arrive sooner.

Sun rises and sets, day after day.

The institute for nuclear theory is always bustling with activity.

The mountain of scratch paper almost swallowed up every corner of the room.

Even though Liu Guangqi had previously improved the machine codenamed 104B, making its processing speed slightly faster, there was still only one usable device. As for the Ural computer, which was said to be able to perform three hundred calculations per second—it was naturally much better than manually manipulating abacus beads, but it still seemed powerless in the face of the overwhelming flood of data.

Therefore, faced with such a complex calculation task, apart from relying on these two machines, the majority of members involved in nuclear theory research still used the cold slide rule, or even the more traditional abacus, as their main tool.

The papers were piled up into mounds.

The continuous scratching of pencils across the paper filled the air with the smell of ink and slightly salty sweat, and everyone's eyes reflected the same focused dedication.

Two weeks later, on an ordinary morning, the computer room was unusually quiet.

Even the usually clattering hand-cranked calculator fell silent, and everyone's gaze fell in the same direction—Liu Guangqi stood in front of the control panel in the room, with a brand-new machine beside him.

Compared to the complex and bulky first-generation computer, the second-generation computer assembled and debugged by Liu Guangqi himself is significantly more compact. It stands quietly on the table, its lines simple, exuding a calm technological quality, as if it embodies the era's highest pursuit of computing speed.

Liu Guangqi tightened the last screw steadily.

He straightened up, gently stretched his shoulders and neck, and exhaled: "That's enough."

As he spoke, he raised his hand and wiped his forehead, his fingertips inadvertently picking up a bit of dust, but with a hint of a smile, he pressed the power button on the side of the host.

"Buzz—"

A faint vibration sounded. On the control panel of the second-generation transistor computer, a small green indicator light suddenly lit up.

Like a star suddenly awakening, it instantly illuminated all the frozen gazes in this laboratory bathed in the gray-white morning light.

A moment of silence.

Immediately afterwards, cheers erupted!

"It's done! It really is done!"