Eagle, I don't want to form an alliance anymore.

Slava nodded.

He knew this; the French pressurized water reactor is one of the most mature nuclear power technologies in the world today, and Deng Xixian had previously imported nuclear power technology from France.

“We also have Alstom,” Mitterrand said with pride. “This company is a global leader in energy, nuclear power, and high-speed rail electrical equipment!”

"If you are interested, Mr. General Secretary, I can accompany you to visit Alstom on your return trip."

He leaned forward slightly.

"To show our sincerity, France can offer some subsidies or long-term, low-interest installment loans for these projects."

This is a real benefit that Mitterrand is offering. Subsidies, installment loans—he genuinely wants to close some big deals so he can give an account to the French industry and voters.

Then Slava politely declined once again.

“I admire Alstom’s capabilities,” he said. “Nuclear power and high-speed rail electrical equipment are all good things. But Mr. President, these things are not a high priority for the Soviet Union at present.”

After months of turmoil, the Soviet Union is starting to run out of money again.

Reforms cost money, agriculture costs money, industrial transformation costs money, exporting ideology costs money—money is needed everywhere!

At times like these, the Soviet Union needed to spend its money wisely. Nuclear power and high-speed rail were good long-term investments, but they weren't the most urgent issues. What was most urgent was ensuring people had more food on their tables and improving the efficiency of resource allocation.

Mitterrand was somewhat disappointed. He probably understood that a country that had just gone through a year of turmoil might not be financially well-off.

What Slava didn't know was that his refusal this time was actually premature.

Soon, when the Americans recover from the Great Depression and begin bleeding their allies dry, France will also have a tough time.

By then, French industries will come knocking on their door. Alstom won't wait for Slava to visit; Alstom will offer Moscow far more favorable terms himself.

What Slava gently pushes away now, someone will be eager to give to him in the future.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

After refusing several offers, Slava, fearing the atmosphere would become too awkward, took the initiative to steer the conversation elsewhere.

They started discussing other collaborations, and Slava expressed interest in France's pressurized water reactor technology—not to buy it now, but to learn about it and lay the groundwork for the future. Mitterrand, getting into the conversation, also mentioned Airbus, a civil aviation project jointly undertaken by several European countries, aiming to compete with Boeing in the United States.

Slava listened with great interest. These topics didn't involve immediate spending, making them easy to discuss, and the atmosphere between the two eased considerably as they exchanged words.

Outside the window, the French countryside was still rushing past. The winter fields were brown, with the occasional small village flashing by, its red rooftops gleaming in the greyish-white light.

The train was so steady that you almost forgot its speed; only the scenery outside the window, stretched into ribbons of color, reminded you that this was a train traveling at just over 200 kilometers per hour.

Mitterrand looked out the window, then at the unhurried young General Secretary across from him, and his thoughts about "selling something to the Soviet Union" gradually settled into one point.

High-speed rail, the Soviet Union didn't want it.

Nuclear power was not wanted by the Soviet Union.

Alstom, the Soviet Union didn't want to go either.

It seemed the General Secretary truly only wanted French agriculture. Having grasped this, Mitterrand felt more at ease. He stopped his haphazard, indiscriminate sales pitches and focused his attention on the area where the two could truly reach an agreement.

“Mr. General Secretary,” Mitterrand said, “we are almost there. This is the place I’m going to show you.”

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

It was still early when the train arrived in the south of France.

After leaving the station, a motorcade took the Soviet delegation to their destination—an experimental base of the French National Institute for Agricultural Research in the south.

Mitterrand became much more talkative along the way, clearly showing his great pride in this place.

"What you are about to see is one of the heart of French agriculture."

Outside the car window, vast, neatly arranged experimental fields stretched out, extending all the way to the distant horizon. Between the fields were straight roads and rows of greenhouses, their glass reflecting the setting sun. Researchers in work clothes were working in the fields.

Mitterrand pointed to the fields, his tone revealing undisguised pride.

“Our agricultural research institute was established after World War II. Crop breeding, disease-resistant varieties, soil science—we are pioneers in Europe! You can find all the fast-growing, cold-resistant, short-day vegetable varieties you are looking for here.”

He paused for a moment, then added, “And let me tell you something. Right here on this land, two years ago, the world’s first field trials of genetically modified crops were conducted! France and the United States were the first two countries in the world to do this.”

Slava looked in the direction he was pointing.

Under the setting sun, the experimental field lay there quietly, looking no different from any other ordinary field. Koslava knew that beneath this seemingly ordinary land lay forty years of continuous accumulation—a complete system from the collection of germplasm resources to hybridization and breeding, to regional trials, and finally to variety approval!

The Soviet Union also needed something like this.

“Come on, Mr. General Secretary.” Mitterrand turned to the side and gestured invitingly. “Go inside and take a look; there’s much more you’d like to see.”

Slava withdrew his gaze.

“Okay, let’s go in and learn something,” he said.

The delegation followed Mitterrand deeper into the testing grounds.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Everyone changed clothes before entering the lab. They wore white jumpsuits, hats, shoe covers, and finally, latex gloves. Mitterrand changed too; the 71-year-old French president, dressed in all white, stood in front of the dressing room mirror, pulling his hat brim down with practiced ease, showing he'd been there more than once.

Slava changed his hat as well. Director Nian helped him adjust his hat. Several older academicians in the delegation were also changing; their movements were slower, but they were all quite skilled.

These people have been involved with the French academic community for many years, speak fluent French, and are no strangers to Western laboratories.

The group passed through a double door resembling an airlock and entered the laboratory.

Inside, there was only the constant hum of the instruments running. Rows of workbenches were covered with things that Slava couldn't name, a bunch of impressive-looking instruments, and reagents on shelves—glass, metal, and emitting dim indicator lights. Researchers in white lab coats were busy at the workbenches without looking up.

Slava doesn't understand these things.

He came from an agricultural background, had farmed, and had worked in production and research consortia, but these high-tech concepts at the molecular level were like gibberish to him.

He followed Mitterrand and the guide with his hands behind his back, looking at everything one by one. Most of the time he just looked and didn't understand much, but he didn't pretend to understand.

He stopped in front of a workbench.

It was a sterile workbench with a small cabinet inside, containing an instrument—Slava later learned it was called a gel electrophoresis tank. The machine's casing was the typical beige color of old-fashioned instruments, with some wear on the edges, indicating it was quite old. A metal nameplate was nailed to the side of the machine.

Slava's gaze fell on the nameplate.

The nameplate was in French, which he couldn't understand at all, but it contained at least the four Arabic numerals 1962.

The academician next to him noticed that this academician was a molecular biologist, spoke fluent French, and had been doing some sporadic translations for Slava.

Slava didn't turn around, but pointed to the nameplate and asked a question.

"Is that the year this machine was manufactured?"

The academician leaned over, adjusted his glasses, and examined the plaque closely. The plaque bore the manufacturer's name, model number, and a line of smaller print: "Manufactured in 1962, made in Lyon."

"Yes, Comrade General Secretary."

Slava nodded. Just then, a researcher at the workbench opened the refrigerator next to him and took out a small tube of enzyme. He placed it on the workbench and began to work on it. The lab director next to him explained a few words in French, which the academician quietly translated for Slava.

"He said they were doing DNA sequencing, which is reading out the sequence of genetic material one by one. He said they can now do semi-automated sequencing—the machine can help with a large part of the work, so it doesn't have to be done entirely by manpower."

Slava looked at it for a while with his hands behind his back, then suddenly turned his head and asked the academician who was translating for him.

What were you doing in 1962?

The academician was taken aback; he probably hadn't expected the General Secretary to ask that. He paused for a second, then smiled.

"I was exiled to Novosibirsk Science City to clean toilets!"

Slava pursed his lips and nodded.

He didn't say anything, but his gaze swept across the delegation and landed on another academician.

Slava nudged him: "You taught biology in Leningrad, what were you doing in 1962?"

The old academician paused for a moment, then seemed to remember.

“Oh,” he said, “I have to teach my students in the morning, teaching Lysenko’s theory of the inheritance of acquired traits, and in the afternoon I will study how vernalization changes the genetic nature of wheat.”

Slava nodded again.

Acquired traits and their inheritance, vernalization altering the nature of heredity—these are all Lysenko's ideas—things that have long been proven pseudoscience. Yet, in Leningrad in 1962, at one of the best universities in the Soviet Union, a biology professor taught it to his students as gospel in the morning and then solemnly conducted experiments with it in the afternoon.

Slava looked away and pointed to another scholar in the group.

"Well, what about you?"

The scholar said, "Back then, I was working on Mendel's genetics, and I was directly labeled a Western bourgeois spy and sent to prison."

Slava stood there in silence for a long time.

After the Lysenko Conference in 1948, genetics in the Soviet Union was almost completely eradicated until it was reinstated in Soviet educational programs after Khrushchev was ousted in 1964.

He then faced the scholars and pointed to the instruments around him.

"We were messing around back then! Instead of objectively understanding the natural world, we tried to subjectively modify our erroneous understanding into the truth, and we fought like this for decades!"

Look what they're doing! Our biology graduates from 1962 had Lysenko all in their heads. Now, this group should be academic leaders and mentoring doctoral students!

These people either spent the last 25 years learning new things and starting over from scratch, or they continue to guide the next generation of students with those flawed ideas!

No one responded. The Frenchmen on Mitterrand's side also fell silent; although they didn't understand Russian, they could sense the atmosphere in the laboratory.

“We need to catch up!” Slava turned to the academician specializing in molecular biology. “But is it so easy to catch up? How can you overturn something someone learned at twenty years old when they're over forty? Besides—”

He shook his head: "Besides, many people haven't even woken up yet!"

The academician continued, "General Secretary, we have indeed been catching up over the years. At least in terms of equipment, we are no longer inferior—centrifuges, microscopes, electrophoresis tanks, etc., we have them all in China, and we can also perform DNA experiments. However, our knowledge system, especially in molecular biology, is at least 20 years behind France!"

Slava nodded. He watched as the French graduate students skillfully retrieved reagents and consumables from the shelves, their movements fluid and practiced as if they had done it a thousand times.

He took a deep breath.

From 1948 until Khrushchev's downfall in 1964, genetics was finally allowed to return to education. Sixteen years! What does sixteen years mean? It means a void of an entire generation. There were no formally trained molecular biologists, no mentorship or apprenticeship, and no skills and intuition accumulated bit by bit at the lab bench.

These things cannot be bought. Equipment can be imported, but the talent gap cannot be filled by importing.

Moreover, even after the revival began in 1964, the taboo against criticizing Lysenko did not completely dissipate until the early 1980s. In recent years, the Soviet biological community has been busy cleaning up the personnel and ideological remnants left by Lysenko.

The French agricultural research institute has been established for 40 years since 1946, while the Soviet Union's molecular genetics has only been restored for a little over 20 years, and for several of those 20 years, it was cleaning up the mess left by the previous 16 years.

Seeing the somewhat somber atmosphere, Mitterrand invited Slava to continue the tour.

The group walked deeper into the laboratory, Mitterrand continuing to explain along the way; he was truly proud of this place. They came to a separate room containing a device that Slava had never seen before.

A French researcher came forward to explain, while the academician translated.

"He said it's called a gene gun, and it's a new thing that's only recently come out."

Slava looked at the device.

"He said the principle behind this is to wrap the DNA you want to implant in tiny gold particles—gold is used because it is stable and won't react with anything inside the cell. Then, high-pressure gas is used to shoot these DNA-encapsulated gold particles directly into the plant's cells like bullets."

"Fight their way in?" Slava asked.

"Yes, in the past, genetic modification mainly relied on a bacterium called Agrobacterium to deliver genes into plant cells. But that bacterium has a problem—it can only naturally infect dicotyledonous plants, such as tobacco, tomatoes, and potatoes."

It doesn't work well for grass crops like wheat, rice, and corn; the effect is very poor.

Slava understood; wheat, rice, and corn were the real staple foods.

"So the biggest significance of this gene gun is that it doesn't rely on Agrobacterium, and theoretically it can be used on any plant."

Slava stared at the device for a while, then turned to an academician who hadn't said much.

"Did you see this kind of equipment when you last went to West Germany? Was there anything more advanced than this?"

The academician leaned over and said, "Comrade General Secretary, I saw more advanced electroporation technology in West Germany."

The Germans used pulsed electric fields to create tiny pores in the cell membrane, allowing DNA to penetrate through these pores. That's the most advanced method available right now!

“We’re still testing this gene gun in the lab in China, and we haven’t really used it yet, but they’re already using it in real combat here.” He shook his head. “To be honest, this is the first time I’ve seen this thing actually used. It’s an eye-opener.”

Slava remained silent.

He had farmed in the Amur region, and when he was working on the industry-academia collaboration, he had visited universities and learned about related matters. He remembered the level of expertise he had seen in the Amur region.

"When I was working in agriculture in the Amur region, I visited a university and saw technology that was at the level of France in the 1960s!"

“The 1960s! More than twenty years have passed since then.” He looked around the laboratory. “Then I’d like to ask—where has France gotten to now?”

No one answered; the answer was right before their eyes.

Slava looked at the scholars seriously, then pointed to himself:

"We are indeed far behind in this regard!"

He turned to look at the French researchers operating the gene gun to perform the transplant, as if he had made up his mind:

"That's why I said, the French agricultural research institute is great!"