Great Power Reclamation

Chapter 2869 Let's smoke less

As the car crossed the Detroit River, Ye Feng could see the outline of Windsor, Canada, on the opposite bank indistinct.

Ten years ago, when he first came here, Old Zheng pointed to the oil slicks floating on the river and said:

"Mr. Ye, look, this water hasn't been cleaned in thirty years. If we can develop solid-state batteries, at least we can reduce the amount of cooking fumes our children inhale."

At that time, Lao Zheng's cough was not serious, and he always spoke with a smile. The oil stains on his blue overalls looked like an abstract painting.

Ye Feng took out his phone and scrolled to Lao Zheng's WeChat Moments post from yesterday. It was a photo of the view outside the hospital ward window, with the caption:

"The sun is shining brightly today, perfect for research and development."

"Has Lao Zheng's treatment plan been finalized?" Ye Feng put his phone back in his pocket.

"I contacted a specialist at the Mayo Clinic for a remote consultation this afternoon."

Wang Nannan turned the steering wheel to avoid a pothole. "After the news that the medical team would reimburse all expenses was sent over, the old man cried for half the night in the ward, saying that he had never met such a good boss in his life."

Ye Feng gazed out the window at the abandoned factory buildings that flashed by. Those rusty assembly lines were once the pride of Detroit, but now they looked like a group of aging giants.

He suddenly remembered his father's words: "Industry is not a business to make quick money; it's about paving the way for future generations. Whether the road is smooth or not depends on whether you have the people who will walk this road in your heart."

The rain stopped just as the car pulled up in front of the state capitol building. Ye Feng looked up at the relief on the granite pillars, which bore Michigan's motto:

"If you're looking for a lovely peninsula, look here."

He suddenly realized that what is truly lovely might not be the scenery, but rather the possibility of enabling the people on this land to live with more dignity.

The hearing room was filled with the mixed aroma of coffee and cigars.

When Ye Feng pushed open the door, three men in custom-made suits were whispering among themselves around the state legislator. One of them looked up at him, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

That was the general counsel of the energy consortium, who three years ago, at a hearing on the Parts Act, publicly said that Warrior Group's technology was "a joke from the lab."

Ye Feng ignored him and walked straight to the witness stand. Zhang Qiming was already waiting there with a file folder, sweat beading on his forehead.
"The technical parameters have been backed up, three safety reports have been prepared, and even a detailed flowchart of the battery recycling plan has been attached."

"What's there to be nervous about?" Ye Feng patted him on the shoulder. "We're here to teach the state legislator a lesson, not to argue."

At 2:00 PM sharp, the hearing began on time. As the state legislator struck the gavel, Ye Feng noticed his badge was askew and his tie had a coffee stain on it—

This is a middle-aged man who is constantly surrounded by lobbying groups, and the weariness in his eyes is hard to hide.

"The environmental impact assessment report of the Warrior Group has been complained about for potential safety hazards."

The congressman adjusted his glasses. "Professor Hoffman, could you explain the differences in environmental risks between traditional and new energy sources?"

Hoffman cleared his throat and brought up the PowerPoint presentation:

"The electrolyte materials in solid-state batteries may release toxic gases at high temperatures, while traditional fuel oil has been proven over a century to have a controllable environmental impact..."

Ye Feng suddenly laughed, his laughter ringing out clearly in the quiet conference room.

He got up and walked to the projection screen, pulling up the Detroit River's water quality reports for the past five years:

"The professor probably hasn't seen the refinery's wastewater outlet at 3 a.m. This is the environmental protection bureau's testing data from last year; the benzene content exceeded the standard by 17 times, while our battery production line only emits water vapor."

He switched to the next picture, which was a photo of Lao Zheng wearing a gas mask and working in the laboratory:
"This is our engineer Zheng Jianguo, who has spent ten years in the battery lab. He was diagnosed with late-stage lung cancer last week, and his father, a retired worker from the Detroit steel mill, died of pneumoconiosis."

The conference room was completely silent. Ye Feng's voice wasn't loud, but it struck everyone like a hammer blow:

"The 'controllability' of traditional energy sources is built on the sacrifices of countless people like Lao Zheng, who have given up their health. They say new energy sources are risky, but isn't the biggest risk to the next generation continuing to breathe polluted air?"

The lawyer for the traditional energy consortium immediately stood up: "Mr. Ye, you're stirring up emotions! Science needs data, not stories!"

"The data is here."

Ye Feng opened another document, and a dense array of test results popped up on the screen:
"Our batteries have undergone a 72-hour high-temperature burn test, and the emissions meet food-grade safety standards. Here is certification from a third-party organization, and also..."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the entire room. "The live monitoring footage from the Warrior Group's R&D center shows my engineers conducting public testing."

A live feed from the laboratory appeared on the projection screen, showing researchers in white lab coats throwing solid-state batteries into a combustion furnace.

Everyone held their breath, watching the flames on the screen burn for ten minutes. The battery casing cracked, but it didn't explode; only a small amount of white smoke came out.

That's water vapor.

Ye Feng's voice was calm, "It's like the steam you release when you brew coffee in the morning, the only difference is that it can make a car run 500 kilometers."

The state legislator's Adam's apple bobbed, and he picked up the water glass on the table and took a sip. Ye Feng noticed that the words "Clean Energy Initiative" were printed on his water glass, and the paint on the edge was worn away.

During a recess at the hearing, Wang Nannan handed over her phone in the hallway:

“Lucy just posted this. Professor Hoffman received two million dollars in research funding from an oil company last year. The details are all here.”

Ye Feng swiped the screen and casually forwarded the message to the state legislator's assistant. He knew the significance of this move—

In Michigan, lawmakers who accept bribes from energy companies often face a worse fate than losing a hearing.

But he didn't intend to go that far. Just like Yuanfang said, taking a detour makes the journey easier, but some detours make you forget why you started in the first place.

When the court reconvened, the state legislator suddenly announced an additional agenda item.

A video interview with an elementary school in Detroit is played. In the video, children hold up pictures covered in black smoke and say in their childish voices:
"I hope Dad's car doesn't smoke, so Mom won't cough."

Professor Hoffman's face turned pale instantly. The state senator slammed his gavel, his voice hoarse:
"Following parliamentary discussion, the Warriors Group's environmental impact assessment report..."

He paused, then looked up at Ye Feng. "Approved immediately. In addition, I propose the establishment of a New Energy Oversight Committee, led by the Warrior Group, to promote solid-state battery technology throughout the state."

As Ye Feng walked out of the state government building, the sunlight pierced through the clouds.

Wang Nannan excitedly made a phone call to arrange for the production line to start operating. Ye Feng, leaning against the car, sent a text message to Lao Zheng:
"The production line has been approved. Once you're better, I'll personally press the start button."

I received a reply very quickly, just two words: "Okay."

It was followed by a smiley face emoji, just like Lao Zheng's usual honest and simple demeanor.

A car horn sounded in the distance. Ye Feng looked up and saw a dilapidated Ford pickup truck drive by, its exhaust pipe belching black smoke.

He suddenly remembered the family portrait that Yini had drawn. His daughter had drawn him taller than a tree, saying that her father could block all the bad guys.

So the so-called Superman isn't about blocking threatening emails and the glass on the negotiating table, but about actually blocking the black smoke.

At 7 PM, when Ye Feng returned to the hotel, Yuan Fang's video call came in. On the screen, Yini was holding up a painting and excitedly shouting:
"Dad! The teacher said your battery can make the sky blue!" On the drawing paper, the sky is a bright blue, and below it is a car without an exhaust pipe, with "Warrior Group" written on its side.

Ye Feng smiled, his eyes slightly moist: "When Daddy gets back, I'll take you in a car like this, okay?"

"Okay!" Yi Ni's voice was like a piece of candy. "Mom said that Great-Grandpa used to be a doctor, Grandpa made cars, and now Dad makes batteries. They are all amazing people!"

Yuanfang took the phone, and sounds from the kitchen came from the background:
"I just made some soup, I'll let you have some when you get back. By the way, Lao Zheng's consultation results are in, the Mayo Clinic specialists said there's hope, he can be transferred to another hospital next week."

"Let's go back to Junken City. Grandpa and his team's research is no less advanced than any hospital in the United States!"

Ye Feng leaned against the window, looking at the Detroit night view. In the distance, the temporary factory of the Warrior Group was already lit up, and workers were installing equipment overnight.

He recalled the state legislator's water cup he had seen at the hearing earlier that day, and the way the children held up their drawings, and suddenly understood what his father meant by "whether it was worth it or not."

It's not about how much money you make or how many battles you win, but whether what you do can make life a little better for strangers.

"Tell Mom we're going back the day after tomorrow."

Ye Feng's voice was soft, yet carried a certain strength, "By the way, get the plane ready, this weekend."

After hanging up the phone, Ye Feng took out the cigarette case, then put it back.

He walked to his desk and opened the document that Wang Nannan had just delivered. It contained the solid-state battery installation plan, and the first vehicle would roll off the production line next month. The driver's name was listed as "Zheng Jianguo".

The rain started falling outside the window again, this time with a hint of warmth. Ye Feng remembered what Yuan Fang had said: "The road is made by walking; what's wrong with getting a little muddy?"

Yes, what are you afraid of?

Old Zheng is still waiting, and the children are still hoping; someone has to make those blue skies in the paintings come true.

He picked up the pen, signed his name at the end of the document, and the sound of the pen gliding across the paper was exceptionally clear in the quiet room, as if saying:

"The road ahead is long, take it slow, and you'll get there eventually."

Just like when my grandfather and his family farmed, watching the seedlings take root in the Gobi Desert, knowing it would take several years to yield a harvest, they still watered and fertilized them every day. Because they knew that some things are worth waiting for.

It's worth getting covered in mud, sweat, and even injuries to get a cleaner dawn.

Ye Feng closed the file, walked to the window, and drew back the curtains. The factory buildings in the distance were brightly lit, like stars fallen to the ground.

He knew that starting tomorrow, more lights would come on here, and more people would pick up wrenches, blueprints, and testing instruments, moving forward step by step for the promise of "reducing emissions."

He is just one of millions of people, carrying the warmth of his family, the responsibility on his shoulders, and the light in his heart, continuing on his journey.

The road ahead is long, but once it gets light, there's no need to fear the darkness.

When Ye Feng was woken up by his phone at three in the morning, it was raining heavily in Detroit. Wang Nannan's name was flashing on the screen, and the background noise was mixed with the crisp sound of metal clashing.

"Mr. Ye, there's a problem with the welding robot on production line number one."

Wang Nannan's voice was hoarse from staying up all night, "The debugging team said that the sensor's accuracy was off by 0.3 millimeters, which may affect the battery's sealing."

Ye Feng got out of bed, put on his coat, and looked out the hotel window toward the temporary factory. The lights there were brighter than the night before, like a cluster of stars washed clean by the rain.

"Have Zhang Qiming keep an eye on the real-time data. I'm going there now."

The car drove through the empty streets, the outline of the factory buildings reflected in the puddles.

Ye Feng suddenly remembered his first visit to Detroit ten years ago, when Old Zheng showed him the abandoned steel mill. Under the rusty blast furnaces, a few clumps of wild chrysanthemums were sprouting from the cracks.

"Mr. Ye, you see, even the hardest iron can't stop something that wants to grow upwards."

Back then, Old Zheng's laughter was louder than it is now, and his coughs were still muffled in his throat.

The factory was filled with the smell of rust-preventive paint and machine oil. Zhang Qiming was squatting next to a robot adjusting parameters, his glasses stained with oil.

"The sensor has been calibrated three times, but it's still just a little off."

He wiped his face. "The German manufacturer said they can only send someone next week, but the state legislator is urging us for the first batch of samples."

Ye Feng bent down to look at the battery module at the end of the conveyor belt; the electrodes inside the transparent casing looked like neatly arranged silver needles.

“Old Zheng had dealt with similar problems before. He always said that the accuracy was not enough, so he used a clumsy method to make up for it.”

He suddenly stood up and said, "Change the laser welding head to a manual one and let the experienced workers do it."

Several Black workers in overalls, who had been huddled in the corner, gathered around upon hearing the commotion. Powell, leading the group, patted his chest confidently:

"Does Mr. Ye trust us?"

His calluses were thicker than the robot's grippers. He worked at the Ford factory for thirty years before picking up a welding torch again last year with the Warrior Group.

"The accuracy you have is more reliable than any sensor."

Ye Feng handed over a pair of goggles. "Just do as Lao Zheng taught you. The weld should be like putting on a diaper for a baby. It needs to be tight but not damage what's inside."

Powell paused for a moment, then suddenly laughed. "Engineer Zheng video-called me last week and said he taught me how to identify weld crystallization."

He put on his goggles. "Don't worry, it's guaranteed to be more reliable than the German machines."

At 5 a.m., when the first batch of qualified battery modules rolled off the production line, the rain stopped.

Ye Feng picked up the module and held it up to the light; the weld looked like a uniform silver line. Zhang Qiming's phone suddenly rang; it was an overseas call from the Mayo Clinic. After listening, he covered his face, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"Old Zheng's consultation results are in," he said, choking back tears. "The experts said they found a matching targeted drug with a cure rate of up to 30%. And the drug's source is actually the Military Reclamation Pharmaceutical Research Institute."

Ye Feng's nose tingled with emotion: "Take Lao Zheng home and find my grandfather. Don't delay for a moment, and make sure to keep communication open."

Ye Feng placed the battery module back on the testing table, where a slight coolness emanated from the metal surface.

He took out his phone to send a message to Lao Zheng, his fingertips trembling slightly:

"Don't worry, we'll weld your weld perfectly straight."

At this moment, a plane took off. Old Zheng lay pale in the cabin, and the medical staff stared at him nervously, worried that the takeoff might have some effect on him.
Old Zheng looked at his phone, smiled with satisfaction, and said to the several doctors with big noses:

"I will get better..."

Monthly minimum votes guaranteed at the beginning of the month, thank you bookworm brother.