Great Power Reclamation

The lights at the Military Reclamation City Research Institute have never all been turned off before 2 a.m. This is not an exaggeration, it is a fact.

For over a decade, Ivan kept the same record in his duty logbook, writing the same sentence on the last page every day:

"Final departure time—"

It was followed by a number, sometimes one, sometimes two, sometimes three. The latest time was 4:17 AM.

That day, the second prototype of the Tianshan engine exploded during testing. The turbine blades shattered into hundreds of pieces, embedded in the protective armor of the test stand, like bullet holes left by a steel ball hitting a mud wall.

That night, no one went home. Helena squatted in front of the lab bench, picking up the fragments one by one.

She spent the entire night picking through the trash, her knees pressed against the cold cement floor. She knelt until the next morning when she couldn't stand up, and Ye Hai carried her back to the office.

Her right leg has been lame ever since, and she walks with a limp, but she never says it's because she knelt for too long that night.

When asked, she would say, "I'm getting old. My knees aren't doing well."

Ye Hai knew it wasn't because he was old. But he didn't say anything. Some things are lighter when spoken, but heavier when unspoken.

Tonight is the last night before the fourth prototype of the Tianshan engine is tested. According to the plan, it will be officially ignited at 9:30 am tomorrow.

If successful, the engine will enter the installation and testing phase.

This means we are one step closer to getting large aircraft carrying Chinese people.

If you fail, you have to go back to square one and start all over again, which will take at least another year.

Nobody wants to fail.

Ye Hai sat at his workbench, a thick stack of blueprints spread out in front of him. His eyes were fixed on the dense lines and data; he had been studying them for nearly ten hours.

From eight o'clock this morning until now, apart from eating two meals and going to the toilet three times, his buttocks have hardly left this chair.

The drawing shows a new arrangement of cooling holes for turbine blades.

The fourth prototype uses a third-generation single-crystal high-temperature alloy, which has a temperature limit that is fifty degrees higher than the previous generation.

Fifty degrees may not sound like much, but in the field of aero-engines, fifty degrees means that turbine blades can operate at higher temperatures, that the combustion chamber can burn more intensely, and that thrust can be increased by eight to ten percent.

Ten percent is the difference between a generation of engines.

However, the higher the temperature, the greater the risk.

The material properties of third-generation single-crystal alloys have not been fully understood. Whether grain boundary slip, creep deformation, or crack initiation at stress concentration points will occur under extreme conditions are all unknowns.

The simulation software ran over a hundred times, and the data was different each time. Some said there was no problem, some said there was a problem, and some said the problem was minor but needed further verification.

Ye Hai printed out the simulation data, pasted it on the wall, and circled several outliers with a red pen.

Those dots were like red eyes, staring at him coldly and unblinkingly.

Aygul brought in a cup of hot tea and placed it on his table.

She didn't speak, but sat down opposite Ye Hai and quietly watched him.

She had been working overtime in the materials lab all day, doing microstructure analysis of turbine blade coatings.

The coating is also a new formula, with trace amounts of rare earth elements added to improve its antioxidant properties.

She observed under an electron microscope for dozens of hours, took hundreds of photos, and carefully compared each one.

The results were quite good—the new formulation produced a dense coating structure with no obvious microcracks found.

"After you finish looking at these pictures, go back and rest."

Aygul finally spoke, her voice not loud but firm, "We have a test drive tomorrow, and you can't go on the test bench with dark circles under your eyes."

Ye Hai looked up and rubbed his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles under his eyes, making it look like he had been punched twice.

He has been staying up for three nights in a row, returning to his dorm after 1 a.m. every night and getting up again before 7 a.m.

“Let’s look at another one,” he said.

You've said "look at one more picture" five times.

"This time it's for real."

Aygul stood up, walked behind him, put her hands on his shoulders, and massaged them a few times.

Ye Hai's shoulders were as hard as stone, his muscles taut, so tight that even a fingernail couldn't leave a mark if you dug into them.

She sighed, bent down, and whispered something in Kazakh in his ear.

Ye Hai didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

"It means, 'If you don't go back to sleep, I'll drag you back.'"

Ye Hai's lips curled up slightly, but he quickly looked away. He stared at the blueprints on the wall, the red circles and dots still staring at him.

"Aygul, what do you think we should do if the test drive fails tomorrow?"

Aygul paused for a moment. "It won't fail."

"What if?"

"If you fail, just try again. It's not like you haven't failed before."

Her voice was soft but firm, “The second one exploded, the third one worked. The fourth one is better than the third. The fifth one will be even better than the fourth. If it doesn’t work once, we’ll try twice, and if it doesn’t work twice, we’ll try three times. Your mother has waited here for more than ten years, she’s not afraid to wait another year.”

Ye Hai was silent for a moment. He reached out and grasped Ayiguli's hand, which was resting on his shoulder, squeezed it briefly, and then let go.

"Look at the last one. I promise."

Aygul didn't say anything, sat back down opposite, picked up her cup of tea which had gone cold, and sipped it slowly.

She watched as Ye Hai lowered his head and carefully examined the last drawing.

His brows were furrowed tightly, like two locks twisted together, and his fingers moved slowly across the drawing, tracing line by line.

His lips moved slightly, as if he were silently reciting something—perhaps a number, a formula, a parameter he had checked many times but was still uneasy about.

More than ten minutes passed. Ye Hai looked up, neatly stacked the blueprints, and weighed them down with a paperweight. He stood up and pushed his chair back under the table.

"Let's go."

Aygul also stood up, picked up the thermos on the table, poured the cooled tea into the sink, rinsed it twice under the tap, and dried it with a paper towel.

"Are you worried?"

"It's not that I'm worried. It's just a habit."

Ye Hai put on his coat, took off his work clothes which were covered in machine oil and pencil dust, hung them on the hanger, and changed into a clean jacket.

“My mom said that if you’re not confident about a drawing at night, look at it again in the morning. If the two versions are the same, then it’s correct. If they’re different, then there’s a problem.”

"Your mom said that?"

"Yes. She's been saying that for decades."

The two walked out of the research institute. Outside, the night wind was cold, making them hunch their shoulders.

There were stars in the sky, densely packed, like someone had spilled a bag of loose silver. The lights at the entrance of the research institute were still on, their orange glow casting long, thin shadows on the ground.

The old gatekeeper poked his head out of the guardhouse, glanced at them, said nothing, and then pulled his head back in.

He'd worked here for over a decade and was used to seeing these young people coming out late at night; he wasn't surprised at all.

Inside the research institute building, a few lights were still on.

White light shone through the window on the third floor; that was Ye Yuping's office. Ye Hai looked up and saw a figure pacing back and forth in front of the window.

“Your dad hasn’t left yet.” Ayiguli followed his gaze.

"He's not leaving tonight. He never leaves before a test drive."

Where does he sleep?

“There’s a cot in the office. My mom made it up for him. But he often doesn’t sleep on it; he just sits there until dawn.”

Aygul was silent for a moment. "Are all your family members like this?"

Ye Hai thought for a moment. "Pretty much."

The two walked back to the dormitory building. Ayiguli stopped, turned around, and looked at Ye Hai.

The streetlight shone from behind her, her face was in shadow, but her eyes were bright.

"Ye Hai, you'll be nervous during the test drive tomorrow."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Ye Hai looked at her, without denying it.

"meeting."

"It's okay to be nervous. Don't hold it in."

She reached out and patted his chest, her palm directly over his heart. Through his clothes, she could feel it beating strongly.

"Your engine will fly up there."

Ye Hai took her hand and pressed it against his chest. His heart was pounding, but not because of Ayiguli, but because of tomorrow.

Tomorrow is the test day for the fourth prototype, a major test that he, his mother, Ivan, Kevin, and the entire R&D team have worked tirelessly day and night to achieve.

"Go on up." He released her hand.

"you go first."

"I'll watch you go up."

Aygul smiled, tiptoed, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. It was very light, very quick, like a petal falling on his skin.

Good night. See you tomorrow.

"See you tomorrow."

She turned and went into the stairwell. Her footsteps rose step by step, growing fainter and fainter.

Ye Hai stood downstairs, listening to the footsteps go from clear to blurry, and then disappear completely.

He stood there until the light on the east-facing window on the fourth floor came on, and a shadow of a person appeared on the windowsill. The shadow lingered for a few seconds before moving away. Only then did he turn around and walk back.

As he passed the entrance to the research institute, he stopped and looked up at the window on the third floor. The lights were still on, and figures were still pacing back and forth in front of the window.

Ye Hai hesitated for a moment, then turned and went into the building. The stairwell lights were voice-activated; he stomped his foot on each floor, and the lights came on one by one, like a train traveling from the foot of the mountain to the top.

He went up to the third floor and pushed open the door to Ye Yuping's office.

Ye Yuping stood by the window, holding a cup of tea that had gone cold. His hair was completely white, and the wrinkles on his face were much deeper than they had been last year.

The light from the desk lamp shone on his face, making his wrinkles appear like deep, etched lines. Hearing the door open, he turned around.

Why haven't you gone back yet?

"Come and see you."

Ye Yuping paused for a moment, then placed his teacup on the table and sat down in a chair. He gestured to the chair opposite him, and Ye Hai sat down. "Finished reading. Let's go back," Ye Yuping said.

"Dad, are you nervous?"

Ye Yuping looked at him and remained silent for a few seconds. "Don't be nervous."

"You're lying. You can't sleep before every test drive. That's what Mom said."

Ye Yuping did not deny it. He picked up the cup of cold tea, took a sip, and then put it down. The tea leaves had been steeped for too long and were bitter and astringent.

“Ye Hai,” he said, “do you know why your mother wanted to work on engines?”

Ye Hai thought for a moment. "Because she likes it."

"It's not just about liking."

Ye Yuping leaned back in his chair, looking at the ceiling. "Back when she was in Hamburg, being ostracized by those people, would you still come back to the military reclamation city?"

"She said she would go to the military reclamation city and work on the engine. If she succeeded, she would come back. If she failed, she would rather die than go back."

Ye Hai remained silent. He knew the story, but every time his father told it, an indescribable emotion would well up inside him.

It wasn't just that I felt indignant about my mother's plight, but also that I saw an almost stubborn pride in that past event—a pride that didn't rely on anyone's charity.

"She was threatened and couldn't stay in Europe any longer, so she came to the military reclamation city. She brought nothing with her when she came. Just a box containing blueprints."

Ye Yuping's voice was very soft, as if she were talking to herself:
“Those drawings were collected by her over more than ten years. Every single one has her signature, and she has revised each one countless times.”

Ye Hai lowered his head, looking at his hands. These hands didn't resemble his mother's—his mother's hands were slender, fair, and like a pianist's hands;
His hands were rough and large, with calluses all over his fingertips, the result of years of holding wrenches and files.

But their fingerprints are identical. He compared them on the computer—his mother's right thumbprint and his right thumbprint had two lines that ran exactly the same.

He wrote in his report: "Heredness occurs not only at the gene level, but also in choices and passions."

The tutor read it and wrote a line of text in the margin:

"Change this sentence. It's too sentimental; it doesn't sound like a research paper."

He didn't change it, but that sentence was still removed when it was finally published.

"Ye Hai,"

Ye Yuping's voice interrupted his thoughts, "You'll be on the test bench tomorrow for the test drive?"

"superior."

Are you scared?

Ye Hai thought for a moment. "I'm afraid."

"Being afraid is the right thing to do."

Ye Yuping stood up, walked over to him, and patted him on the shoulder. The hand was heavy, like a stone.
"Those who are not afraid are either geniuses or fools. You are neither a genius nor a fool. That's why you are afraid. Because you are afraid, you will be careful. Because you are careful, you won't make mistakes."

Ye Hai looked up at his father. Ye Yuping's eyes were a little red, but he blinked and wiped the redness away.

"Alright. Let's go back. We have to get up early tomorrow."

Ye Hai stood up, walked to the door, stopped, and turned around. "Dad."

"Ah."

"You should go to bed early too. Don't sit in that chair until dawn. Mom said your back hurt for days after you sat there until dawn last time."

Ye Yuping paused for a moment, then laughed. "Your mother tells you everything."

"I knew even if she didn't say it. I saw you had the plaster on."

The father and son exchanged a glance. Then Ye Yuping waved his hand, as if shooing away a fly. "Okay. Go to sleep."

Ye Hai opened the door and went out. Ye Yuping stood by the window, watching her son's figure disappear at the end of the corridor.

He walked quickly, his back straight, like a poplar tree that had stood on the Gobi Desert for thirty years.

Ye Yuping stood by the window for a long time until the motion-activated lights in the corridor went out, then turned around, walked to the corner, and pulled out the cot.

Helena had laid out a thick mattress on the bed, and the pillow was one she had made herself, filled with buckwheat hulls. It wasn't very soft, but it felt very solid.

Ye Yu lay down and listened to the buckwheat hulls rustling in her pillow, like the wind on the Gobi Desert.

He closed his eyes, his mind filled with tomorrow's test drive procedures.

Intake pressure, combustion chamber temperature, turbine speed, exhaust temperature—every parameter went through his mind like a movie. He rolled over, then rolled over again.

Can't sleep.

He stared at the ceiling with his eyes open. There was a thin crack in the ceiling that stretched from the light fixture to the corner of the wall.

He didn't spend much time in this office. The crack appeared when he arrived. Last winter was particularly cold, and the heating was on very high. Due to thermal expansion and contraction, the ceiling cracked.

He hadn't called anyone to fix it, not because he was busy, but because he was used to it. The crack was there, just like he was here; neither got in the other's way.

Ye Yuping turned over again, folded the pillow, and put it under her neck.

The buckwheat hulls rustled, like the wind speaking across the Gobi Desert. He closed his eyes, this time without opening them.

He recalled Helena's words: "We engine makers are like tree planters. When you plant a tree, you don't know if it will survive. But if you don't plant it, it will never grow."

These were the simplest yet most powerful words he had ever heard in his life. He kept them in his heart for over a decade.

At the other end of the research institute, in Helena's office, the lights were on.

She sat at her desk, with all the technical data for the fourth prototype spread out in front of her—three thick volumes, each containing hundreds of pages.

She had watched it countless times, but before each test drive, she would watch it again from beginning to end. This was her rule, unchanged for decades.

Her knees were in terrible pain; the pain started in the afternoon and by evening she was practically unable to sit or stand.

There was a bottle of painkillers in the drawer. She took it out, glanced at it, and put it back.

Taking painkillers makes me sleepy, and I won't be able to think clearly when I test drive tomorrow, so that won't work.

She put the medicine bottle back in the drawer, rubbed her knee with her hands, slowly, in circles.

My knee is swollen again, and it's even bigger than yesterday. The fluid buildup under the skin makes my whole calf look swollen.

She mentally wrote herself a sick leave note—"Recommended to rest for two weeks"—then crumpled it up and threw it into the trash can.

The sick leave slip wasn't for herself; it was for others to see. She didn't need rest; she needed to test drive the car.

There was a knock on the door. Not a soft knock, but three firm, steady knocks, spaced evenly and rhythmically—she knew this knocking style all too well.

"Come in."

Ye Hai pushed open the door and walked in. His hair was still wet, obviously he had just taken a shower, and he had changed into a clean white T-shirt. He didn't look like someone who had been sitting at his workbench for more than ten hours.

Why haven't you gone back yet?

Helena withdrew her hand from her knee and placed it under the table so he wouldn't see it.

"I came to see you. Dad said your back hurts, so I came to check on you."

Helena glanced at him. "You believe everything your dad says?"

“I believe everything he says about you.”

Helena paused for a moment, then laughed. When she laughed, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes gathered together, like a folding fan.

She didn't reply, but pointed to the chair opposite her. Ye Hai sat down.

"Mom, are you going to the control room tomorrow?"

"superior."

"Your knee—"

"My knee is fine."

Helena interrupted him, her tone exactly the same as Ye Yuping's—unquestionable and leaving no room for negotiation.

"Ye Hai, you'll be on the test bench tomorrow for the test drive. I'll be in the control room. My son and I will be on the front lines and in the rear, respectively."

Ye Hai looked at his mother; her hair was completely white, and the wrinkles on her face were getting deeper year by year, but her blue eyes were still bright.

That kind of brightness isn't the brightness produced by lamplight; it's the brightness that comes from within itself.

It is the kind of brilliance that comes from someone who has toiled in the lab for decades, risen from failures countless times, been ostracized and threatened but never given up.

“Mom,” he said, “if it works out tomorrow, will you go back to Hamburg?”

Helena paused, taken aback. "Back to Hamburg? For what?"

"Go and see the places you used to be. Let those people see that your engine is now installed on a Chinese aircraft."

The office was silent for several seconds. Helena lowered her head, looking at the open technical documents on the table.

She remained silent for a long time, so long that Ye Hai thought she wouldn't answer. Then she raised her head, her eyes filled with a thin layer of mist, but she didn't let it fall.

"I'm not going back." Her voice was a little hoarse. "That's not my home. This is."

Ye Hai grasped his mother's hand, which was resting on the table. Her hand was small and thin, with distinct knuckles. When placed next to his rough and large hand, they looked like they were made from the same mold, or like the handprints of two generations pressed onto the same blueprint.

"Mom, it's settled tomorrow. I'll take you to see the apricot blossoms. The one in the courtyard of the Ye family's old house, Uncle said it will bloom in two days."

Helena looked at him, her eyes welling up with tears.

"Okay. Let's go see the apricot blossoms."

Ye Hai released his mother's hand, stood up, turned and walked away. As he reached the door, he heard his mother say something in German behind him.

He didn't understand German, but he knew the meaning of the sentence—

She would say that every time he left the lab.

It's not "goodbye," it's not "goodnight," it's "be careful." We've been saying it for decades.

From Boston to Military Reclamation City, from laboratories to test benches, from basements to aero-engine research and development centers.

She said it thousands of times. He listened to it thousands of times. Each time, it was like hearing it for the first time, making him pause, making his heart skip a beat, making him want to turn back and hug that woman with gray hair, swollen knees, but who stood straighter than anyone else at the lab table.

He didn't turn back. He was afraid that if he did, he wouldn't be able to leave.

The old security guard at the research institute took a nap in the duty room. He glanced groggily at the monitor screen; two lights were still on in the institute.

The light on the third floor and the light on the first floor. The light on the third floor is for Ye Yuping's office, and the light on the first floor is for Helena's office.

These two lights are always on in the early hours of the morning; it's been like this for years, nothing new. The old man wrapped his army coat tighter and continued to doze off.

The night in the military reclamation city is pure black. The lights in the research institute are on.

Dawn was approaching. (End of Chapter)