Great Power Reclamation

Life in the R&D institute, in essence, is all about waiting. Waiting for the engine to ignite, waiting for the data to stabilize, waiting for the test drive to succeed.

After waiting for the first time, you wait for the next. After the fourth time, you wait for the installation and testing. After the installation and testing, you wait for airworthiness certification.

After the evidence was collected, the plane was loaded onto the aircraft. The plane took off, the passengers boarded, and the engines ran smoothly at an altitude of 10,000 meters, carrying hundreds of lives from one corner of the earth to another. The plane landed safely, the engines shut off, the passengers disembarked, dragging their suitcases to the arrival gate. Some greeted them, some hugged, some cried, and some laughed.

No one knows what this machine went through in the sky.

But it wasn't all just waiting. While we waited, the vegetables simmered in the pot, and the flowers slowly bloomed on the branches.

The lights on the roof of the research institute went out and on again, repeating the same rhythm every day. But the engine was different. Once the engine started, it couldn't stop.

Five days after the successful test drive, the R&D department held a meeting. It wasn't a celebration, but a work meeting. The meeting room wasn't large, but it was full of people.

Ye Yuping sat in the main seat, a thick document spread out in front of him. Helena sat beside him, a blanket covering her knees, a pen in her hand.

Ye Hai sat in the back row, next to Ayiguli. Ivan sat by the window, sunlight shining on his gray hair.

Kevin sat in the corner with an open laptop in front of him.

"Preparations for system installation and testing will begin next month."

Ye Yuping's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear: "The test flight location has been chosen at Diwopu Airport in the provincial capital. The COMAC team is already in place. The third prototype of the large aircraft has been specially modified to carry our engines."

No one spoke in the conference room. Everyone knew that the installation test was a more dangerous hurdle than the ground test.

No matter how well an engine runs on the ground, anything can happen in the air.

Temperature changes, humidity changes, air pressure changes, icing, bird strikes, engine restart after shutdown, thrust response under extreme conditions—each of these tests could be fatal.

The Civil Aviation Administration of China's Airworthiness Certification Center dispatched a team to track the entire process, recording every piece of data and certifying every test.

Without their approval, even the best engine can't take off. And their approval is conditional on only one thing—there are no safety hazards.

Even a one in a million chance is unacceptable.

"Who is the test pilot?" Helena asked.

Ye Yuping turned a page of the document. "His surname is Li, he's a retired air force pilot, with over 30 years of flying experience and more than 20,000 hours. He's flown Boeing, Airbus, and domestically produced regional jets. COMAC says he's their best test pilot."

Helena nodded and jotted the information down in her notebook. She needed to know everyone connected to this engine.

It wasn't a lack of trust, it was a sense of responsibility. Every design drawing she signed had to be worthy of the test pilot's life.

She had never met the test pilot surnamed Li, but her life became intertwined with his from then on.

Every name she signed on the drawings was a guarantee for a complete stranger.

I want to make sure he doesn't get into trouble because of this engine, that he lands safely, and that he can go home to see his wife and children.

It was already evening when the meeting adjourned. Ye Hai walked out of the conference room, stood in the corridor, and looked out the window at the sky.

The clouds on the horizon were burned red by the setting sun, like they were on fire. Aygul walked to his side without saying a word.

"Installation testing," Ye Hai said, "Are you afraid?"

“I’m afraid. But what I’m even more afraid of is that once you’re on the lab bench, you won’t get off.”

Ye Hai turned to look at her. Her face was flushed red by the setting sun, and her large eyes reflected the fiery clouds on the horizon.

"No, I don't. I know to leave work on time now."

Aygul laughed. "Who taught you that?"

"you."

Aygul reached out and took his hand. Their hands clasped together, fingers interlocked, neither too tight nor too loose, like a key into a lock.

At the other end of the corridor, Ivan came out, saw them, and muttered something in Russian. Something like, "The young people are dating again."

Kevin followed behind him and replied in English, "Weren't you like this when you were young?"

Ivan glared at him and strode away.

In the guardhouse at the entrance of the research institute, the old guard brewed a pot of tea, held an enamel mug, and listened to Peking Opera on the radio.

He was transferred to the Central People's Broadcasting Station, where he happened to be broadcasting the news.

"...The successful development of the Tianshan engine marks a significant step forward for my country's aviation power technology, placing it among the world's most advanced ranks. The Ministry of Industry and Information Technology, the Civil Aviation Administration of China, and COMAC (Commercial Aircraft Corporation of China) each sent congratulatory letters..."

The old gatekeeper picked up his enamel mug and took a sip. It was astringent and bitter, but with a sweet aftertaste. He looked out the window; the research institute's courtyard was empty, everyone had gone home.

The streetlamp was still on, its orange light illuminating the ground. He'd been working here for almost twenty years.

When I first arrived, the research institute hadn't been built yet; it was just an empty lot overgrown with camel thorns.

Later, when the building was built, he came and watched it grow layer by layer from the foundation, watched the equipment being moved in one by one, and watched the engineers come one by one.

Some came and went. Some came and stayed. He knew almost all of those who stayed.

I don't know their names, but I know what they do.

Those who study materials, those who study combustion, those who study structures, and those who study control.

They walked quickly, spoke little, and always seemed to have something on their minds. He felt they had a hard life.

I stayed up until midnight every day, and sometimes I didn't even rest on weekends. When the cafeteria was out of food, I would buy a pack of instant noodles from the convenience store at the entrance, soak it in boiling water, and eat it while squatting on the steps.

The old gatekeeper took another sip of tea. The Peking Opera on the radio was replaced by a weather forecast—

"In the northern Xinjiang region, the next three days will be sunny turning cloudy with light winds, making it suitable for travel."

He turned off the radio, picked up a flashlight, and went out on night patrol.

Several cars were parked in the parking lot outside the research institute. One belonged to Ye Yuping, one to Helena, and one to Ye Hai.

Three cars, three brands, three colors, parked together, each in silence.

Tomorrow morning, their owner will drive them back to continue the work they haven't finished.

Not tomorrow, but every day. Not every day, but every night.

When it comes to engines, there's no time of day or night. Engines wait for no one, blueprints wait for no one, and test flights wait for no one.

Ye Hai pulled Ayiguli's hand and walked towards the dormitory. On the main road outside the research institute, streetlights lit up one by one, casting long, thin shadows of the two of them.

The naan shop not far away was still open, the charcoal fire in the oven burning brightly, and the aroma of baking naan wafted over, making one's stomach rumble.

"Ye Hai, do you want to go eat naan?" Ayiguli asked.

"Eat. No overtime today."

"When did you stop working overtime?"

"It all started when I met you."

Aygul was taken aback by these unexpected words of love, then blushed and lightly punched his arm:
When did you learn to be so glib?

Ye Hai thought for a moment and replied seriously, "It's probably because I ate too much naan. Carbohydrates accelerate blood circulation in the language area of ​​the cerebral cortex."

Aygul laughed so hard she squatted down on the ground, tears streaming down her face. Ye Hai also squatted down, watching her laugh, his eyes curving into two crescent moons.

The two bought a freshly baked naan and broke it in half. They each took half and ate it as they walked.

The crispy crust crunched in my mouth, filling the air with the aroma of wheat. When we reached Ayiguli's dormitory building, she had finished her naan, but we were still holding hands.

“We’ve arrived,” Aygul said.

"Yes. We've arrived."

After a few seconds of silence, Ye Hai suddenly thought of the dense lines on the blueprint.

They were his armor, and the only language he used to express himself—at least until today, he always thought so.

“Aygul, I have something to tell you.”

"what's up?"

Ye Hai took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. There was a flower drawn on the paper, not an engineering drawing, but a pencil drawing.

The lines weren't perfectly smooth, but every stroke was carefully made. The petals were layered, like a snow lotus or an apricot blossom. "Did you draw this?" Aygul's eyes widened.

"Yes. I drew it last night. I drew three, and this one is the best."

Aygul held the paper in her hands, gazing at the lines. It wasn't a masterpiece, but for someone who only knew how to draw on paper, each stroke carried immense weight. As she looked at it, her eyes reddened.

"Ye Hai, you—"

"Ah."

"I can't do anything with you."

She carefully folded the paper and pressed it to her chest. Then she tiptoed and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. It was a very light kiss, like an apricot petal falling on his skin.

Good night. See you tomorrow.

"See you tomorrow."

She turned and went upstairs. Ye Hai stood downstairs, listening to the footsteps rising step by step, growing lighter and lighter.

I stood there until the light on the east-facing window on the fourth floor came on, casting a shadow on the curtains. I lingered by the window for a few seconds before moving away.

Ye Hai leaned against the concrete pole of the streetlamp, looking up at the lit window. Through the curtains, he could vaguely see Ayiguli's shadow moving around the room.

He put his hand in his pocket and felt the crumpled naan wrapper. The naan was gone, but a few sesame seeds remained on the wrapper.

His throat bobbed, he crumpled the paper, held it in his hand, and turned to walk back.

The lights at the entrance of the research institute were still on. The old security guard had returned from his night patrol and was sitting in the duty room, warming his hands by the electric heater.

Seeing Ye Hai approaching, he rolled down the car window. "Little Ye, going home so late?"

"I just took Ayiguli back to her dormitory."

The old gatekeeper smiled. His smile, warmed by the orange light, revealed wrinkles as deep as ravines in the Gobi Desert. "Youth is truly wonderful."

Ye Hai didn't know how to respond, so he nodded and turned to walk back to his dormitory.

He took a few steps, then stopped and turned back. "Grandpa, how many years have you been working here?"

The old gatekeeper thought for a moment. "Almost twenty years."

"Twenty years, don't you get bored?"

The old gatekeeper laughed again. "What's so boring? Watching you people come and go every day is more interesting than watching TV."

He paused, then said, "You guys who work on engines have it tough. I've been here for twenty years, watching you work on it for twenty years, and you've finally succeeded. It's worth it."

Ye Hai stood there, unsure of what to say.

"Alright, go back now. You have to go to work tomorrow." The old gatekeeper rolled up the car window and retreated into the guardhouse.

Ye Hai walked into the dormitory building, went upstairs, opened the door, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed.

Outside the window, there were no stars in the night sky over the military reclamation city; clouds had gathered, and thick layers of clouds completely covered the sky.

But the streetlights were still on, one by one, like stars fallen to the ground, illuminating the way home.

The light was still on in the office on the third floor of the research institute.

Ye Yuping sat at his desk, holding Helena's hand. Neither of them spoke; they simply sat there, occasionally glancing at each other, their lips twitching as if they wanted to speak, then stopping themselves, then wanting to speak again.

The desk lamp was on, illuminating the two faces, one with graying hair and the other with completely white hair. Their wrinkles were of different depths, but the light in their eyes was the same.

That light wasn't emitted by a lamp; it emanated from itself.

It emanated from laboratories in Hamburg, from basements in Boston, and from the Gobi Desert in Junken City—it cannot be dispersed or extinguished.

"Yuping," Helena finally spoke, "when we're doing the installation and testing, are you going to the provincial capital?"

"Go. What about you?"

"go."

"Your knees—"

“My knee is fine.” Helena interrupted him, her tone exactly the same as Ye Yuping’s—unquestionable and leaving no room for doubt, “Wherever the engine is, that’s where I am.”

Ye Yuping looked at her, silent for a long time. Then he smiled. The smile was faint, but genuine. "You'll always be like this."

"What?"

"stubborn."

Helena laughed too. "I learned it from you."

Their hands were still clasped together, neither of them letting go. The wind was howling outside the window, but it was warm inside the office.

The clivia on the table has been grown by Helena for almost twenty years.

I brought it from Boston to Reclamation City, from the old office to the new office, and moved several times, but I never threw it away.

A few years ago, it bloomed for the first time. The flowers were orange-red, clustered together, like a torch being held up.

Helena put a label on the flowerpot with the date written on it. It was one of the few records in her life that had nothing to do with engines.

The lights were still on in the office on the first floor of the research institute.

Ivan sat at his workbench, a disassembled model of an engine in front of him, and held a pair of calipers in his hand, measuring the dimensions of a turbine blade.

He measured very carefully, measuring once, recording it once, measuring again, recording it again, repeating this process several times.

He developed these habits while in Russia and can't break them. Ye Hai says it's obsessive-compulsive disorder, and he doesn't deny it.

People who work on engines are often a bit obsessive-compulsive. Without that, they can't produce anything worthwhile.

Kevin walked in carrying two cups of coffee and placed one next to Ivan. "Still measuring? How many times have you measured it already?"

Ivan didn't even look up. "A hundred times wouldn't be enough. This blade is crucial for the fourth engine. If it malfunctions, the entire engine is finished."

Kevin sat down opposite him, took a sip of coffee, and frowned at the bitterness.

"Ivan, have you thought about what you plan to do if the installation and testing are successful?"

Ivan put down the calipers, looked at the blade, and remained silent for a moment. “Go back to Russia.”

Why go back to Russia?

"I'm going to visit my mother's grave. I haven't been back for over ten years."

Kevin paused for a moment. "I'll go back with you."

Ivan looked at him. "What are you going to do? You don't even know my mother."

Kevin thought for a moment. “I’ll be the translator. You speak Russian too fast; the Russians won’t understand you.”

Ivan paused for a moment, then laughed. The laughter wasn't loud, but it sounded particularly loud in the quiet laboratory.

He reached out his rough, large hand and patted Kevin's shoulder with unusual force, making Kevin's shoulder sag.

"Okay. You'll be my translator. I won't pay you if you don't do a good job."

Kevin rubbed his shoulder and grinned. "Put the calipers down first before we talk about money. Pointing calipers at someone and demanding money is like robbery."

Ivan looked down at the calipers in his hand—they did indeed resemble a pair of iron pliers.

He placed the calipers on the table, picked up his coffee, took a sip, and it was cold. So what if it was cold? He didn't care and gulped down half the cup in one go.

It was almost dawn outside the research institute.

The night in the military reclamation city was pure black. The lights in the research institute were on. Dawn broke. The lights went out. People arrived.

The old gatekeeper opened the gate of the research institute, stood at the entrance, and looked into the distance.

On the Gobi Desert, the sun climbs over the Tianshan Mountains, casting golden light on the snow-capped peaks, the red-brick buildings, and the apricot tree that is in bloom.

A new day has begun. The engine issue isn't over yet. (End of Chapter)