Great Power Reclamation

The news of the successful test run of the Tianshan engine was sent out from Junken City at 3:17 a.m. The Xinhua News Agency's report was very short, less than two hundred words including the title and body.

But in the following half hour, those two hundred words swept across the entire planet like a storm that swept across the Gobi Desert.

London was still asleep, the sun in New York was just past noon, and commuters in Tokyo were hurrying across the Shibuya intersection—a notification on their phones made countless people stop in their tracks at the same time.

"China Aviation Engine Achieves Major Breakthrough"

Some people rubbed their eyes, thinking they were seeing things;
Someone forwarded this message to a colleague, adding an exclamation mark;

Some people remained silent for a long time, doing nothing but staring blankly at the line of words, their hearts churning with indescribable emotions. Was it joy? Shock? Disbelief? Perhaps all of the above.

The lights in that gray building on Chang'an Avenue stayed on all night. Several elderly people sat around a long table, on which lay a briefing.

No one spoke. The briefing was extremely restrained in its wording, devoid of words like "great," "breakthrough," or "milestone," and was as dry and unadorned as a financial statement.

But it was precisely this restraint that allowed everyone present to understand the true weight of that briefing.

The "heart disease" of China's aviation industry has been afflicted since the 1950s. It has been treated for decades, with imported drugs and domestic drugs tried, as well as bypass surgery, stents, and valve replacements.

Today, I finally found a working heart. It wasn't taken from someone else; it grew on its own.

“Notify the Civil Aviation Administration,” the person sitting at the head of the table began, his voice not loud, but it sounded very heavy in the quiet conference room.
"The standards for all aspects of airworthiness certification cannot be lowered. No test that needs to be done can be omitted, and no data that needs to be obtained can be missing. But efficiency must be high, and there can be no delays."

No one raised any objections. This wasn't a political decision; it was a technical one. No matter how good the engine is, if it's not safe, it can't fly.

What flies unsafely in the sky isn't transportation, but time bombs. But safety standards aren't determined by Westerners—

The Chinese people themselves are now qualified to set standards.

The Foreign Ministry's regular press conference was exceptionally crowded that day. The press conference hall was packed with people carrying cameras and microphones.

As the spokesperson walked onto the stage, someone in the audience whispered something, and the press conference room buzzed like a pot of water that had been boiling but hadn't been opened yet.

The first person to ask a question was a Reuters reporter, a blond, blue-eyed young man who spoke good Mandarin, but with a heavy accent.

"Is the technology behind the Tianshan engine involved in the theft of secrets from Western countries?"

The spokesperson's expression remained unchanged. He had anticipated this question and even prepared an answer in advance.

He looked at the reporter and said slowly and deliberately:
"The Tianshan engine was independently developed by Chinese scientists and engineers over several decades. Every piece of data comes from independent research and development, and every blueprint was drawn by the Chinese themselves, stroke by stroke."

"If anyone thinks that Chinese people can only make good things by stealing, then they don't understand us."

He paused for a moment, then added, "He doesn't understand himself well enough either."

The second question came from an AFP reporter.

Does China plan to use the Tianshan engine for military purposes?

The spokesperson's answer was exactly the same as it had been a few days ago:
"The Tianshan engine is a civilian product, mainly used in domestically produced large aircraft. As for other applications, I have no more information to share."

The answer is the same, but the meaning is different. Just a few days ago, when these words were spoken, the engine was still on the test bench;
As I say this now, the engine is ready for installation and testing. The same words, but with a thunderous force flowing between them.

Outside the press conference room, a Chinese reporter squatted in the corridor, holding a laptop, his fingers flying across the keyboard.

He wanted to write down every word, every expression, and analyze every pause.

Because this is not just ordinary news; it is history, history that he can tell his grandchildren when he is old.

That year, when your grandfather saw the spokesperson say those words at a Ministry of Foreign Affairs press conference, every Chinese person present was holding back tears. No one actually cried, but their eyes were red.

Paris, Le Bourget Airport. The biennial Paris Air Show is the most important showcase for the global aviation industry, bar none.

Boeing, Airbus, Bombardier, Embraer—

All the major aviation giants that you can name will come, displaying their latest products in the most prominent positions, vying for attention like peacocks displaying their tails.

However, no Chinese civilian large aircraft engine has ever appeared at this airshow.

Not even once. It's not that they didn't want to come, it's that they weren't good enough, they didn't have the ticket to get on stage.

This time, things were different. At COMAC's booth, a huge display board was placed in the most prominent position, displaying a cross-sectional view and an artist's rendering of the Tianshan engine.

The top left corner of the display board reads: “The heart of China, the wings of China”.

A white engineer with graying hair stood in front of the display board, gazing up at it for a long time. He wore dark blue overalls with the "Rolls-Royce" logo embroidered on his chest.

Rolls-Royce, one of the world's three largest aircraft engine manufacturers, along with General Electric and Pratt & Whitney, is known as the "Big Three" and has dominated the global market for large civilian aircraft engines for decades.

No one can take market share from them because no one can manufacture a product that can rival theirs.

The engineer looked at it for a while, then took out his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the display board.

After taking the first picture, I felt the angle wasn't quite right, so I moved a step to the left and took another one.

His colleague—another Rolls-Royce engineer—came over and asked him in English, “What are you doing?”

He pointed to the data on the display board, his voice not loud, but his tone was complicated, as if he were describing an unpleasant weather change.

"Thrust of 13.5 tons, bypass ratio of 9.0, and fuel consumption rate of 0.28. Our CFM International Leap-1C engine, which is also in the 13-ton class, has a bypass ratio of 9.0 and a fuel consumption rate of 0.29. They are 0.01 points lower than us."

His companion paused for a moment. "0.01, it's nothing."

The gray-haired old engineer turned to look at him. "Nothing much? This is their first-generation high-bypass turbofan engine. What generation is our Leap series? The fourth generation."

"They've already caught up to our fourth generation level in their first generation. What about in ten years? Twenty years?"

The companion did not answer. The two stood there, in front of the display board that read "Heart of China, Wings of China," and neither of them spoke again.

Not far away, an employee of China Aviation Industry Corporation was discussing cooperation with a Middle Eastern client.

The client was the purchasing director of Emirates Airlines, dressed in a white robe and wearing a black headband, speaking in a calm and unhurried manner.

"When will your engines be able to be installed on airplanes and fly?"

The staff member answered honestly: "We expect to complete the airworthiness certification within three to five years."

The customer nodded, then asked, "After obtaining the certificate, can you sell it to us?"
The staff member paused for a moment. "Are you sure you want to buy it? We haven't obtained the necessary permits yet."

"determine."

The customer showed no hesitation and spoke as calmly as if he were buying a box of dates.

"Chinese products, from high-speed rail to drones, from smartphones to space stations. I didn't believe them before, but now I do."

Kremlin. A detailed report on the Tianshan engine was placed on an old man's desk.

The report was in Russian and the translation wasn't very good; some technical terms were translated inaccurately, but the data was all correct.

The old man looked at the report for a long time, then pushed it to the Minister of Defense sitting opposite him.

"The Chinese have made it."

The defense minister remained silent. "We helped them with it back then, but we stopped later. We can't do it ourselves, and we won't let others do it either."

The old man stood up, walked to the window, looked at the Moscow River, and remained silent for a long time.

"Now, they've figured it out themselves. That's a good thing."

The defense minister asked uncertainly, "Good news?"

The old man turned to face him. "It's a good thing. One more friend, one less enemy. A friend of a friend isn't necessarily a friend, but the enemy of an enemy is always a friend."

He didn't say the second half of his sentence aloud. But both of them knew perfectly well—

Who are the enemies of the Chinese people? Who is strangling the Chinese people? Who is sending aircraft carriers to the Pacific, stirring up trouble in the South China Sea, and creating chaos in Hong Kong? The answer is obvious; it doesn't need to be said. The sunlight outside the window shines golden on the Moscow River.

Washington, Capitol Hill. The hearings lasted all day. The topic wasn't the Tianshan engine, but "the threat to U.S. national security posed by China's technological rise."

But everyone who spoke mentioned the Tianshan engine.

Democratic lawmakers said this is yet another example of China's technological catch-up, and that more investment in basic research is needed; we can't just criticize others for running fast, we have to run even faster ourselves.

Republican lawmakers said this was a result of China stealing American technology and called for tariffs, sanctions, and an investigation into all American companies that have technological cooperation with China.

The two parties' members argued heatedly, each believing they were right—the argument continued until the lunch break, with neither side able to convince the other.

Susie Walton sat in her office, the hearing playing live on television, her phone constantly vibrating.

Democratic leaders called to ask for her opinion on the issue, Republican opponents sent sarcastic text messages, and reporters from several major media outlets left a long list of questions in her voicemail.

She didn't answer the phone or reply to the text message. She was flipping through the technical documents for the Tianshan engine, an incomplete document collected from public sources.

But she read it very carefully, line by line, as if she were preparing for an exam.

Her expression finally changed when Ye Feng called.

"Susie, I watched the hearing."

"You saw it?" Susie leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "How did I do?"

"Very good. But you've said something wrong."

Susie paused for a moment. "Which sentence?"

“You said, ‘China is not our enemy.’ That statement is not well received on Capitol Hill today.”

Susie paused for a moment. "But it's the truth. China is not our enemy. Our enemy is ourselves. It's our arrogance, our shortsightedness, and our internal strife."

She paused for a moment, then said, "Ye Feng, do you know? When I said those words at the hearing today, I was thinking of you."

"What are you thinking about me?"

"Thinking about you. Your father is Chinese, your mother is Chinese, you've lived in America for decades, you're an American citizen, but you've never considered yourself American. You're not Chinese either. Who are you?"

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Ye Feng's voice was very low.

“I’m someone standing in the middle. I can see both sides, but I can’t go back to either side.” Susie didn’t speak.

After a long while, Ye Feng finally spoke. "Susie, you don't need to worry too much about the hearing. Once those people have finished arguing, they'll go back to what they were doing. They won't do anything to you because of what you said. But the Tianshan engine issue won't just end like this. This is just the beginning."

Susie knew, of course, that this was just the beginning. The successful development of the engine was only the first step in a long journey.

The subsequent installation testing, airworthiness certification, mass production, and market promotion are all hurdles that must be overcome.

And at every step, someone will block your way—not just one person, but many. They represent the old forces who make money while lying down, hold others hostage while lying down, and don't want anyone to break this status quo.

They won't give up easily. They will use all their strength to block every intersection—

They could use politics, economics, law, media—every means at their disposal. Countless countermeasures flashed through her mind, but each plan was like a jigsaw puzzle; without the most important piece, it wouldn't take shape. She needed time; she needed to take it slowly.

“Susie,” Ye Feng’s voice came from the other end of the receiver, distant yet steady, like a great river flowing quietly in an unseen place.

"You don't need to worry too much about the Tianshan engine. That's China's business, not America's. As a member of Congress, don't get bogged down in the details. Your own position is more important than anything else."

"If you are here, we are here. If you are not here, we are not here."

Susie gripped her phone tightly, her knuckles turning white, her eyes dry. "Are you worried about me?"

“I’m worried about you. You’re not fighting alone. You have someone behind you. That person won’t let you fall.”

Susie closed her eyes, and his face appeared in her mind—more than twenty years ago, on the Harvard campus, when they first met. That day he wore a dark blue suit, a white shirt, no tie, and the top button was undone.

He stood at the entrance of Kennedy School, sunlight shining on his face, his smile faint, his gaze deep.

The moment she saw him, she knew he was different—

It wasn't because she was beautiful, nor because of his money, but because there was a light in her eyes, a light she had never seen in anyone else's eyes before—clean, bright, and purposeful.

“Ye Feng,” Susie opened her eyes, “when did you learn to say things like that?”

"From the moment I met you." Ye Feng's voice was very soft on the other end of the phone:
“Susie, the Tianshan engine issue won’t just end like this. You have your battlefield, and I have mine. Your battlefield is Congress, and mine is Wall Street. We’ll each fight our own battles. When we’re done, we’ll go home.”

Susie paused, taken aback. "Home? Where is home?"

"New York."

Ye Feng said, "Your home in New York."

Susie was silent for a long time. Then she smiled, a small but genuine smile. "Okay. After the war, let's go home."

The call ended. Susie sat in her chair, looking out the window at Capitol Hill. The setting sun cast its golden rays on the dome, making it resemble a giant crown.

This is where she fought for more than a decade. She knows every corridor, every meeting room, and every chair like the back of her hand.

She has won here, and she has lost here; she has been praised here, and she has been trampled on here.

But she never regretted it. Because she knew that every day she was here was a fight for the person standing in the middle.

Her comrades-in-arms were not colleagues, nor allies—

He was the man whose home was in Manhattan, New York, but whose heart was in the military reclamation town in the Gobi Desert; the man she had loved for over twenty years and would continue to love. Late that night in a government office building in Beijing.

A detailed report on the Tianshan engine was urgently sent to the relevant decision-makers.

The report's cover had four characters printed on it—

"Top Secret - For Reference". The first page contains a cross-sectional diagram of the Tianshan engine, with densely packed technical parameters marked on it.

The second page contains comparative data on similar international products, presented in a clear and concise comparison table.

The third page begins with a passage that is not easy to read.

The report states that the success of the Tianshan engine is not only a major breakthrough for China's aviation industry, but also a significant change in the global aviation power landscape.

For a long time, the market for high-bypass turbofan engines has been monopolized by three companies: GE, Rolls-Royce, and Pratt & Whitney.

The entry of Chinese companies will disrupt this pattern. In the short term, Western competitors may resort to tactics such as dumping at low prices, patent lawsuits, and political pressure to hinder the Tianshan engine from entering the international market.

In the long run, with the maturation of technology and the improvement of brand recognition, Tianshan engines are expected to occupy a place in the global civil aviation engine market.

For China Aviation Industry Corporation, this means a leap from "buying a shell" to "creating the core".

The person who read the report wrote one word on the last page. It wasn't "read," "approved," or "handled."

The character was written very slowly, with heavy strokes, and the ink almost soaked through the paper—"Dry".

Military reclamation city, research institute. Dawn breaks.

The lights at the entrance of the research institute went out. The old gatekeeper came out of the guardhouse, yawned, stretched, and stretched his arms vigorously, his old bones cracking a few times.

On the distant horizon, the sun slowly climbed up from behind the Tianshan Mountains, turning the Gobi Desert into a golden expanse.

Engineers arrived one after another in the research institute's courtyard. Some rode bicycles, some rode electric bikes, and some drove that old, worn-out car with almost all the paint peeling off.

They swipe their access cards, enter the building, change into their work clothes, and begin their work.

No one stood in the courtyard talking about how amazing the Tianshan engine was, no one held up their phone to film videos and post them on WeChat Moments, and no one posted on Weibo saying, "I participated in the development of the Tianshan engine, and I am proud."

They simply walked into the red brick building, returned to their workstations, picked up the blueprints, opened their notebooks, turned on their computers, and started the software.

A new day has begun, and new work awaits them. Preparations for the installation and testing have just begun.

Ye Hai walked into the materials laboratory, where Ayiguli was already inside.

She was standing in front of an electron microscope, observing the microstructure of an alloy. Hearing the door open, she didn't turn around.

"The naan is on the table, eat it while it's hot."

Ye Hai walked to the table, picked up the paper bag, which contained a freshly baked naan, still hot, the crispy crust having soaked the paper bag with oil stains.

"You bought it?"

I bought it on my way to my morning run.

Ye Hai took a bite of the naan and hissed as it burned. He chewed for a while, then laughed.

Aygul looked up from the microscope and glanced at him. "What are you laughing at?"

"Naan is delicious."

Aygul looked at him, a slight smile playing on her lips, shook her head, and continued looking down at the microscope.

Outside the window, sunlight shone on the red brick wall of the research institute, making it feel warm and cozy.

The celebratory banner that was hanging on the wall yesterday—"Warmly celebrate the successful test run of the Tianshan engine"—has been taken down.

It's not that we're not celebrating anymore, it's that it's unnecessary. Success is best kept in our hearts. Displaying it makes it feel lighter.

Yang Chenglong walked over, dragging his suitcase, on the main road outside the research institute.

He had just flown back from London, taking a flight of more than ten hours, making two transfers, and then taking a three-hour bus ride to the provincial capital before finally arriving at the military reclamation city.

The security guard at the entrance of the research institute stopped him. "Who are you looking for?" Yang Chenglong put down his suitcase and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"I'm looking for Ye Hai."

"Ye Hai? Who are you to him?"

"Brother." The security guard glanced at him, picked up the phone, and dialed a number.

"Xiao Ye, someone's looking for you at the door. He says he's your brother."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. "What's your last name?"

"His surname is Yang."

The security guard hung up the phone and opened the door. "Go in. He's in the materials lab."

Yang Chenglong dragged his suitcase into the courtyard of the research institute. He looked around like a country bumpkin visiting the city for the first time, curious and intrigued by everything.

This building, this equipment, these people—it was these people who built the Tianshan Engine, and they were Ye Guigen's third grandfather, third wife, and third grandfather's illegitimate son—

These random thoughts raced through his mind, and he couldn't help but want to laugh.

The door to the materials lab was open. Yang Chenglong stood in the doorway and saw Ye Hai squatting in front of the electron microscope, discussing something with Ayiguli. He cleared his throat.

"Ye Hai".

Ye Hai raised his head, stood up, and turned around.

Two young men stood facing each other. One had just returned from London and was still carrying his suitcase. The other had been squatting in the Gobi Desert for more than ten years, and his work clothes were covered in dust.

They had met before and knew each other.

Ye Hai extended his hand. "Yang Chenglong?"

Yang Chenglong grasped his hand. "Ye Hai?"

"I'm."

"I'm."

The two held hands, looked each other over, and then smiled at the same time.

The laughter resonated in unison, like two engines of the same model roaring at the same speed—they clicked without any calibration.

Because they share the same river, originating from the same cloud and the same rain. That river is called Tianshan, and that cloud is above the military reclamation city.

Aygul stood to the side, watching the two young people laughing together. Her lips curved into a smile, her eyes crinkled, and she smiled too.

"You two look quite alike."

Yang Chenglong touched his face, then looked at Ye Hai. "How does it resemble him?"

"Eyes. Your eyes, there's something inside them."

Yang Chenglong looked into Ye Hai's eyes. Those eyes were like deep valleys, their depths holding the entire starry sky.

He recalled the Milky Way he saw as a child, standing on the ridge of the mountain behind the military reclamation town, looking up at it—also
It was that light, cold yet bright, shining undiminishedly in the young man's pupils. He reached out and grasped Ye Hai's hand.

"Tianshan Engine, thank you for your hard work."

Ye Hai grasped his hand, without any formalities or refusal, and readily accepted those three words.

Behind these three words lies more than a decade of time, thousands of days and nights of perseverance, and countless failures and comebacks.

It was countless sleepless nights, countless design proposals that were overturned and rewritten.

It is the culmination of his hard work, intellect, youth, health, and the best part of his life, painstakingly crafted and refined over 7,300 days and nights by himself, his mother, his father, and everyone in this laboratory.

"It's not hard work." His voice wasn't loud, but it was steady. "It's what I should do."

Yang Chenglong's eyes reddened slightly. "It's what I should do."

He had heard these words countless times from Yang Geyong, and countless times from Yang Wei. All the men in the Ye family used these three words.

No taking credit, no complaining, no shirking responsibility. What needs to be done, is done.

Yang Chenglong squatted down, opened his suitcase, took out a paper bag, and handed it to Ye Hai.

“Brought back from London. For you and Aygul.”

Ye Hai took it and opened it. Inside was a scarf—

The "Pegasus" scarf is gray, very plain, finely woven, and feels smooth and soft to the touch.

Next to it was a tin box containing Earl Grey tea, with the words "Fortnum & Mason" printed on it.

The oldest tea shop in London, a 300-year-old establishment, where even Queen Victoria bought tea.

Ye Hai picked up the scarf and examined it for a long time. "Is this the scarf you made?"

Yang Chenglong scratched his head somewhat embarrassedly. "Um. 'Pegasus.' I made it with my fiancée."

Aygul took the scarf from Ye Hai and wrapped it around her neck. The gray scarf contrasted beautifully with her wheat-colored skin, making her look like a painting.

"Is it pretty?" she asked Ye Hai.

Ye Hai looked at Ayiguli, her scarf around her neck, her face above the scarf, her big eyes reflecting the light from the window.

“It looks good,” he said.

Yang Chenglong stood by, watching this scene, a feeling he couldn't quite describe welling up inside him. He thought of Lin Wanwan, and how she was buried in her work amidst the walls covered in sticky notes in her rented apartment in Hangzhou.

He took out his phone and sent her a message:
"Wanwan, I've arrived in Junken City. I met Ye Hai. He's younger than I expected. His girlfriend is very pretty; she wore your scarf and said it looked good."

The reply came quickly: "The scarf is beautiful, of course. I made it." And then another one:
"When are you coming back?" "In a few days. I'll go back after I see the apricot blossoms."

"Are the apricot blossoms in bloom yet?"

"It's blooming. A few flowers have opened. Not all of them are in full bloom yet."

"Then come back when it's fully open. Don't rush off."

Can you handle this alone?

"We can handle it. It's not like we haven't handled it before."

Yang Chenglong felt a pang of sadness as he looked at the words. He typed, "Wait for me to get back. Soon."

This time, there was no reply. But Yang Chenglong knew she was busy.

The wind outside the research institute had stopped, and the sun was shining brightly. On the Gobi Desert, the camel thorn bushes had already sprouted tiny green shoots.

The most tenacious things often grow from the most desolate places.

Camel thorn is like that, the Tianshan engine is like that. And so are those people—those who have stood, sat, and endured their entire lives on the Gobi Desert.

Junken City, the Ye family's old house. The apricot tree is still there, standing silently.

When the wind comes, it sways twice; when the wind goes, it falls silent, like the silent men in this family—bearing on their shoulders, supporting with their backs, telling you with decades buried in blueprints and engines:

The sky won't fall down because someone is holding it up.

Ye Hai carefully placed the box of Earl Grey tea into the drawer, along with the blueprints.

Workers collect ore from above the snow line in the Tianshan Mountains, melt it into alloys, and cast it into leaves; scientists pick tender buds from the tea mountains of London, roast them into tea leaves, and pack them into tin boxes.

These two completely unrelated things, one used to fly into the sky and the other used to be soaked in water to drink, are now sitting side by side in the same drawer, neither of them more noble than the other—that's how wonderful the world is.

He turned on his computer, pulled up the installation and testing plan, and read it through from beginning to end again.

The screen was densely covered with data, and those fluctuating numbers ignited a small but unusually steady light deep in his eyes.

He is like an engine that he has personally tuned, running smoothly with minimal fuel consumption and noise at the highest efficiency.

Spring has truly arrived on the Gobi Desert at the foot of the Tianshan Mountains.

The wind was still cold, but it wasn't stinging anymore. The sun was warm and pleasant, making you want to take off your coat and squint. The camel thorns were sprouting tiny green dots, the poplar branches were budding, and the apricot blossoms were slowly and steadily opening, each one bigger and whiter than the last.

When they all bloom, the whole yard is filled with pink and white clouds.

Back then, the Ye family would walk around under the tree, look up at the flowers, and say things like, "They're blooming!" or "We've been waiting for this moment!"

Waiting until the apricot blossoms fall, the unripe fruit forms, and then in summer the apricots turn yellow, sweet and sour, and with one bite, the juice drips down your chin—

That's the taste of something planted decades ago, passed down from generation to generation, from the great-grandfather's teeth to the great-grandson's tongue. It remains unchanged, still on that tree, waiting for every child from the military reclamation city to come home and pick it.

(To be continued)(End of this chapter)