Rejecting Tsinghua and Peking Universities: I Will Lead Harbin Institute of Technology to World Lead

Lin Feng stood in the center of the laboratory, in front of him was a holographic projection of the three-dimensional model of the Nuwa Reactor—a compact spherical structure, complex magnetic field coils, and shimmering plasma outlines.

More than thirty experts stood around, from various fields such as nuclear physics, plasma physics, materials science, and superconductivity. Many of them did not know each other, but at this moment their eyes were all focused on the same point.

"Everyone," Lin Feng's voice echoed through the laboratory via the microphone, "From today onwards, we have only one goal—to create this artificial sun."

There was no grand, impassioned mobilization, only a calm statement.

But enough.

The days that followed were crazy.

The lab operates on a three-shift system, 24 hours a day. But Lin Feng doesn't have shifts—he works more than 20 hours a day, and when he's tired, he just takes a nap on the sofa in the break room and continues when he wakes up.

Problems keep emerging.

In the second week, the critical current density of the magnetic field coil failed to meet the design requirements, and the superconducting material lost its quench under strong magnetic fields. The materials team experts worked three sleepless nights and tried seventeen different formulations, but still could not find a solution.

"President Lin," the head of the materials team said, his eyes bloodshot, "this is the limit of our current materials, we..."

"Let's change our approach," Lin Feng interrupted him. "Instead of using traditional yttrium barium copper oxide, let's try magnesium diboride. I've verified in system simulations that it can increase the critical current density under high fields by 40%."

"The preparation process of magnesium diboride..."

"I've finished writing it." Lin Feng handed over a document. "High-temperature and high-pressure synthesis method. The specific parameters are inside."

The materials team began experimenting with some skepticism. Five days later, the first batch of samples was ready, and the test results left everyone speechless—the performance was even better than Lin Feng had predicted.

In the third month, the plasma heating malfunctioned.

Traditional neutral beam injection is too inefficient, resulting in significant energy loss. Experts in the heating group debated the issue, with some arguing for increased power and others advocating for a change in the injection angle.

After listening to all the arguments, Lin Feng walked to the console and brought up a new set of parameters.

"Try this," he said. "It combines electron cyclotron resonant heating with low-hybridity current drive to concentrate energy in a specific resonant layer. Simulations show that heating efficiency can be improved by 60%."

"But the positioning accuracy requirements for the resonant layer are..."

"We already have it." The head of the plasma diagnostics team raised his hand. "The Thomson scattering system designed by General Manager Lin has a spatial resolution of millimeters."

After the heating scheme was adjusted, the plasma temperature increased from 5000 million degrees to 8000 million degrees within three days.

In the sixth month, the tritium proliferation blanket design got stuck.

Tritium is a key fuel for nuclear fusion, but its natural reserves are extremely limited, so it must be propagated by the reactor itself. Traditional designs use solid breeder spheres, but this is inefficient and the extraction process is complex.

"Use liquid lithium lead," Lin Feng proposed at the meeting. "It serves as both a growth agent and a coolant. In a flowing state, the extraction efficiency of tritium can be increased threefold."

"The corrosion problem of liquid metals..."

"Coating." Lin Feng pulled up a material formula. "Silicon carbide nanocomposite coating, its corrosion resistance is ten times that of traditional materials, and it has passed 3000 hours of testing in a simulated environment."

No matter how difficult the problem, Lin Feng could always provide a solution.

Sometimes it's a new set of parameters, sometimes a new material, and sometimes even a completely new theoretical framework. He's like a walking encyclopedia; no matter which page you turn to, it's the correct answer.

Gradually, the experts in the team developed a habit—when they encountered a problem they couldn't solve, their first reaction wasn't to hold a meeting to discuss it, but to go to General Manager Lin.

Lin Feng never refused.

No matter how late or how tired he is, he will always open the door if someone knocks. Then he will stand in front of the whiteboard and explain the formulas while deriving them, until the other person fully understands.

"President Lin," a young researcher couldn't help but ask once, "how do you manage to... know everything?"

Lin Feng was writing a set of magnetic field equations when he heard this. He stopped writing, thought for a moment, and said, "It's not that I understand, it's that I've seen a lot and thought a lot."

What he didn't say was that he had repeatedly simulated these problems tens of thousands of times in the system simulation space. Every failure, every adjustment, became experience etched into his mind.

Time flies.

The willows in the capital city turned green and then yellow again.

The world outside the lab window is changing, but the rhythm inside the lab remains the same—data, experimentation, debugging, and more experimentation.

Before we knew it, a year had passed.

Late that night, the laboratory was unusually quiet.

Everyone—including those on their shift break—spontaneously stayed behind. They stood behind the safety glass, their eyes fixed on the silver-white device in the center.

Nuwa No. 1

The spherical reactor, six meters in diameter, is covered with coils and pipes, resembling a meticulously crafted work of art.

Lin Feng stood in front of the main control panel, his finger hovering above the start button.

"Final self-check." His voice was unusually calm.

"The magnetic field system is normal."

"The vacuum system is functioning normally."

"Heating system is working properly."

"The diagnostic system is functioning normally."

……

The series of routine reports have been completed.

In the laboratory, only the sound of breathing remained.

Lin Feng pressed the button.

A deep humming sound rang out as the magnetic field coil began to be energized. On the screen, the magnetic field strength curve rose steadily—1 Tesla, 2 Tesla, 3 Tesla… eventually stabilizing at 8 Tesla, 0.5 higher than the design value.

"Plasma injection".

A deuterium-tritium mixture is injected into the vacuum chamber. Then, electron cyclotron resonance heating is initiated, and low-hybrid current drives synchronous activation.

The temperature curve on the screen began to spike.

1000 million degrees, 3000 million degrees, 5000 million degrees...

When the temperature exceeded 1 million degrees, the surveillance camera captured the light—not a blinding white light, but a soft, blue glow shining through the observation window.

That was the light of plasma.

"Constraint start timing."

Everyone's eyes were fixed on the numbers in the upper right corner of the screen:

1 seconds, 10 seconds, 30 seconds...

In the last experiment, the constraint time was only 30 seconds. That was already a world record.

But this time, the numbers are still jumping:

50 seconds, 80 seconds, 100 seconds...

Breakthrough!

Someone began to sob softly.

150 seconds, 200 seconds, 300 seconds...

The numbers rose steadily, without fluctuations or breakdowns. The plasma, like a docile wild beast, swirled quietly within the cage of the magnetic field.

500 seconds.

800 seconds.

1000 seconds.

When the countdown reached 1200 seconds, the laboratory was completely silent. Everyone held their breath, their eyes wide, as if afraid that the miracle would vanish in the blink of an eye.

1500 seconds.

1800 seconds.

2000 seconds!

"Energy gain factor Q value: 35.7!"

Output power: 512 megawatts!

"All parameters are stable!"

When these three data points appeared simultaneously on the big screen, time seemed to stand still.

Two seconds later.

A tsunami of cheers erupted.

"We did it!!"

"We did it! We did it!"

Some people hugged each other and wept, some pounded on the walls, and some knelt on the ground, kowtowing to the reactor. Those experts who were usually stern and unsmiling were now crying and laughing like children.

Lin Feng stood still, without moving.

He looked at the blue light, at the steady curve on the screen, and at his colleagues celebrating wildly around him.

one Year.

Three hundred and sixty-five days, eight thousand seven hundred and sixty hours.

He finally managed to put the sun into this six-meter-tall sphere.

He took out his secure phone and dialed Mr. Chen's number.

"Old Chen," his voice was soft but clear, "Nuwa, you've succeeded."

There was a full ten seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

Then, Old Chen's trembling voice came through: "I'll be there right away."

Half an hour later, Mr. Chen rushed into the laboratory.

The seasoned scientist, accustomed to grand occasions, staggered, his eyes fixed on the still-operating device in the center. The blue light shone on his face, revealing two clear tear tracks.

"Okay...okay...okay..."

He said "good" three times, his voice choked with emotion, and he could say no more.

After a long while, he turned around and hugged Lin Feng tightly. It was a hug with all his might, as if he wanted to convey all the pressure and expectations of the past year through this embrace.

"Lin Feng," he whispered in Lin Feng's ear, "you have rewritten history."

The celebration lasted all night.

But when the morning sun shone through the window into the laboratory, the smile on Old Chen's face had vanished.

He called Lin Feng to his office, closed the door, and drew the curtains.

"Lin Feng," Old Chen's expression was unusually serious, "there's something I need to tell you."

Lin Feng's heart tightened: "What happened?"

Mr. Chen didn't speak, but instead turned on his computer and pulled up an encrypted video.

The image is a satellite view of the sea. On the azure ocean, a massive formation of more than a dozen aircraft carriers stands, their decks teeming with fighter jets. At the center of the fleet is an exceptionally large nuclear-powered aircraft carrier—the second ship of the Ford-class, the newest vessel launched by the Free State.

"Three days ago," Old Chen's voice was icy, "a seven-nation coalition led by the Free Nation conducted its largest joint exercise in the South China Sea. They deployed thirteen aircraft carriers, two hundred ships of various types, and five hundred fighter jets."

Lin Feng's pupils suddenly contracted.

"We dispatched the Kunpeng," Mr. Chen continued, "but the other side had thirteen ships. Although the Kunpeng had superior performance, the numerical disparity was too great. The standoff lasted for eight hours, and finally... they approached within twelve nautical miles."

Twelve nautical miles.

That's the territorial sea baseline.

"And this one too." Old Chen pulled up another video.

The image was blurry, like a blurry image captured by a high-speed camera. But it was clear that it was a uniquely shaped fighter jet—without a vertical tail, with a flat fuselage, resembling a giant dart.

It weaved through the clouds at an incredible speed. Below, two J-20 fighters were in hot pursuit, but the distance between them kept widening.

Suddenly, the fighter jet made an unbelievable maneuver—it climbed vertically, hovered for a moment at an altitude of 10,000 meters, then turned its nose and performed a provocative roll maneuver towards the pursuing J-20.

The J-20's radar warning lights were beeping wildly—it was locked on.

Then, the fighter jet accelerated and disappeared into the horizon. Its speed was so great that it left a long contrail on the screen.

"Yesterday afternoon," Old Chen's voice was choked with suppressed anger, "it intruded into the East China Sea Air Defense Identification Zone. Our fighter jets were scrambled to intercept it, but we couldn't catch up at all. It circled in our airspace for twenty minutes, outmaneuvering all the intercepting aircraft, and then sped away."

He turned around and looked at Lin Feng:

"According to intelligence analysis, that fighter jet had a speed exceeding Mach 6, a service ceiling exceeding 30000 meters, and stealth capabilities... Our radar could barely detect it from 50 kilometers away."

Lin Feng's heart sank heavily.

Mach 6. 40000 meters. Completely stealthy.

These data are already close to the design specifications for the Vermilion Bird.

"The Free Country," Old Chen said, emphasizing each word, "their sixth-generation fighter jet may... have already made its maiden flight."

The office was deathly silent.