Courtyard House: A Major Power's Heavy Industry, Hand-Crafted Nuclear Fusion

The winter of 1962 seemed colder than in previous years.

The north wind, carrying withered leaves and coal ash, raged across the empty main road of the Hongxing Steel Rolling Mill.

The gray sky hung low, as if it might collapse at any moment and completely devour this steel behemoth that carried the hopes of the new China's industry.

But this coldness doesn't just come from the weather.

It also stems from that weighty international situation report. The iron curtain of Western technological blockade is tightening ever more, and the mess left behind when the "Big Brother" withdrew its experts has yet to be cleaned up. Blueprints were burned, key equipment was dismantled, and even a precision screw has become a rare commodity.

In this suffocating atmosphere, a heated argument, enough to blow the roof off, was erupting in the No. 1 conference room of the Red Star Steel Rolling Mill.

"Snapped!"

A large, calloused hand slammed down on the conference table, causing the water in the teacup to spill.

"Nonsense! Absolutely nonsense!"

The one who slammed the table was Old Zhao, the workshop director.

The old blacksmith, who had worked for thirty years and crawled out of piles of corpses, was now red-faced and his neck was thick. His fingers, deformed from holding pliers for a long time, were almost poking Su Zheng's nose.

"Advisor Su, I, Old Zhao, am a rough man and don't understand your intricacies. I'll just ask you one question—where are you going to send our three hundred brothers from Workshop One to starve?"

Old Zhao's voice boomed like thunder, "You're talking about building 'unmanned factories' and 'fully automated' facilities. What are those? They're just machines doing all the work of people! If there are no people, is this still a factory?"

The conference room was filled with smoke, and dozens of people were crammed into the small space. Every face was filled with solemnity, doubt, and even anger.

Sitting opposite him, Su Zheng's expression was as calm as a deep pool of water.

He was wearing a faded blue overall, casually twirling a red and blue pencil in his hand. In front of him lay a huge blueprint, densely covered with lines and symbols—"Automation Transformation Plan for the First Finishing Mill Workshop of Hongxing Steel Rolling Mill".

"Old Zhao, don't get agitated."

Su Zheng's voice wasn't loud, but it had a strange penetrating power in the noisy conference room. "First of all, let me correct something. It's not about kicking them out, it's about liberating them."

"Liberation? That sounds nice!"

Beside them, Zhang Defa, the former head of the technical department, interjected sarcastically. Ever since Su Zheng arrived, he had been marginalized and relegated to a subordinate position, and had been harboring resentment for a long time.

"Advisor Su, we're all tech people, we need to speak scientifically." Zhang Defa pushed up his thick-rimmed glasses, his eyes full of mockery. "I also studied in the Soviet Union for a few years and saw a bit of the world. Even the most advanced Magnitogorsk Steel Plant of the Soviet Union didn't dare to say it was 'fully automated.' They only used hydraulic assistance in key processes."

"And you, you immediately talk about setting up a 'lights-out factory,' not even leaving anyone to turn on the switches. Do you think you're more capable than the Soviet experts? Or do you think we have too much scrap metal in our factory for you to mess with?"

Zhang Defa's words were met with a chorus of agreement.

"Yeah, that's too risky."

"We can't even make a decent relay, how can we talk about automation?"

"This is a classic case of 'exaggerating'! These young people are incredibly arrogant and ignorant!"

The finance manager shrugged, looking distressed. "Consultant Su, it's not that I don't support you. I've taken a look at your proposal, and the budget alone is 500,000! 500,000! Our factory is doing well, but we're not that wealthy. If we throw this money in and see no return, how am I supposed to keep my job as finance manager?"

The head of the purchasing department shook his head vigorously: "No way, absolutely no way. These items on your list—high-precision hydraulic servo valves, photoelectric sensors, logic relay groups… don't even mention that there are no domestic manufacturers producing them; even if there were, we can't buy them now! With the Western blockade and the Soviet withdrawal of investment, we can't even get a single imported tungsten filament. Where are you expecting me to get all this high-tech stuff for you?"

Doubts, ridicule, and opposition surged toward Su Zheng like a tidal wave.

This is perfectly normal in this day and age.

People are used to "human wave tactics," to "going all out and moving fast," and to using sweat and blood to make up for technological gaps. They have an instinctive fear and aversion to this kind of precise, systematic, and futuristic automated engineering.

Director Yang sat in the main seat, his brows furrowed, puffing on his cigarette one cigarette after another.

He looked at Su Zheng with a complicated expression.

He wanted to support Su Zheng. Ever since Su Zheng repaired the Soviet machine tool and developed "Black Tortoise" steel, he had unwavering faith in the young man's talent. But this time... this time he really went too far.

"Su Zheng," Factory Director Yang stubbed out his cigarette and spoke slowly, "Everyone's concerns are not without merit. Our current resources are limited; we can't afford to make any major mistakes. How about... we start with a semi-automatic system? And leave some people to oversee it?"

"no."

Su Zheng suddenly stood up.

His movements were very light, but the aura he exuded in that instant silenced the noisy conference room.

He walked to the blackboard, picked up the chalk, and wrote down a set of data.

120 tons vs 4 tons.

"4 tons is the current maximum output of a single shift in Workshop 1."

Su Zheng pointed to the number, his gaze sweeping over everyone present. "This was achieved while everyone was chanting slogans, risking their lives, and even disregarding safety hazards."

"Old Zhao, you just asked me why we want to build an unmanned factory."

Su Zheng turned to look at Lao Zhao, "Then let me ask you, how many workplace accidents did your workshop have last year?"

Old Zhao paused for a moment, his eyes darting around, "That...that was an accident..."

"Seventeen cases."

Su Zheng coldly reported the numbers: "There were three serious injuries and countless burns. There was also a young man who got distracted because he was too tired, and his leg got caught in the rolling mill, leaving him disabled."

"This is the price you pay for what you call 'human wave tactics'!"

"Humans aren't machines; they get tired, they lose focus, and their emotions fluctuate. Trying to clamp tens of tons of red-hot steel with pliers next to temperatures of 1200 degrees Celsius is gambling with your life!"

Old Zhao opened his mouth, wanting to refute, but found that his throat felt like it was blocked by a stone, and he couldn't say a word.

"And 120 tons."

Su Zheng tapped the blackboard heavily with his fingers. "This is the output per shift after my system went live."

"Thirty times."

"And it's thirty times the yield rate of 99.8%!"

"I know what everyone is afraid of. They are afraid of failure, afraid of wasting money, and afraid of taking responsibility."

Su Zheng's voice became deep and powerful, "But I'm telling you, if we don't do this, in ten or twenty years, we'll still only be able to manufacture crude steel, and we'll still be held back by foreigners. Our tanks won't have good steel plates, and our airplanes won't have good keels! Internationally, we'll forever remain a 'large but not strong' giant with feet of clay!"

"Who can bear this responsibility?!"

A wake-up call.

The entire venue was deathly silent.

Even Zhang Defa shut his mouth, not daring to look Su Zheng in the eye.

Su Zheng took a deep breath, took out the red badge representing his identity as a "Special Technical Advisor" from his pocket, and gently placed it on the table.

"Factory manager."

He looked at Director Yang with intense gaze.

Give me three months.

"I don't want the 500,000 budget. I just want the right to use the waste storage facility and the hundred-odd people in the technical department."

"No equipment? I'll have people make them by hand! No parts? I'll grind them from scrap metal! No chips? I'll build them from relays!"

"If this production line can't get running in three months, or if the output doesn't reach the number I mentioned..."

Su Zheng pointed to the badge, then to the gate.

"I, Su Zheng, am packing my bags and getting out! I'll never touch industry again in my life!"

A pledge of military authority.

This is gambling with one's future and destiny.

Factory Director Yang looked at the badge, then at Su Zheng's young yet resolute face, as firm as a rock. His heart pounded.

how many years?

How long has it been since he felt this kind of exhilarating feeling after the war ended?

"good!"

Factory Director Yang suddenly stood up and slammed his hand on the table, making his palm ache.

"Dry!"

"Su Zheng, you can have whatever you want—people, power, everything! You can rummage through the scrap yard, you can transfer personnel from the technical department! Anyone who dares to cause trouble, I'll deal with them!"

"If anything happens, I'll go with you to clean the toilets!"

……