Courtyard House: From Deputy Division Commander to Civilian, Progressing All the Way

Three days later, at the Jinshuitan site in Qinghai, the 211 top-secret nuclear weapons base.

The fierce wind, carrying sand and gravel, stung people's faces like knives. When the special train pulled into the internal platform outside the base, the entire base erupted in cheers.

A large number of researchers and security officers, dressed in faded, patched military overcoats, spontaneously gathered by the platform. When they saw the internal security troops unloading boxes of canned meat and bags of grain from the trains, many of them covered their faces and wept on the spot.

This is not just food; it is the lifeline that the country squeezed out for them during its most difficult times, by tightening its belt. It is the very essence of the entire nation.

Lin Yang didn't have time for pleasantries. He got into the jeep and sped off to the conference room in the air-raid shelter, which was located more than ten meters underground.

Pushing open the heavy lead door, a wave of heat mixed with the smell of coal smoke and dry tobacco hit you.

In the center of the makeshift conference room, a large iron stove burned cow dung and a few pieces of low-quality coal. Under the dim light, a dozen experts, dressed in thick cotton-padded coats, sat around a long table that had been pieced together.

Sitting at the head of the table was Mr. Qian, who had returned from across the ocean after overcoming numerous obstacles.

His hair was already somewhat gray, but his eyes were still sharp as lightning.

Beside him stood national treasure-level scientists such as Guo Yonghuai, Wang Ganchang, and Deng Jiaxian. The table was piled high with draft paper covered in formulas, and there were even several old abacuses worn smooth from use.

Everyone stopped writing when they saw Lin Yang walk in.

"Deputy Commander Lin, you're finally back. I heard you brought us a 'sacred sword' from Beijing?" Old Qian stood up and asked with a smile.

Lin Yang walked to the table and placed the top-secret document stamped with a bright red seal on it.

"Comrades and experts, the Central Special Committee has been officially established, with Zhou Nanzi personally in charge, mobilizing all available resources nationwide to support us." Lin Yang's gaze swept over every tired but resolute face, his voice deep and powerful. "From today onwards, everyone's rations will be restored to the highest standard. Equipment and materials—whatever you need, we'll provide. The supplies from outside have already been stored, and there will be extra food in the canteen tonight—plenty of braised pork!"

There was a moment of silence in the conference room, followed by a low, suppressed cheer. Several veteran experts had tears in their eyes.

"Good! Excellent!" Wang Ganchang slapped his thigh. "With the man's instructions and the support of the people across the country, what reason do we have not to fight with our lives on the line!"

Lin Yang pressed his hands down, signaling everyone to be quiet. His expression instantly shifted to working mode, like a commander deploying a battle plan on the battlefield.

"Comrades, now that the difficulties are over, it's time to tackle the tough challenges. The Soviets think they have us by the throat, but we must prove them wrong with facts."

Professor Qian, what's the progress of the detonation experiments? Has there been any breakthrough in the computational model for implosion?

Mr. Qian stopped smiling and pulled a thick stack of blueprints from the table.

"After three months of tireless calculations by the computational team, we discovered a minor error in the previous design. The current plan has been revised." Professor Qian pointed to a complex structure on the blueprints. "Once the new lathe arrives and can produce uranium components with the required precision, we can conduct the first scale detonation test for verification."

"The lathe has arrived, and Comrade Shen Zhiyuan is organizing the manpower to unload and install it," Lin Yang said decisively. "I'm giving you one month to complete the machining of the parts. You must hear a sound after one month. There is no room for negotiation on this matter."

"No problem! I'll even sign a pledge!"

Deng Jiaxian stood up, his eyes burning with a fanatical flame. "As long as the machine keeps running, we'll devour it even if we don't sleep!"

The entire air-raid shelter conference room was revitalized with unprecedented vitality.

The crisp sound of abacus beads colliding and the scratching sound of pen tip gliding across paper intertwine to create a powerful symphony of the times.

Lin Yang stood in front of the map, looking at the area marked "Lop Nur" in red on the wall.

He knew that this sea of ​​death, which had been silent for thousands of years, would soon be completely awakened by a deafening roar that would shock the world.

And that day is not far away.

·············

In the Gobi Desert of Northwest China, the wind is always cold and harsh.

The wind here doesn't feel like it's blowing; it feels more like a dull knife scraping at your bones inch by inch.

Since the establishment of the Central Special Committee in the winter of 1961, national resources and materials have been tilted towards the 211 Base, and nearly two years have quietly passed.

In the past two years, Lin Yang has hardly left the Golden Beach in Qinghai. His skin, tempered by the intense ultraviolet rays and wind and sand, has become as rough as rock, but his hawk-like eyes have developed an increasingly bright and sharp light.

In the early spring of 1963, the core theoretical calculation room of the underground air-raid shelter.

The dull clatter of the abacus was like a downpour hitting banana leaves, continuous and incessant, making one's heart beat faster involuntarily.

There is no distinction between day and night here, only those hundreds of incandescent lamps that are always on.

Old Deng was wearing an old cotton-padded jacket with worn-out cuffs, his eyes bloodshot and red from lack of sleep. He held a pencil that was only a small stub in his hand, rapidly calculating on a piece of draft paper covered with dense formulas.

Around him were small mountains made of draft paper.

"No...nothing's right!" Old Deng abruptly stopped writing, his brows furrowed tightly, his voice hoarse as if two pieces of sandpaper were rubbing together. "The pressure distribution curve of the implosion shows a deviation of three per thousand at the critical point. In a live explosion, this three per thousand deviation would prevent the nuclear charge from reaching a supercritical state, causing a dud!"

The dozens of young technicians in the computing room all stopped using their abacuses. Exhaustion and anxiety were etched on their faces.

This is the eighth calculation.

From the incomplete models left by the Soviets, they painstakingly derived hundreds of thousands of data points using the most primitive tools. However, every time they reached the final stage, the crucial pressure value just wouldn't match.

The heavy lead door of the air-raid shelter was pushed open.

Lin Yang walked in carrying two huge insulated buckets. Chen Feng, following behind him, carried a stack of rough porcelain bowls.

"Stop for a moment, everyone come and have something hot." Lin Yang placed the thermos on the long table pieced together from broken wooden planks and unscrewed the lid.

A rich aroma of mutton soup instantly filled the entire computing room.

In an era when resources were still scarce, Lin Yang used his privilege as deputy commander-in-chief to directly report to Zhou Nanzi and request that mutton be specially transferred from the Inner Mongolia Military Region to nourish these national treasure-level scientists who were burning their brains.

"President Lin, I can't eat." A young researcher wearing thick-rimmed glasses shook his head with a wry smile. "The data is stuck. We've been stuck in this dead end for three months. The Soviet experts' model is like an insurmountable mountain."