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

three days later.

Northern Jiangsu, Qinghe Brigade.

Lin Weidong and Lin Jianguo, shirtless, were struggling to dig a patch of alkali-covered wasteland with pickaxes in the biting cold wind. Their hands were covered in blisters, and their toes inside their straw sandals were frozen red.

At the village entrance in the distance, Old Liu was leading several villagers, sighing and looking at this seemingly impenetrable wasteland.

Suddenly, a strange tremor came from the ground beneath my feet.

At first, there was only a very slight tremor, but then the vibrations grew stronger and stronger, as if a group of ancient behemoths were rapidly approaching.

"An earthquake?!" Old Liu was so startled that he dropped his pipe and looked around in terror.

Lin Weidong suddenly stopped picking up the pickaxe.

He had spent three years in an armored division and was all too familiar with the high-frequency vibrations of tracks grinding against the ground.

He suddenly turned his head and stared intently at the muddy county road at the entrance of the village.

Rumble, rumble—!

The engine's furious roar finally shattered the deathly silence of the reed marshes.

To the stunned and dumbfounded gazes of Old Liu and all the villagers, a massive convoy consisting of eight military ten-wheeled trucks and six brand-new "Dongfanghong-75" tracked tractors, like gods descending to earth, directly crushed the mud on the county road and drove into the territory of Qinghe Brigade!

The truck was piled high with white fertilizer bags.

A bright red five-pointed star was painted on the tractor's dark green body, gleaming with unparalleled industrial brilliance in the winter sun. The exhaust pipe spewed thick black smoke, carrying a wild, unstoppable force as it drove directly to the edge of the field.

A middle-aged man wearing a cadre uniform with four pockets jumped out of the first jeep, grabbed a tin megaphone, and shouted:

"Fellow villagers of Qinghe Brigade! By order of the Ministry of Heavy Industry and the State Council, the first batch of agricultural machinery and fertilizer from the state to support the old revolutionary base areas in northern Jiangsu has arrived! This tractor is specially for deep plowing your saline-alkali land! This fertilizer is for improving your soil! It's all free, provided by the state!"

Clang.

A commune member behind Old Liu dropped his hoe on the ground.

Immediately afterwards, the entire Qinghe Brigade erupted in a cacophony of cries and cheers, like a tsunami.

Countless ragged farmers rushed toward the cold steel machines like madmen. Some even knelt in the mud, kissing the tractor tracks, tears and snot streaming down their faces.

That was the hope of survival. It was the first true salvation this land had received in thousands of years.

Lin Weidong stood in the middle of the wasteland.

He did not cheer.

He leaned on his worn-out pickaxe, quietly watching the Dongfanghong tractor parked not far away.

He looked at the dazzling red star on the front of the tractor.

Looking at the familiar steel stamp on the vehicle body, belonging to the machinery factory directly under the Ministry of Heavy Industry.

A gust of cold wind blew by, lifting the stray hairs on his forehead that were damp with sweat.

Lin Weidong raised his hand and wiped his dirty cheek with the back of his hand, which was covered in mud.

A smile of utter arrogance and coldness slowly crept onto the corners of his mouth.

He knew this was his father's retaliation.

This is that man's strongest blow, a strike against this chaotic world, made with the purest steel and fire.

The industrial behemoth has gone to the countryside. Those clowns hiding in the shadows, your death knell has tolled.

In the spring of 1973, the ice and snow on the North Jiangsu Plain finally melted completely.

The saline-alkali land of Qinghe Brigade ushered in the most spectacular spring in thousands of years.

Before the morning mist had even dissipated, a thunderous roar from a diesel engine violently shattered the tranquility of the reed marshes. A strong and invigorating smell of burning diesel filled the air.

Lin Weidong was shirtless, wearing only a military green vest. The early spring chill blew on his muscular physique, causing a fine layer of sweat to appear. He sat steadily in the driver's seat of the "Dongfanghong-75" tracked tractor, his hands gripping the control levers as if rooted to the spot.

This steel behemoth, weighing several tons, was like an obedient toy in the hands of this veteran who had driven the Type 59 main battle tank.

"Jianguo! Plow!" Lin Weidong turned his head and shouted at the back of the car.

Standing on the traction frame, Lin Jianguo suddenly pulled the hydraulic control lever. The row of heavy five-furrow plows hanging at the rear of the tractor, with a teeth-grinding metallic scraping sound, plunged hard into the hard saline soil.

Rumble—!

Lin Weidong floored the accelerator. A thick plume of black exhaust fumes billowed from the exhaust pipe, and the wide metal tracks scratched and groaned wildly in the mud.

The white, alkaline crust, frozen solid all winter and as hard as stone, was ruthlessly torn apart and turned over by the sharp plowshare. The black subsoil, half a meter deep, carrying the damp, fishy scent of earth, was forcibly brought to the surface.

The large group of Qinghe Brigade members following behind the tractor had their eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

Old Liu, leaning on his cane, trembled with emotion, tears streaming down his face.

"Good heavens... It's turned over! This dead land has really been turned over by this iron ox!" Old Liu knelt on the newly turned black soil, cupped a handful of damp soil in his hands, and smelled it desperately, as if it were the most fragrant thing in the world.

This land used to be dug by hand, and a single hoe stroke would only leave a white mark. Now, this tractor roars past, and in one go, it can turn up a trench half a meter deep and two meters wide.

In just half a month, Lin Weidong and Lin Jianguo took turns plowing all the thousands of acres of saline-alkali land in Qinghe Brigade. Then they poured the white fertilizer that came with the truck into the soil as if it were free.

This kind of mechanized agriculture, which is like a game-changer, has completely destroyed the farming common sense that has existed in rural northern Jiangsu for thousands of years.

In the eyes of the members of Qinghe Brigade, these two "down-on-their-luck educated youths" from Beijing were not pampered young masters at all, but living devils who knew machinery, could endure hardship, and carried a murderous aura.

At 10 a.m., the tractor stopped by the edge of the field to add water.

A dilapidated Beijing Jeep swayed and bumped along the muddy county road to the edge of a field. The door opened, and a middle-aged man with a slicked-back hairstyle and wearing a Zhongshan suit with four pockets stepped out.

This is Director Wang from the commune.

Director Wang's eyes gleamed with envy as he looked at the several Dongfanghong tractors parked by the field, exuding mechanical beauty.

He swaggered up to Lin Weidong with several commune officials, speaking in an official tone, "You must be Lin Weidong, the educated youth from Beijing? I'm Director Wang from the commune. These tractors are a waste of your Qinghe brigade's resources. The commune has decided to allocate these agricultural machinery resources uniformly. This afternoon, I'll take some men to drive these three tractors to the Hongqi brigade in the south. The land there is better and can produce high-yield grain."