I started with a ship full of max-level veterans, and I'm just a complete noob.

Director Wang pushed the door of the command post open with his shoulder, and the wind and sand rushed in. The flame of the kerosene lamp flickered sideways for a moment, then slowly straightened up again.

Jiang Ming followed him into the inner room, his shoulders and cuffs covered in freshly applied yellow sand.

Old Sun had already been summoned and was sitting on a bench, holding an enamel mug in his hand. The water was still sloshing around, indicating that he had only just sat down.

Lu Qinghe was the last to enter, and she closed the door tightly, using her heel to brace it against the bottom edge of the door panel.

The sound of the wind outside was suppressed by the door, leaving only a muffled rumble.

Director Wang did not sit down, but placed the oilcloth-wrapped map in the center of the table.

The package was small, about 30 centimeters square, with the outer layer of kraft paper commonly found in post offices, wrapped with two hemp ropes, and a stamp and handwritten address affixed to one corner.

The lettering in the address bar was partially blurred by sand and dust, but the recipient's name was still legible.

Li Wende.

Aksai Mining Bureau Transfer Station, Gansu.

Jiang Ming recognized the name.

It's the same as the one on the wooden box at the Xuanwumen consignment shop.

Director Wang took out a folding knife from the inside pocket of his coat, cut the hemp rope, and peeled off the layers of kraft paper.

Inside was a metal box with rubber pads at the four corners for shock absorption, and a label on the lid that read "Instrument Accessories".

The metal cover was lifted.

The inside of the box was lined with cotton wool, and embedded in the middle of the cotton wool was a dark brown electron tube.

The tube is twice as thick as a regular receiver tube, and there are traces of a high-pressure exhaust seal on the top of the glass shell. The base is a seven-pin ceramic tube socket.

Jiang Ming recognized him at a glance.

Centimeter-wave high-voltage pulse diode.

It matches the model number found in the wooden box at the Xuanwumen pawn shop.

Director Wang didn't touch the tube; he simply used the back of the folding knife to gently rotate the tube ninety degrees so that the base faced upwards.

"Old Sun," Director Wang said, "come and take a look."

Old Sun put down the enamel mug, stood up, walked to the table, bent down, and approached the base of the pipe.

The ceramic surface of the tube holder is printed with the batch number, and there is a light red ink mark next to the batch number.

The mark is small, only about the size of a fingernail, and has faded to a light pink color over time, but the shape is still there.

A handwritten character "Zhang" followed by a string of numbers.

Old Sun stretched out his hand, but stopped halfway through.

My fingers are trembling, not just a slight tremor, but a tremor running from my wrist to my fingertips.

"This is..." His voice was squeezed out of his throat, as if something was stuck there, "Zhang Shouzhen's inspection stamp."

Director Wang remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

Old Sun straightened up and gritted his teeth twice before he could finish the sentence.

"From 1950 to 1952, all high-pressure pipes leaving the factory had to go through the inspection department. Zhang Shouzheng was responsible for the final stamp, and each pipe had his handwritten signature and number on its base. After his death, this stamp became invalid, and the archives should have collected and destroyed it."

"They weren't destroyed." Director Wang's voice was as flat as reading a report. "Someone kept them and has been using them."

He pulled out another piece of paper from under the cotton wadding in the tin box.

Light blue background.

Jiang Ming's back tensed.

The paper had a line written on it: "Number 04 magnetron cathode annealing process, follow this procedure."

The characters are small, but the strokes are powerful, with a distinctive hook at the horizontal bend.

Director Wang placed the paper on the table and then took something else out of his coat pocket.

A manila envelope containing a photocopy.

"This is a control sample seized in Beijing three days ago." Director Wang laid the photocopy next to the light blue notepad. "Internal document approval document of the Material Allocation Department, signed by Meng Dechang."

The two handwritings are side by side.

The hook at the horizontal stroke, the angle of the pause at the end of the left-falling stroke, and the deliberately thickened horizontal stroke at the bottom of the character "工".

The same.

Old Sun stared at the two lines of text for a few seconds, his lips trembling slightly.

"Meng Dechang".

"Zhang Shouzhen's inspection stamp is in his hands." Director Wang put the photocopy back into the envelope. "The materials went through his channels, the technical parameters were approved by him, the delivery terminals were Aksai and Hongliugou, and the recipient was Li Wende. From Beijing to the Great Northwest, rare earth oxides, high-voltage tubes, magnetron annealing processes, receiver chain frequency band diagrams, it's all a straight line."

He paused and looked at Jiang Ming.

"The origin of this line can be traced back to 1949. Zhang Shouzhen was still alive that year, and Meng Dechang was just a section chief in the materials department. Old Lei's accident also happened that year."

The wind outside lowered slightly; the sandstorm was fading away.

No one inside the room responded.

Lu Qinghe stood by the door, her arms crossed in front of her chest, her fingers clasped around her elbows.

Her gaze shifted from the electron tube marked with the character "Zhang," lingered for a moment on Jiang Ming's face, and then returned to its original position.

Director Wang put the tin box lid back on and placed his palm on the lid.

"Meng Dechang is Grey Dove."

He said this without raising his voice; the five words were spoken in a flat tone, like nails sealing a coffin.

"Starting in 1949, he used Zhang Shouzheng's technical channels and inspection authority to send the factory's core components and parameters out. After Zhang Shouzheng died in 1952, he kept the old seals and continued to use them, pretending that they had been destroyed. Li Huaiyuan was his errand boy, Cheng Weiliang was his informant, and Xuanwumen Pawnshop and Aksai Mining Bureau were his transit points. The equipment in the No. 04 old mine shaft relied on this line for its supply."

Old Sun's breathing became very heavy.

He took a half step back and leaned against the earthen wall. The water in the enamel mug had long since gone cold, and his knuckles were white as he gripped the cup.

"What about Lao Lei?" Old Sun's voice was like sandpaper scraping against sheet metal. "Lao Lei was identified by him back then."

Director Wang did not answer immediately.

He glanced at Lao Sun for two seconds, then looked at Jiang Ming.

"In 1949, data from Project Lightning 7 was leaked, and the review team identified Lei Ming as the leaker. The basis for this identification was a material requisition form provided by the Materials Department, which bore Lei Ming's signature. However, the verification section of that material requisition form was signed by Meng Dechang."

Old Sun's eyes reddened.

He clenched his back teeth, his cheeks tensing into two hard bones.

Jiang Ming stood by the table without moving.

In 1949, Zhang Shouzheng was alive, and Meng Dechang was only the head of the materials department, but he was already able to access the original material requisition forms, sign them in the verification column, and even send a fake signature into the review group.

After being accused of leaking secrets, Lei Ming refused to accept the humiliation and ventured alone into the Great Northwest, where he disappeared.

These threads connected one by one in Jiang Ming's mind, finally connecting to something he had been keeping hidden away.

Old Sun suddenly turned around.

His face was wrinkled with yellow sand and watermarks, and the moisture at the corners of his eyes was made even more pronounced by the dust.

He gripped Jiang Ming's wrist with such force that it felt like he was grasping the last rope.

"Engineer Jiang," Old Sun's voice was low and trembling, "it's time to take out that photo that Factory Director Zhang left you."

He paused, his eyes fixed on Jiang Ming.

"Old Lei's photo."