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

Jiang Ming looked down at the hand that Old Sun was gripping on his wrist.

The knuckles of that finger were raised, and the white adhesive tape from the glass cut on the back of his hand from the day before yesterday was still there, the edges rolled up and covered with a layer of yellow dirt.

Old Sun didn't urge him anymore, he just stared at him, the redness in his eyes impossible to suppress.

"What photos?" Lu Qinghe's voice came from the doorway.

Old Sun didn't turn around.

Director Wang stood beside the map table, his hands in his coat pockets, without saying a word.

His expression was obscured by the shadows cast by the kerosene lamp, but his body remained firmly planted in place, as if waiting for the matter to fall into place on its own.

Jiang Ming slowly withdrew his wrist.

He walked to the metal toolbox in the corner and squatted down.

The box was unloaded from a freight car, and its surface had several scratches, with coal dust accumulated during transport still clinging to the latches.

He unlocked the latch, lifted the lid, and reached into the bottom layer.

The kraft paper notes are on the left.

He didn't touch it.

There was a thin cardboard sheet on the right, and underneath the cardboard was the moisture-proof paper bag.

Jiang Ming pulled out the paper bag. The bag wasn't sealed; only the two edges were folded.

He unfolded the folded edge and took out a palm-sized black and white photograph from inside.

The four corners of the photo are slightly yellowed, and a small piece is missing from the lower right corner, as if it was pinched by something.

The image is preserved very clearly, with distinct black, white, and gray levels.

The photo shows a man.

He was in his thirties, standing in front of the metal frame of a large antenna, wearing a wool suit with the collar neatly buttoned up.

Her hair was combed back, she had a wide forehead, strong cheekbones, and a clean-cut chin.

He looked directly into the camera; his eyes weren't big, but they were bright, and the corners of his mouth were slightly curved.

Jiang Ming handed the photo to Lao Sun.

Old Sun's hands were still shaking when he took it.

He held the photo up to the kerosene lamp and examined it closely.

The flame of the lamp wick reflected two small dots of light in his eyes.

"Old Lei."

Two words escaped his lips, his voice broken.

His thumb rested on the edge of the photo, his fingertip gently brushing against the person's shoulder in the picture, as if he were touching something that had been lost for a long time.

Lu Qinghe walked over from the door and stood behind and to the side of Lao Sun.

Her gaze moved from the face in the photo to Jiang Ming's face, and then back again.

I made two trips back and forth.

"Like," she said, then shut her mouth.

Old Sun nodded, nodding forcefully, the veins in his neck taut.

"When I first saw Engineer Jiang on the ship, I felt something was off. The lines of his eyebrows, eyes, and nose, and the angle at which he tucked his chin when he spoke. I told myself it was impossible; he'd been gone for six years, there was no way he could look so much like him."

He wiped his face with his sleeve, then looked down at the photo again.

"Lei Ming. His original name was Lei Zhenbang. He was born in 1918. He graduated from the Department of Physics at Tsinghua University. In 1944, he went to Birmingham, England, and studied accelerators with Cowcraft. He returned to China in 1947 and worked on electromagnetic wave propagation experiments at the research institute. He was in the same group as Zhang Shouzheng, and the two were classmates."

Old Sun placed the photo on the table, pressing his fingers against its edge as if afraid the wind would blow it away.

"In 1949, there was a problem with the data from Lightning-7. The review team found a material requisition form with Lao Lei's signature on it. Lao Lei said that the form was not signed by him, but the handwriting analysis showed that it was. He was not satisfied and argued with the review team for three days. On the fourth day, he wrote an appeal, saying that he would go to the Northwest to prove that those frequency parameters could not have been leaked from his hands."

Old Sun paused for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down twice.

"The review team didn't approve it, but they didn't stop it either. In February 1950, Lao Lei took a homemade measuring instrument and left Jiayuguan in a military vehicle. At that time, there was no base in Northwest China, and there was nothing on the barren beach. The temperature at night in winter could drop to minus forty degrees Celsius. He went in alone and never came out again."

The room was quiet for a few seconds, with only the faint whistling of the wind squeezing in through the crack in the door.

Director Wang spoke up.

"After Lei Ming disappeared, the investigation team closed the case and classified it as fleeing to evade punishment. The first person listed among those who signed the confirmation was the head of the materials department at the time."

He didn't say the name again, but everyone present knew who he was referring to.

Old Sun picked up the photo from the table and turned it over to look at the back.

In the lower right corner of the back, there is a line of penmanship, the ink now faded to a dark brown: Spring 1948, in front of the laboratory in Beiping. Zhenbang.

"How did Director Zhang get this photo?" Jiang Ming asked.

Old Sun wiped his nose, his voice still trembling.

"Before Lao Lei left, he entrusted his personal belongings to his colleagues in the laboratory for safekeeping. Later, they ended up in the hands of Director Zhang. Director Zhang had served as the administrative director of that research institute in 1949. He had met Lao Lei and had always felt that there was something wrong with this case. On your first day at the factory, Director Zhang looked at you strangely. That very night, he wrote that note to protect this only child."

"He thought I was a descendant of Lei Ming," Jiang Ming said.

Old Sun looked up at him, his red-rimmed eyes filled with something indescribable, a mixture of confirmation and hesitation.

"do not you?"

Jiang Ming did not answer the question.

He couldn't answer.

The silence lasted for a few seconds.

Lu Qinghe stood to the side, her gaze fixed on the face of the man in his thirties in the photo.

The tweed suit in front of the antenna frame, the confident look in his eyes, and the nose bridge line that was almost identical to Jiang Ming's.

Her throat moved, her lips tightened and then loosened, but in the end she said nothing.

Director Wang reached out and gently took the photo from Old Sun's hand, turned it over and looked at it for two seconds before putting it into his inner pocket.

"We will investigate Comrade Lei Ming's matter thoroughly. The original handwriting analysis file for the material requisition form is still in the Beijing Archives; we will redo it when we get back."

He buttoned up his coat, his tone shifting from its earlier hesitation to a firm, businesslike manner.

"But not now."

Director Wang walked to the map table and placed his palm on the spot on the northern foot of the Altun Mountains that Jiang Ming had circled in red.

"Meng Dechang is in Lanzhou. He arrived at the Lanzhou Military Region Guesthouse yesterday afternoon. My men are keeping an eye on him, so he can't be moved for the time being. But those transmitters in Mine No. 04 won't wait for us."

He turned to face Jiang Ming.

"You just calculated their frequency hopping pattern in the direction finding vehicle. The artillery at outpost number four has already eliminated that group of spies. But the main equipment in the mine is still running, the frequency jamming hasn't stopped, and the communication restoration for the encirclement forces is only temporary. As long as the other side changes their frequency hopping seed, your prediction will fail."

Jiang Ming nodded.

He was aware of this.

If the seed of the golden ratio step is changed, the entire pseudo-random sequence changes, and enough frequency points need to be captured again to reverse the process.

"So we can't wait." Director Wang tapped his finger on the map. "Tonight, we must completely destroy the launch equipment in the mine. Can we use Source Thunder One?"

Jiang Ming glanced at Old Sun.

The hand that used to grip the enamel mug has stopped trembling. The redness in his eyes hasn't completely faded, but the focus he had when he was a fitter watching his work has returned.

"It works," Jiang Ming said. "The pulse modulator and Yuanlei-1 haven't been used for joint ignition yet, but the parameters are correct. As long as the power supply is stable, it can generate a pulse with just one switch-on."

What conditions are required?

"A generator, with a stable output of over 3 kilowatts. A directional antenna with a gain of at least 15 decibels, pointing towards Mine No. 04. And Lu Qinghe's direction-finding data; I need the azimuth angle accurate to within half a degree."

Lu Qinghe spoke from the side, her voice returning to its usual hoarse but clear pronunciation.

"The beamwidth of the Yagi antenna on the direction-finding vehicle is twelve degrees, which is not accurate enough. But if we set up the transmitting antenna of Yuanlei-1 on the top of that hill to the east, use my direction-finding data as the initial pointing, and then make fine adjustments by letting the feedback signal from the outpost change, we can reduce the error to within one degree."

Director Wang looked at her, then at Jiang Ming.

"How long will it take to set it up?"

Jiang Ming mentally reviewed the process.

Take the Yuanlei No. 1 and pulse modulator out of the shockproof box, connect the wires, mount the antenna, calibrate, test the power supply, and turn on the switch.

Two hours.

Director Wang glanced at the watch on his wrist.

The dial reflected a gleam under the kerosene lamp.

"It's 11:10 p.m. Now I need to see Yuanlei-1 ignite in the direction of the antenna in Mine No. 04 before 1 a.m.

He opened the door, and the sandstorm had subsided considerably, with visibility restored to about twenty meters.

In the distance to the northeast, a very thin band of orange-red light clung to the horizon. It wasn't sunrise; it was infrared radiation emitted from the cooling pipes of the equipment in the direction of the mine, scattered in the low-altitude dust.

Director Wang stood at the door for two seconds, looked at the light, and then turned around.

"We will investigate and clear Comrade Lei Ming's name. But now, whatever's in that mine must be completely destroyed tonight."

He went outside.

Jiang Ming stood in front of the table without moving immediately.

He glanced down at the tin toolbox, where the kraft paper notebook lay quietly in an oil paper package.

Old Sun had already put down the enamel mug and was putting on the canvas gloves.

The redness in his eyes hadn't completely faded yet, but his hands were already moving nimbly.

Jiang Ming looked at him.

Old Sun fastened the last glove, his voice still a little hoarse, but the strength in his voice had returned.

"Let's go, Engineer Jiang, two hours is enough."