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

Xiao Zhao roared out those two words, and the sound shook the workshop ceiling so much that a layer of dust fell from it.

Behind the thick-rimmed glasses, there was nothing but condensation from the sweat.

Wu Hanzhang's chipped teacup suddenly shook, spilling scalding hot water onto his canvas shoes, but he didn't even flinch.

Those bloodshot old eyes were fixed on the micro-annual dial.

The black pointer is firmly fixed on the 275 microamp mark.

The filter network pieced together from scrap capacitors and oven sheet metal next to it was humming softly, effectively shielding the pipe from the electrical grid ripples transmitted from the foundry workshop.

Old Sun slammed his pipe, which he had been holding back for twelve hours, onto the tin table, sending sparks flying high into the air.

He rubbed his rough hands against his work pants again and again, and finally a deep wrinkle appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Da Liu simply plopped down next to the liquid nitrogen tank, his legs swaying wildly, muttering only two words over and over again.

"It's done."

Jiang Ming stepped forward, pulled down the main switch of the test bench to cut off the power, and then pulled the top-secret ledger off the table.

"The fact that the first pipe survived for twelve hours only proves that our process was correct."

"The military industry emphasizes repeatability; a single piece of evidence is insufficient."

"Without data from a third verification tube to corroborate each other, sending this thing to the Northwest would be playing with the lives of our comrades on the front lines."

These words were like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing the budding enthusiasm in the workshop.

The surroundings quieted down, with only the monotonous pumping of the vacuum pump remaining.

Wu Hanzhang slammed the teacup onto the worktable, his gray hair standing on end under the incandescent light.

"Xiao Jiang is right."

"We're in the defense business, not performing street magic tricks."

"The factory suffered because of Liu Shouxin's scheming ways, which allowed the Soviet experts to have him completely under their control."

"From today onwards, all equipment and materials in Workshop No. 1 will be under the control of Xiao Jiang."

"If anyone dares to use procedures to obstruct you, I'll personally go to the ministry, slam my fist on the table, and curse them out."

Wu Hanzhang's gaze swept over everyone in the workshop, and finally he patted Jiang Ming on the shoulder.

The force was so strong that it left two gray marks on the old coat.

A sudden heat surged deep within Jiang Ming's mind.

The bronze-covered book, "The Record of Human Connections," opened on its own.

A metallic sheen appeared, and Wu Hanzhang's name card, which originally had gray edges, completely lost its blemishes.

Intense golden light spread along the edges, and the level of trust surpassed mere reliance, firmly anchoring itself to the words "closest friend."

The five spots that were originally vacant for the "Bai Ding Juan" (a popular online application platform) have now been filled by Qian Xuesen, Chen Zhiyuan, and Wu Hanzhang.

Only two steps remain to advance to the rank of Xiucai (a scholar who passed the lowest level of the imperial examinations).

Suddenly, the tin door was pushed open, and a cold wind carrying snowflakes rushed in.

Factory Director Zhang walked ahead in a military green overcoat, with Director Wang following behind; neither of them wore a smile.

Factory Director Zhang slammed a double-sealed kraft paper bag next to the pile of scrap capacitors, his eyes filled with suppressed impatience.

"The listening vehicle in the Northwest sent an urgent telegram."

"The enemy's moles have been very active these past two days, and their radio transmitters are increasing their power."

"The frequency of noise is also being encrypted and updated, which is a test of our communication bottom line."

Director Wang pulled over a low wooden stool and sat down, his gaze passing over the testing table and landing on Jiang Ming.

"Comrade Xiao Jiang, it's good that your tube lasted for twelve hours."

"But the Northwest can't wait any longer."

"The old frequency bands used by enemy agents are very special, and the security system is now gritting its teeth and enduring the interference."

"If they just increase the power a little more, the eavesdropping defenses could be breached."

"The security system has issued a strict order."

"At the latest, this batch of anti-interference vacuum tubes must be packed and loaded onto the train within three weeks."

Jiang Ming closed the top-secret ledger, locked it in the metal cabinet, and turned to meet Director Wang's gaze.

"Time can be shortened."

"But the third verification tube must be done."

"If the parameters of the three pipes don't perfectly match, and the temperature difference in the Gobi Desert causes the pipes to explode, who will be responsible?"

Factory Director Zhang turned up his coat collar to block the wind leaking in through the door crack.

He waved his hand and made the decision immediately.

"Do."

"You can use the entire factory's inventory freely, as long as you can deliver the goods before the deadline."

After everyone in the administration building had left, Jiang Ming called Xiao Zhao over and asked him to go to the warehouse to take inventory of the remaining cerium oxide.

Xiao Zhao tucked the account book under his arm and ran out.

When he returned, he was pale and his legs were unsteady.

He spread the ledger out on the fitter's bench, pointing to the messy red lines drawn on it, his voice trembling.

"Jiang Gong, I've checked with the fat warehouse manager."

"The losses have been too great these past few days."

"After deducting the residue from the washing liquid recovery, the remaining cerium oxide powder weighs less than fifteen grams at most."

The pipe in Old Sun's hand fell to the ground with a thud.

He bent down to pick it up, his fingers trembling in mid-air, unable to hold the cigarette holder.

He then strode over to the glass sedimentation tank for recycling the washing liquid, picked up a scraper, and began scraping the glass wall.

The harsh sound of friction echoed through the workshop.

All that was scraped off was grayish impurities; there wasn't even a trace of pure rare earth frost.

"Fifteen grams?"

"Based on a 1.1% mixing ratio, and taking into account the scraper coating loss, this amount of powder can only make one and a half tubes at most."

Liu was so anxious that he kept scratching his head and pacing back and forth around the pile of waste next to the cold trap.

"How about we borrow some from the chemical plant in the eastern suburbs?"

"Or have Director Zheng transfer them from the ministry."

Jiang Ming looked at the materials list, closed the ledger, and his eyes were as still as dead water.

"When the Soviets withdrew, they cut off all domestic rare earth refining channels."

"Even if Director Zheng were a god, he couldn't conjure up military-grade cerium oxide in three weeks."

"This bit of powder is our last bullet."

"If we miss the target, the blind spots in the Great Northwest will have to be filled with human lives."

At night, Jiang Ming extinguished the kerosene lamp in the single dormitory.

He sat cross-legged on the hard bed, surrounded by silence where he could only hear his own breathing.

Deep in his mind, the "Record of Connections" opened once more.

Today's three channeling quotas must be used to resolve the deadlock of running out of materials.

Jiang Ming mentally rehearsed the possibilities of reducing the concentration more than a dozen times, but in the end he still contacted his classmate in materials interface physics.

"Senior, there are only fifteen grams of cerium oxide left."

"If I forcibly reduce the slurry concentration to 0.8%, will the emission efficiency of the cathode coating drop drastically?"

The young colleague spoke rapidly, displaying the meticulousness characteristic of academics.

"The coating thickness determines the supporting strength of the crystal lattice framework."

"If you dare to lower the concentration, the 800-degree sintering furnace can burn the cathode into honeycomb briquettes."

"If you don't have enough materials, modify the base structure; don't try to cheat on the formula."

Jiang Ming memorized the words "modify the base".

He began to construct a microscopic model of the nickel-based base in his mind, initiated a second channeling, and approached the female pioneer in precision instrument and vacuum systems engineering.

"Senior, if we add micron-level cross-grooves to the nickel-based substrate and use the depth of the grid markings instead of the coating thickness, could we reduce paste loss while ensuring launch efficiency?"

The female pioneer's voice, cold and hard like metal scraping, shattered his illusions.

"Do you think micron-scale meshes are made by pinching them out with your fingernails?"

"Your shabby workshop doesn't even have a single qualified micron-sized engraving tool."

"No matter how steady a veteran craftsman's hand is, he cannot carve a perfectly uniform grid."

"How can we guarantee the consistency of stored materials?"

"Go and study capillary action."

"Use the natural tension of the metal surface to lock in the slurry; don't bother with those fancy finishing processes."

Jiang Ming held a pencil and sketched the base on a piece of kraft paper.

Following the line of thought about capillary action, he resubmitted the edge chamfering into the fluid formula for calculation.

The 15-degree chamfer that Lao Sun hand-polished was indeed smooth.

However, during high-vacuum sintering, the slurry will undergo microscopic slippage along the slope, resulting in waste due to accumulation at the edges.

Jiang Ming gradually lowered the slope, initiated the final channeling, and connected with that hot-tempered early vacuum tube pioneer.

"Senior, to lock in the slurry using capillary action, the original 15-degree chamfer must be changed."

"If I flatten the chamfer to a seven-degree angle, can I use surface tension to force excess paste back to the center area, forming a self-locking edge?"

The fiery pioneer was cursing so loudly that his spittle flew everywhere, making Jiang Ming's mind buzz.

"nonsense!"

"A 15-degree chamfer is for thick coatings."

"A seven-degree chamfer is just right at the tension critical point, squeezing all the slurry wasted at the edge back into the working area."

"If you still can't save on materials even at this rate, you might as well find a block of tofu and smash your head against it."

Consciousness returned to darkness.

Jiang Ming opened his bloodshot eyes, crushed all the guidance from the three pioneers, and redrawn it on the blueprint.

He threw the pencil on the table, staring at the prescription sheet with holes erased by the eraser, his fingers unconsciously tapping the wooden board.

Fifteen grams of cerium oxide.

Seven-degree micro-tension chamfer.

And then there's Old Sun's assorted file.

Jiang Ming folded the recipe sheet and put it into his pocket.

He then pushed open the dormitory door and stepped into the biting cold wind.

The amount of coating slurry used for the next pipe must be reduced by another 30%.