Chapter Twenty: A New Aerodynamic Approach

Although Chief Engineer Yu had already told Yang Hui to speak freely, as soon as Yang voiced such an opinion, the others had their reservations. An engineer nearby, who had been adjusting the aircraft’s vertical stabilizer, paused his work, visibly annoyed by Yang Hui’s criticism.

“What do you mean by that? This plane was designed precisely as a trainer, and you’re saying it’s not suitable for the role? I’d like to hear your so-called expert opinion.” He set his tools aside and walked over, determined not to let the matter rest without a convincing explanation.

Chief Engineer Yu’s face remained impassive. He simply watched Yang Hui, waiting for his answer. If Yang failed to articulate a real issue, Yu would likely be the first to rebuke him.

But Yang Hui, having made his point, was undeterred by others’ opinions. He pressed on, “I’ll explain why I think this aircraft isn’t suitable as a trainer, from my perspective.”

Striding swiftly to the wing’s leading edge, he gestured at the wing. “First, the wing itself. The JJ-7 is derived from the J-7, with a delta wing optimized for high-altitude, high-speed flight. But as a trainer, that’s not ideal. Of course, if you’re only training pilots for second-generation fighters, it’s just barely passable.”

He paused, noticing the engineer who had challenged him was now pondering his words. After a moment, the engineer looked up, signaling Yang Hui to continue.

Yang Hui went on, “Internationally, some third-generation fighters are already in service. These planes emphasize subsonic maneuverability at medium and low altitudes. If our country enters the era of third-generation fighters, then the supersonic JJ-7 advanced trainer won’t meet the new training requirements.”

His words struck home: the JJ-7’s greatest flaw was exposed—it could only train pilots for second-generation fighters. Once third-generation aircraft became standard, the JJ-7 would be obsolete.

At this, Chief Engineer Yu and the research team exchanged glances. None had expected their painstakingly developed aircraft to be outdated even before its debut; their disappointment was plain to see.

Director Bai, standing nearby, was stunned as well. He had only meant to test this student’s grasp of formal coursework, never dreaming he’d uncover such a critical flaw. Then, turning the thought over in his mind, he realized what a rare talent this truly was—a genuine asset! Excitement stirred within him.

Chief Engineer Yu finally broke his silence. “You make valid points. Go on—tell us everything you see.”

“Very well,” Yang Hui continued, “The JJ-7, as a two-seat trainer, indeed has limited internal fuel and short range, but that isn’t a major issue. The real problem is more serious.”

At this, the others were nearly in despair. Had their hard work produced an aircraft that could be so easily torn apart? And now, another fatal flaw loomed.

“As a trainer, the most critical feature is its instructional capability. But the JJ-7 falls short—its rear instructor cockpit has such a narrow field of view. The cockpit is already low, and the front-seat pilot blocks much of what remains. Even adding a periscope would scarcely help.”

Though this problem was well known and accepted among the design team, hearing it stated so plainly, and in conjunction with the previous issue, was a heavy blow.

Chief Engineer Yu was the first to clap his hands—a reaction that puzzled the others. Why applaud when things seemed so grim? Had the blow been too much?

“Excellent observations. As expected from someone even Old Wu praises. These are crucial issues, and you’ve gone straight to the heart of the matter. But we can’t make changes now; higher authorities are demanding the aircraft urgently. Our J-7 and J-8 pilots lack systematic training—we need this plane desperately!”

Yu had pinpointed the real constraint: time. “There’s no time for major revisions. Any improvement would require a complete redesign of the aerodynamics. We haven’t done preliminary studies or wind tunnel tests. That could take years, and that’s the crux of the matter.”

The room fell silent. They understood now—improving the plane would be nearly impossible. It was an aircraft already outdated at birth, yet they had no choice but to press on. The mood among the researchers was bleak.

Having dropped these bombshells, Yang Hui sensed the morale plummet. He felt responsible and decided it was time to lift their spirits.

“Actually, I did some research into aerodynamic layouts like this during university, focusing on improving subsonic maneuverability at low and medium altitudes. If we follow my proposed aerodynamic design and proceed to wind tunnel testing with a concrete plan, I’m confident we could cut the development time to half a year at most.”

Yang Hui hesitated. Should he reveal his proposal? It likely wouldn’t be adopted, as the changes were too drastic. The funding required would be far beyond what had been allocated for the JJ-7.

Chief Engineer Yu understood this, too. The reality was, even a brilliant design couldn’t be implemented now; it would only stir up more frustration. Still, no aircraft designer could resist the allure of an outstanding aerodynamic solution.

“Let’s hear your proposal. If the changes are too extensive, it may not be feasible.”

Yang Hui’s mind flashed forward two decades to a plane from the year 2000. It, too, was a product of Base 0011, an evolutionary offshoot of the J-7, but one that could truly fulfill the requirements of a new-generation trainer. Most importantly, with some determination, current domestic capabilities could produce it.

He walked over to Yang Yue and borrowed her notebook, beginning to sketch.

“This is it. Take a look!” Yang Hui handed the completed three-view and isometric drawings to Chief Engineer Yu, who studied them in silence, his expression unreadable. He frowned, closed his eyes in thought, and finally, with sudden clarity, managed a bitter smile.

“The aerodynamic layout is indeed excellent, and current domestic technology could realize it. But the changes are too great. With so many projects canceled already, getting approval for a new model is next to impossible.” His face was a mixture of unwillingness, helplessness, and perhaps a touch of hope.

How could it not be excellent? A low-cost trainer from twenty years in the future would outclass the JJ-7 by several orders of magnitude. In fact, with this aerodynamic design, eliminating the rear instructor cockpit and lowering the dorsal spine, its dogfighting capability could easily surpass the J-7, and its internal fuel capacity would leave the J-7 far behind.

Seeing Chief Engineer Yu’s assessment and expression, everyone understood—the layout on that sheet was truly remarkable. Some approached, eager to get a copy of the sketch and see for themselves, as the JJ-7 had been so thoroughly critiqued that no one was interested in it anymore.

To their astonishment, however, Chief Engineer Yu gripped the drawing tightly—and, to everyone’s disbelief, tore it to shreds.

The shock was too sudden. No one could react.

“Yu, what are you doing?” Director Bai couldn’t fathom the reason and immediately spoke up.

With a long, weary sigh, Chief Engineer Yu faced the crowd, their confusion and suspicion evident.

“This design, at present, is of no use to us. We simply don’t have the funding to make it happen. Let’s focus on getting the JJ-7 completed. It may fall behind, but the J-8 and J-7 are still in development—it will be of use.”

Even as he said this, Yu himself could hardly believe his own words. With the plane’s problems so obvious, could it really have a future?

He then turned his gaze to Yang Hui, his eyes reminiscent of Old Wu’s a month before—perhaps seeing a glimmer of hope as well.

“Yang Hui, is it? I hope you don’t mind that I tore up your drawing—it just can’t come to light yet. I’m afraid it would only unsettle the team. After seeing your design, it’s hard to look at this plane without wanting to change everything, but in reality, there’s nothing we can do. Even I feel lost now.”

Who would have thought a single sketch could have such power, leaving even a veteran designer in his fifties in doubt? Yang Hui suddenly felt a pang of regret.

“It’s nothing, just a rough sketch. It’s all in my head anyway. Perhaps I was too impatient—almost disrupted the research team’s focus.”

“Don’t worry. The aircraft on that drawing will soar one day.” Chief Engineer Yu looked at the shredded paper in his hand, and to everyone’s surprise, his eyes glistened with tears.

At this, Director Bai realized it was time to take his leave. “Yu, we should get going—we still have dozens of kilometers ahead.”

“All right. Today’s not the day to invite you for a drink.” With nothing else to say, Yu simply turned to Bai.

“Yang Hui, your grasp of aerodynamics is impressive. If our institute had the means, I’d ask you to stay. But we’re limited, and bringing you here would only add to the regrets. I’m sure you’ll accomplish much at Institute Two.” With that, he clutched the scraps of paper and walked away.