Chapter Twenty-One: The Journey Back to the Sect

With a heavy heart, Yang Hui walked out of the workshop. He had no desire to say goodbye to Yang Yue and simply wanted to leave. He followed Director Bai toward the parking area. If they left early, they might make it back to the institute by noon and catch lunch.

Behind the gatehouse stretched a long line of army green vehicles, perfectly aligned, not a spot of color out of place.

Glancing at the group of middle-aged men in their forties and fifties, Director Bai pointed to a sidecar motorcycle parked next to a jeep, offering Yang Hui a chance for a breezy ride.

“Yang Hui, you’re young—why don’t you take the sidecar? Neither it nor the jeep is particularly comfortable on this road,” he said.

Yang Hui smiled and mounted the machine, which would be considered an antique abroad. He kicked it to life; the aged engine roared and a cloud of black smoke poured from the exhaust. The familiar vibration brought back memories—at the test flight institute in his last life, he’d often ridden these; otherwise, traversing such a vast airfield would waste far too much time.

“Oh, you know how to ride! Good, I can finally sit down and relax. I’ve been riding since five in the morning and I’m sick of the thing,” said a nearby man in his thirties with relief, clearly having had enough of the sidecar.

“All right, let’s go.” Director Bai called the other three older colleagues to join him in the jeep.

“Alright, you’re Yang Hui, right? We have to keep up with the jeep, so I’m trusting you with my life. Be careful,” the middle-aged man said, not the least bit afraid, entrusting his safety entirely to Yang Hui.

With practiced ease, Yang Hui added gas and followed the increasingly swift jeep, the fierce winds of the Yunnan-Guizhou Plateau blowing past, leaving noise and black smoke behind.

Sensing the stability of the ride, the man in the sidecar felt the need to make conversation and shouted, “Hey, young man, you’re pretty skilled! You must have ridden a lot before?”

He was right. “That’s true. I used to ride often, though not much in recent years,” Yang Hui replied instinctively.

“Oh, so you must have sneaked rides as a kid?” the man guessed, though Yang Hui had meant his earlier years, not childhood—but it was too late to clarify. He decided to go along with a harmless lie.

“Yes! The first few times I was caught, the adults gave me quite a beating. By the way, I never caught your name?” Yang Hui replied, quickly shifting the topic.

The man in the sidecar finally realized he hadn’t introduced himself. He slapped his forehead in mock exasperation. “Right, I forgot! I’m Wu Dabo, currently responsible for research on the engine combustion chamber. I’m older than you—just call me Brother Dabo, everyone does.”

Hearing the introduction, Yang Hui nearly crashed into the jeep ahead. The name was simply too amusing, though no one in this era would find anything odd about it. Only Yang Hui chuckled quietly to himself.

Seeing Yang Hui laughing, Brother Dabo was puzzled. What was so funny about his name? “Brother Yang, is my name that amusing? I never thought so,” he said.

Once again, Yang Hui faced a situation where honesty wasn’t an option, so he made up another story. “No, not at all. I was just reminded of a university classmate named Wu Xiaobo—he was quite a character, and I could tell stories about him for days.”

Brother Dabo, reassured that the laughter wasn’t about his name, relaxed at once.

“Listen, you’re new here, so let me lay it out for you. Our institute has two main problems. First, staffing—we lack mid-level personnel, and the main force is still the older generation like the director, all around fifty. They won’t be able to keep working much longer.”

Brother Dabo was clearly outgoing. Barely two minutes after introducing himself, he was already sharing inside information, revealing a warm and welcoming nature.

“The other problem, and it’s the biggest one at the base, you probably know about. What Chief Engineer Yu mentioned today—it all comes down to money. Without funding, a research institute can’t accomplish anything,” he said with a sigh, clearly long-suffering under the lack of resources. He began to explain his own predicament in detail.

“You know engines. My project is researching the latest annular combustion chamber. We have the theoretical design, but no money. Many parameters require hands-on testing. Now, my project has run out of funds and is at a standstill.”

Yang Hui was shocked—such an important subproject! The benefits of an annular combustion chamber are immense: evolving from tubular to annular design reduces internal engine space and weight. Each combustion tube might not seem heavy on its own, but an engine could have ten or more. The cumulative reduction in weight is considerable, and the thrust-to-weight ratio is improved through just such incremental gains. That a project like this had no funding was unthinkable.

Greatly surprised, Yang Hui asked, “How could such a critical project be left unfunded? What projects do get funding, then?”

Sensing Yang Hui’s genuine astonishment, Brother Dabo wasn’t surprised and continued in a candid, heartfelt tone.

“Exactly. People here are all capable, but without money, we can only work out theories on paper. I don’t know how much longer I can stick it out here.”

That last sentence revealed even more—were the researchers really about to scatter for lack of funding? Was the problem showing up so soon? In history, this crisis didn’t explode until 1985 or 1986; how could it be happening now?

“Brother Dabo, are there many who think like you here? This is dangerous—if people leave, the institute will collapse,” Yang Hui said anxiously.

Uncle Wu understood what Yang Hui was getting at. But understanding was one thing; reality was merciless. Hardship could defeat even the best of men.

“There’s nothing to be done, no matter how dangerous. The institute has no money. We can’t go on like this forever. We all left the big cities and came here for our careers, but without funding, there’s no career to be had. What are we working toward? Anshun is famous for being backward,” he said.

Yang Hui fell silent. He didn’t know how to comfort Brother Dabo. It seemed that the 0011 base was simply too remote; without money, people would leave right away. In other places, they might hold out for years even without funding, but not here.

The two had nothing more to say. Without money, there was nothing left to discuss.

Following the jeep into the institute, Yang Hui parked the sidecar and hurried after Director Bai. There were urgent matters he needed to discuss with him.

“Director Bai, there’s something I need to speak with you about. I think it’s important,” Yang Hui said, keeping pace with Director Bai for dozens of meters before finishing.

“Are you done? What’s the rush? Time is the only thing we don’t lack here—everything else is in short supply. Come into my office and tell me your thoughts. Maybe I can decide what work to assign you,” Director Bai replied.

He hadn’t even eaten lunch yet, but Yang Hui had already dragged him into the office. Director Bai poured two glasses of water, handed one to Yang Hui, and took a sip himself. After a while, he set down the cup, looking pleased.

He patted the chair beside him. “Sit down. Let’s hear your thoughts.”

Yang Hui had no interest in discussing work assignments anymore. Without funding, what research could there possibly be?

“I’m easy to place. I learned everything in university, all the systems are similar. Assign me to any subproject and I’ll do it. It’s all about learning in practice and gaining experience,” Yang Hui replied.

Director Bai tapped the desk with his pen, clearly searching his mind for something.

Yang Hui didn’t want to wait. He blurted out, “Director, is the funding situation really so dire that we can’t even support a subproject? Has Comrade Wu Dabo’s project really been halted?”

Finally, Director Bai understood what Yang Hui was getting at. He had already considered where Yang Hui should work.

“Yang Hui, what do you think of Wu Dabo’s project?” he asked.

Hearing this, Yang Hui seized the chance to explain, analyzing the project in depth.

“It’s extremely important—a crucial project that will greatly advance future engine research. If we keep at it, it could even count as preliminary research…”

Director Bai cut him off with a slap of the table. He knew perfectly well how important the project was and made a quick decision. “Well said. You understand the significance of this project. You’ll work with Wu Dabo. Do a good job; you’ll go far.”

To Yang Hui’s surprise, after all that, Director Bai was only considering his work assignment.