Chapter Twenty-Three: Seeking a Breakthrough

People like Wu Hongjun are hard to read for now; he always keeps himself well hidden, and it takes time to truly understand him. Of course, such deep wariness is quite normal for those who have lived through this special era.

Facing a desk still marked by water stains, it seemed Yang Hui couldn’t yet begin the work he wanted to do. This was the moment to seek help from an old hand. “Brother Da Bo, how do I get the office supplies for my desk?”

Da Bo glanced at Yang Hui’s desk—there was nothing on it. He figured Yang Hui needed to pick up a few things, so he dusted off his hands stained with graphite and weighed down his drawings.

“Come with me, I’ll show you where to get your stuff. But be prepared—this time you won’t get everything you need. I’m just showing you the way.”

It looked like there were plenty of supplies—state-owned enterprises may not have money, but they’re rarely short on things to use. And they always buy genuine products, never pirated, making them the super-premium customers. In his previous life at the flight test institute, there was never a shortage of supplies, always the real deal—a strong stance against counterfeits.

With hopeful anticipation, Yang Hui followed Da Bo to a small, dim room—the logistics office, surprisingly, was little more than a converted, abandoned storeroom.

The storeroom was managed by an elderly duo—a golden combination of grandma and grandpa. The old man lounged in a chair, seemingly not intending to get up. The old woman, seeing no reaction from him, spoke after a few seconds’ delay.

“Xiao Wu, you just came yesterday—why are you back so soon? I told you, no new purchases these days, so what you need isn’t here. No need to visit so often.”

Listlessly, she hung her head and carried on stitching cloth shoes. The warehouse managers were, well, let’s just say, they’re elderly, so it’s best not to judge too harshly.

“Aunt Dong, relax, I’m not here to claim things. No need for that attitude. I’ve brought a newcomer to pick up supplies—our project finally has someone new. You can’t be stingy anymore.”

Stingy? Yang Hui caught on—it seemed things weren’t as he’d imagined, and the difference was significant. Looking at the two elders now, he realized only seniors could handle this job—their years had rendered them impervious to temptation.

“Oh,” the old man finally sat up from his recliner. “A newcomer, that’s rare! All right, Xiao Wu, don’t call me stingy. Take whatever you need from the warehouse—you know the quantities. If it’s not here, there’s nothing I can do. I’m doing my best to support you.”

Yang Hui was puzzled, about to ask another question, but Da Bo, as if he’d anticipated it, grabbed him and sped off into the darkness. Perhaps, this guy just prefers the dark.

The deeper they went, the darker it became. Once inside, Yang Hui was stunned.

A massive underground project—calling it an air raid shelter wouldn’t do it justice. Entering the basement, the grandeur was palpable. The entrance was six meters wide and four meters tall, and that was only a branch tunnel, easily accommodating an old Liberation truck. The main passage was long, wide enough for two trucks to drive side by side, with a strict layout and good ventilation. Inside, corridors twisted and turned, intersecting in a maze, with secret rooms of varying sizes. Some walls were coated in black rubber, some floors covered in fine moisture-resistant sand. Bright red slogans blared, radiating a manic energy.

Both men froze in awe. Yang Hui hadn’t expected the Third Front project to be so magnificent—it truly deserved the name “base.” He’d heard of such projects in later years, but whether there was one under the flight test institute, he couldn’t say—perhaps it had been sealed off.

“Amazing, right? This is only my second time inside. The first was during an air raid drill—I only lingered at the entrance then. Never thought I’d come this far in today. Come on, let’s see what’s usable, but you can only take one set. It’s the first time those two have been so generous,” Da Bo said, grinning.

In the enormous side chamber, there was a jumble of office supplies—drafting tools, all kinds of labeled pencils, pens, chalk, notebooks, various sizes of white drawing paper, heaps of odds and ends. It looked like a lot, but some things were still missing.

After a thorough search, Da Bo handed Yang Hui his supplies with disappointment.

“Turns out they weren’t lying. What I wanted isn’t here, and your set is incomplete too. You’ll have to make more trips in the future.”

Yang Hui noticed the same problem—despite the apparent abundance, it was all basic, cheap stuff. The more advanced, less commonly used items were absent.

He took another look around, gathered up what he could, shook his head, and headed out. Glancing up at the vast underground structure, he followed Da Bo out.

Outside, the warehouse aunt had the register ready. “Just sign your name. I already know what you took—it’s written down.” She cast a sidelong glance at the supplies Yang Hui carried, as if it was exactly what she expected.

Yang Hui swiftly put down his things and signed. Everything settled, he left with Da Bo.

“Oh, finally someone’s reported to the Second Division. Looks like the higher-ups haven’t forgotten us out here in the mountains,” the old man murmured, a smile finally breaking on his face as Yang Hui’s figure receded.

...

“Well, you’ve got your supplies now. It’s your own time—study whatever you like. The higher-ups haven’t figured out the cause of the accident yet, so we’ve got a few days of peace.” After helping Yang Hui collect his things, Da Bo assigned the task and then sat back to work on his drawings.

Sitting on a makeshift chair, gazing at the incomplete set of tools and the empty department, Yang Hui finally understood the hardships of the Third Front project.

There was no project—no orders from above yet—so Yang Hui was idle. He watched Wu Da Bo at work. After a moment’s thought, he stood up and went over.

It was obvious Da Bo was sketching a sectional view of a ring-shaped combustion chamber. The drawing was starkly black and white, lines clear and distinct, without a single erased mark—showing the draftsman’s solid foundation.

Sensing someone behind him, Wu Da Bo turned, put down his pen. “So, how’s it look? This is the part of the ring-shaped combustion chamber I mentioned. Care to comment?”

Yang Hui smiled inwardly: It’s often said the Republic stifles creative talent, but here’s a contradiction—no matter how good the innovation, it must ultimately be realized. Without a tangible design, even the best ideas end up gathering dust, inevitably to be recycled—destroying the predecessors’ hard work and sending it back to the paper mill.

It all boiled down to the same reason: lack of funding. With money, experiments could be run and prototype models built. Good ideas could, with financial backing, always be partly turned into practical inventions.

“No need for comments. Right now, this is the most advanced design internationally. In all aspects, it surpasses the tubular flame combustion chamber by a wide margin. Just in terms of weight, it’s much lighter. Not to mention the reduction in parts, which greatly improves engine reliability. Of course, the design demands higher combustion stability.” There wasn’t much else to say—without research funding, all one could do was tout the virtues of the ring-shaped combustion chamber, to bolster confidence.

Technical people praising their peers’ work was always a safe bet. Grinning, Wu Da Bo continued, “You’re absolutely right—no wonder you’re a college graduate. Broad perspective, your mentor must have taught you real skills. Not bad, you’ll surely accomplish something in the future.”

He packed away the drawing and pulled out a fresh sheet—preparing to start a new sketch. Yang Hui, not wanting to interrupt further, returned to his seat to ponder his own matters.

The situation was dire—the engine malfunction had stalled assembly of the new aircraft, leaving it stranded on the tarmac. A plane without an engine was an embarrassment to both Liyang Factory and the Second Division.

A host of technical issues suggested that early work hadn’t been thorough, or that test runs were insufficient. Lack of funds remained a huge challenge—the allocated money was nowhere near enough, and the daily fuel costs for a turbojet were astronomical.

At present, earning money was the key to solving these problems. Asking the higher-ups for funds was no easy task—after all, the whole country was strapped for cash, with shortages everywhere.