Chapter Forty-Four: Is That All There Is?

Sure enough, the next day, both of Zhong Jian’s parents took leave to visit their son. As for whether helping with the wooden model counted as taking on private work, that was beyond Yang Hui’s understanding; but he supposed it didn’t, since they were still working within the base, and above all, there was no payment involved.

The institute didn’t have anything like a proper workshop, but there were places for woodworking. As mentioned before, most things in the Second Division of the base were made of wood, so naturally there was a logistics department responsible for repairing damaged items. They found a small warehouse at the edge of the institute and, without hesitation, temporarily requisitioned it. Even the resident carpenter was drafted for the task; though he couldn’t read the blueprints, he could help out. Now, this was an important project for the department, and even carpenters had to show initiative—just look at Head Chef Wang as a shining example.

After inviting Zhong Jian’s parents into the shabby “workshop” and making introductions, it was time to get to work; time was tight and there could be no room for carelessness.

“Master Zhong, we’re asking you to help us build a model this time. You know the pros and cons; I won’t say more.”

He understood well enough. This was the key to whether he could enjoy an easier life in the future; he had to do it right. It was true, his son was lucky to have such a good team leader—he could rest assured going forward.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get the model done within two days. I haven’t forgotten my old trade after all these years,” Master Zhong promised confidently.

Looking around, they finally found a table suitable for spreading out the blueprints. He walked over, cleared it, and wiped it clean. Yang Hui slowly unfolded his blueprints, starting with the smaller parts—these were manageable, and could be placed anywhere.

Master Zhong, the only one who could decipher the drawings, examined them carefully, gradually grasping the concept. Yang Hui guessed that Master Zhong was already visualizing the parts in his mind; these weren’t too complicated.

To save time, Master Zhong called over his wife, explained the general shapes, and skipped what was hard to describe. As long as the rough processing was done, he could handle the final details himself.

His wife, after hearing his description, understood well enough. Without another word, she went to select materials and began rough processing, at least shaping them into basic forms.

Next, Master Zhong assigned another part’s rough processing to the warehouse’s original carpenter. Given his unfamiliarity, communication took some effort.

Yang Hui, not being a carpenter, didn’t know how to use any of their tools. He could only watch from the sidelines, lest he cause trouble.

He watched as, under the carpenters’ hands, a block of wood slowly transformed into an irregularly shaped part. Master Zhong would then measure, compare, and refine it—piece by piece, the components took shape.

Finally, the first part was finished—it was a horizontal stabilizer for an airplane. The internal mechanisms weren’t designed yet, and Yang Hui didn’t need to worry about those; his task was to create the exterior, so this wooden stabilizer was relatively simple, connecting to the fuselage by interlocking joints.

Building the model’s exterior was straightforward for the wings; only the fuselage posed difficulties. To distinguish it from the rest of the project group, it was more accurate to call it the airplane’s body.

From the nose to the cockpit, the fuselage was a complex arrangement of curves—here, only true craftsmanship could suffice. This was the most skill-intensive stage.

By the afternoon of the second day, the wooden fuselage was finally complete. Yang Hui received word and immediately brought the final assembly drawings to the site.

Upon arrival, Yang Hui saw that the fuselage was no longer a mere shell. Master Zhong, already familiar with the parts, had begun assembling them, attaching the wings. These wings were bolted to the body, allowing for a sweep angle adjustment between 25 and 67 degrees—perfectly replicating the Tornado fighter’s shape.

Yang Hui interrupted Master Zhong, who was relying on intuition, and handed him the assembly drawing. He then scrutinized the shape of the fuselage. In his eyes, the rushed two-day result looked decent and fit for purpose—it conveyed everything he intended.

He nodded approvingly and summoned Master Zhong again, following the assembly sequence from the drawings. With the blueprints, the remaining work sped up; no more guesswork, just methodical assembly.

As each part was fitted, the aircraft’s outline became clear. Though there was no landing gear, the model was propped on a stand, and the canopy was wooden and opaque, but none of this detracted from the overall effect. After all, the model served its purpose; no one cared about aesthetics.

Looking at the satisfactory wooden model, it at least offered an intuitive grasp of the aircraft’s shape. But what was this beautiful, unfamiliar creation for? That was the greatest mystery for the three who had built it. In those days, information was far less transparent than it would be in the future. The Tornado, which entered service in 1980, was known domestically only to specialized intelligence units and core personnel at major factories and institutes.

Seeing the puzzled expressions of the three, Yang Hui realized their curiosity was piqued. He explained, “This isn’t our project. It’s a European aircraft that only recently entered service, called the Tornado. This is a model scaled down tenfold.”

At last, the truth was clear. So it was a capitalist airplane—no wonder it looked so striking. That was the prevailing thought of the era: streamlined, side-intake jets were seen as capitalist aircraft. The Q-5 had suffered such baseless accusations, but ultimately found its rightful place, marking a peculiar chapter in its history—a story best taken as a joke.

“Oh, so it’s a capitalist airplane. No wonder it’s so bulky—just like the capitalists themselves, its belly is full of the sweat and blood of the workers. It can’t be a good aircraft,” remarked the warehouse’s carpenter, his contempt evident, a true proletarian through and through.

At this point, it was necessary to address those involved in the model’s creation. After all, the Tornado fighter represented the institute’s hope for profit; without their cooperation, things could prove difficult.

“Yes, it’s a capitalist aircraft—a tool of capitalists and their lackeys. But that doesn’t mean we can’t use it to serve us. We’re making this model to sell to capitalists, to earn their dirty money and reclaim the blood and sweat of the workers, all in service of communism.”

Yang Hui’s argument won them over. So they were using this to make money from capitalists—good! Those capitalists were notoriously ruthless, so profiting from them was fair game.

“Yes, Comrade Yang speaks well! We should earn as much as possible from the capitalists and strike hard at these evil capitalists. It’s our duty!” Another round of criticism and affirmation, leaving Yang Hui unsure how to respond to these endearing people.

“Alright, stay here and keep watch; I’ll go invite the director and chief designer to inspect the new model.”

He walked off in high spirits—the aeromodelling endeavor had entered a new chapter. Happily, he went to invite the leadership for an on-site review; on occasions of success, inviting leaders was a customary practice in the Republic.

The director’s office had not only the director but also the Party secretary present; so he invited them both.

“Director, Secretary, the aircraft’s exterior model is ready—I’d like you to come have a look.”

“Good, wait a moment. I must see your project. The institute has been waiting for your project to succeed and bring in profits.”