PDLP Is Chapter 110 feasible?
Is Chapter 110 feasible?
"Master, what did Chief Engineer Chen mean by what he said today?"
"What did you say?"
"I hadn't thought of this angle."
Huang Deqing was silent for a moment. The room was quiet, save for the chirping of insects outside the window, one after another, as if they were arguing about something. Then he spoke, his voice flat, as if he were talking about something very ordinary. "What I mean is, she hadn't thought about it this way before. But now she has.
"But she didn't say whether it was okay or not."
"If she thought it wouldn't work, she would have rejected it on the spot. She didn't reject it, which means she thought it would work. But she can't just say yes directly. She's the chief engineer; if she says yes and it doesn't work, she'll be held responsible." Huang Deqing paused. "Remember, that's how leaders talk. They don't say yes, and they don't say no. They let you guess."
Jiang Cheng didn't respond. Of course, he knew this principle. Back at the factory, Director Zhou spoke the same way, and so did Han Zhiguo. But that wasn't what he was thinking. He was thinking—when Chief Engineer Chen said "I haven't thought about it," did she genuinely not think about it, or had she thought about it but given up? If it was the latter, it meant that she had reasons for believing this direction was unfeasible. She didn't say anything because she didn't want to dampen his enthusiasm in front of Old Master Zhou and Deputy Director Zhang. After all, Old Master Zhou trusted Jiang Cheng so much; if she denied it on the spot, it would be like slapping Old Master Zhou in the face.
"Master, I'm going out for a walk."
"Go ahead. Don't go too far. You're not familiar with Beijing, so don't get lost." Huang Deqing rarely made a joke.
Jiang Cheng put on his shoes and a coat, then pushed open the door. The corridor was quiet; the lights were motion-activated. He stamped his foot, and the lights came on, casting a pale, white light that reflected a dim glow onto the green wainscoting, like a hospital corridor. He went downstairs, pushed open the glass door of the guesthouse, and a cool night breeze rushed in, carrying the sweet fragrance unique to locust blossoms. The fragrance wasn't strong, but it brought a sense of life to the season.
The guesthouse was located in the research institute's staff quarters. The courtyard wasn't large, containing a few gray buildings, a flower bed, and a few locust trees. Roses had been planted in the flower bed, but the blossoms had already faded, leaving only a few withered blooms hanging listlessly from the branches, their petals curled at the edges as if burned, their color having changed from red to dark brown. A layer of locust blossoms covered the ground, soft and rustling underfoot.
He walked to the flower bed and sat down. The cement platform was cool, and the coolness seeped into his skin through his trousers, as if a cold hand was pressed against it.
He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and slowly exhaled. The smoke dispersed under the streetlights, reflecting mirage-like light and shadow, illuminating an elusive future, before dissipating in the night breeze.
He thought of Zheng Yanxi, and of her saying, "Now that you're going to Beijing, don't worry about things at home." Her tone was calm, but there was something in her eyes—not reluctance, not worry, but something heavier, something indescribable, like receiving a heavy burden and saying, "I can handle it." He thought of Jiang Yuan, of how he mumbled "Dad," his lips pouting like a little goldfish. He thought of the half-disassembled grinding machine, the spindle still lying there, the scratches on its surface like a scar, the depth of the grooves felt when touched with a finger.
He didn't know why he had come out. Was it because he couldn't sleep? No, it was because he couldn't figure it out.
It's not that I can't understand the technology, it's that I can't understand the people. What is Chief Engineer Chen thinking? Does she really think this direction is feasible? Or is she just giving Old Zhou face and not revealing it yet? If it's the latter, then the following experiments are just a formality. A formality isn't scary; what's scary is—she's right, this direction really won't work. If it really won't work, then what's the point of him coming to Beijing? What makes him, a fitter, think he can solve a national-level problem? Based on his identity as a time traveler?
He stubbed out his cigarette and threw the butt into the trash can. The trash can was made of sheet metal, and when the cigarette butt fell in, it hissed, emitted a wisp of white smoke, and smelled burnt.
"Comrade Jiang Cheng?"
He turned his head. There stood a person on the other side of the flower bed. He had gray hair, wore a gray polyester shirt, and was carrying a cloth bag.
It was Chief Engineer Chen. She stood there, the streetlights casting long shadows on her, which stretched across the concrete edge of the flowerbed like a slender bamboo pole.
"Chief Engineer Chen? What are you doing here?"
"I live upstairs." She pointed to the building next door, on the third floor. The window light was still on, and the blue curtains were half-drawn, revealing the spines of the bookshelves inside. "Why aren't you sleeping? You have an experiment tomorrow."
"I couldn't sleep. I came out for a walk."
Chief Engineer Chen walked over and sat down next to him. The cement platform wasn't long, and there was about a person's distance between them when they sat down. She placed the cloth bag on her lap, took out an apple from it, and handed it to him. The apple was red, with a thin layer of wax on its skin, reflecting the light under the streetlight.
"Want some or not?"
"No, thank you."
"Have one. Skipping dinner is bad for your health. You young people don't take your stomachs seriously; you'll regret it when you're old." She shoved an apple into his hand, then took another one out of her cloth bag, wiped it on her clothes, and took a bite. A crunchy sound, the juice bursting in her mouth.
Jiang Cheng looked at the apple in his hand; it was red and round, like a small lantern. He took a bite; it was very sweet and juicy, the juice dripping down his chin. He wiped it with his sleeve.
"Chief Engineer Chen, I'd like to ask you a question."
"ask."
"You said today that you hadn't considered this perspective. Did you genuinely not consider it, or did you consider it but give up?"
Chief Engineer Chen paused in his apple-chewing. She turned to look at him. The streetlight illuminated her face, making her wrinkles very clear—three lines on her forehead; like fish tails at the corners of her eyes; like parentheses beside her mouth. Each line, like contour lines on a map, recorded the path she had walked.
"I thought about it. I thought about it back in '79." She took a bite of the apple, chewing slowly, as if savoring something.
"And then?"
"I gave up later." She took another bite, swallowed, and then said, "Back then, we made a batch of test pieces and applied a zirconia coating using plasma spraying. But it didn't work; the bonding strength was insufficient, and it peeled off after a few thermal cycles. Later, I checked the literature and found that foreign companies were also facing this problem. GE had been working on it for three years without success. Their solution was similar to ours—directly spraying zirconia. I looked at their data, and the bonding strength was consistently low; even the best batch only reached 80% of the standard value. So I gave up. I felt that this direction was not viable."
Jiang Cheng tightened his grip on the apple. His fingers dug into the flesh, and juice seeped through his fingers. "Then why did you say this direction was feasible today?"