Major Heavy Industry: Starting with a Fake Marriage

Chapter 104 (This appears to be a fragment of a larger text, possibly a title or heading. The last p

He went over and answered the phone. It was Han Zhiguo's voice, more urgent than usual. "Jiang Cheng, come over here. It's a call from Beijing, from Old Zhou."

Jiang Cheng's heart skipped a beat, and he quickly walked into Han Zhiguo's office. Han Zhiguo was holding a phone, and when he saw him come in, he handed it to him. "Old Zhou, Jiang Cheng is here." Jiang Cheng took the phone and heard Old Zhou's voice coming from the other end of the line, carrying a seriousness he had never heard before.

"Xiao Jiang, is it a convenient time to talk on your end?"

"That's convenient. Mr. Zhou, please tell me."

"There's a national-level mission, and after much thought, I think only you can handle it." Old Zhou paused, as if carefully choosing his words, "Do you know about the WP-7 turbojet engine?"

Jiang Cheng's heart skipped a beat. The WP-7 turbojet engine was the engine of the J-7 fighter jet. It was developed in the 1960s and entered service in the 1970s. It was one of the most advanced aero engines in China at the time.

When he was pursuing his doctorate at the military research institute, he specifically studied the data on this model. Those long-forgotten memories suddenly surged up—turbine blades, high-temperature alloys, thermal barrier coatings, film cooling—each word was like a bullet, hitting his temple.

"I know a bit about it; it seems to be the engine of the J-7?"

"Yes. The turbine blades of the WP-7 turbojet have always had a major problem—insufficient high-temperature fatigue life. The design life is 300 hours, but in actual use, cracks often appear in less than 200 hours. We have been working on this problem since the early 1970s, for more than ten years, and have changed three groups of people, but we have not been able to solve it fundamentally. Recently, a batch of blades has had problems again in bench tests, and the Commission of Science, Technology and Industry for National Defense has issued a strict order that a solution must be found by the end of the year."

Jiang Cheng gripped the microphone, his palms beginning to sweat. Turbine blades are the most demanding components in an aero engine—high temperature, high pressure, high speed, and the materials must withstand combustion gas temperatures of thousands of degrees and enormous centrifugal forces.

Solving this problem requires more than just metalworking skills; it requires knowledge from multiple disciplines, including materials science, thermodynamics, fluid mechanics, and solid mechanics. He possesses this knowledge, but he cannot simply say "I know." He needs to demonstrate this knowledge step by step, like a true "self-taught fitter."

"Mr. Zhou, this project is too big. I'm just a fitter—"

"You're not a fitter," Old Zhou interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "I know your skill level. The research report you sent me before on the thermal barrier coating of turbine blades, I had the experts in the institute review it, and the conclusion was that it 'reached the leading level in China.'"

Jiang Cheng was stunned for a moment. He had written the report in his spare time, using knowledge he had accumulated at the military research institute before his transmigration. He had hesitated for a long time before deciding to send it to Professor Zhou for advice—not to show off, but because he was afraid that if he worked on it alone, he might go in the wrong direction. He hadn't expected that Professor Zhou would not only read it, but also submit it for review. What did this mean? It meant that his knowledge was recognized in this era. This realization made him both excited and nervous.

"Old Zhou, that report—"

"I've read it, and it's very insightful. Xiao Jiang, this project is crucial to the combat effectiveness of our country's fighter jets. The J-7 is still in service in large numbers, and if the turbine blade problem isn't solved, hundreds of engines will have to be scrapped prematurely. This isn't just a matter of money; it's a matter of national defense security."

Jiang Cheng remained silent for a long time. Outside the window, the rain continued to fall, pattering against the glass. Raindrops streamed down the glass, cutting the world outside into countless small pieces. He saw his own shadow reflected on the glass, blurry, like an unfinished painting. He remembered his original purpose for transmigrating—to use the knowledge he had gained to do something. Now, the opportunity had arrived, but he was afraid.

It's not that we're afraid of the technology, it's that we're afraid of being exposed.

He's just a fitter, and suddenly he's mastered a technology that even the top experts in the country couldn't solve. What will people think? Old Zhou trusts him, but what about Chief Engineer Chen? What about those who haven't even met him?

He turned and glanced out the window. The rain had lessened, and the puddles in the yard reflected the sunlight, shimmering brightly. The poplar leaves, washed by the rain, were a vibrant green, each one looking as if it had just been pulled from the water. He took a deep breath and turned back.

"Old Zhou, I'll take it. But I need to bring two people with me. One is Huang Deqing, my master. The other is Sun Deming."

"Master Huang is getting old, and his body probably can't handle it. As for the other person you mentioned... this is no ordinary project." Old Zhou's tone was very serious, and Jiang Cheng could even imagine his furrowed brows on the other end of the phone.

"I can handle it. With him around, I feel reassured. Sun Deming just finished leading the Changchun project independently and needs a larger platform."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Then Old Zhou said, "Okay. I'll arrange it. You guys come to Beijing next week to hold a kick-off meeting. Representatives from the Commission of Science, Technology and Industry for National Defense, the Ministry of Aviation Industry, and the Materials Research Institute will all be there."

After hanging up the phone, Jiang Cheng stood by the window, holding the receiver, listening to the busy tone.

His heart was pounding, and his palms were sweaty. Turbine blades—that was one of his main research areas during his doctoral studies. He had conducted countless finite element analyses, performed countless fatigue tests, and written dozens of papers. He thought he would never need that knowledge in his life, only occasionally borrowing a little bit when repairing machines.

Now, they'll come in handy. But he can't just show them off; he needs to make them look like he "researched" them himself.

"What's wrong?" Han Zhiguo stood behind him, holding an enamel mug in his hand. The tea in the mug had gone cold, and the tea leaves had sunk to the bottom.

Jiang Cheng turned around and repeated Old Zhou's words. Han Zhiguo's expression changed several times after listening—first surprise, then worry, and finally an inexplicable sense of pride. He put down his enamel mug, sat down in a chair, took off his glasses, and wiped the lenses. His movements were slow, as if he were processing the news.

"Turbine blades? Aren't those core components of aircraft engines? Our center has never done such high-end work before."

"That's why Old Zhou approached us. No one else could do it."

Han Zhiguo looked at him, his gaze holding an indescribable quality. "Jiang Cheng, do you know what this means? If this project succeeds, our center won't just be at the provincial level, it'll be at the national level. Then, who in the provincial government will dare to obstruct you?"

Jiang Cheng nodded. He knew. But that wasn't what he was thinking. What he was thinking about was that if this project succeeded, hundreds of engines wouldn't be scrapped, and hundreds of aircraft wouldn't be grounded. Those pilots wouldn't have to worry about engines stalling in the air anymore.

This idea made him feel that all the risks were worth taking.

He left Han Zhiguo's office to find Huang Deqing. Huang Deqing was still in the laboratory, squatting in front of the grinding machine, rubbing an oilstone on the spindle journal.