Volume One, Chapter 15: Vague and Unclear

Three hands spread apart, yet the scorching heat seemed to have seared itself onto each person’s skin.

Pang Qingquan rubbed his hands together like a wild boar eager to root the earth, pacing around the J-5 fighter plane again and again. “Where do we start? Should we just rip off that damn engine? I’ve hated that clunky heap of metal for a long time!”

“No,” Li Guodong’s voice was cold, like a bucket of ice water poured over Pang Qingquan’s flushed forehead.

He approached the side of the aircraft and tapped on the fuselage skin with his finger, producing a dull sound. “Removing the engine is hard labor, the last step. What we lack now isn’t strength, but brains.”

“Old Li, I don’t understand what you mean,” Pang Qingquan said stiffly.

“We need to create a beast, a 'Li Kui',” Li Guodong said, pushing up his glasses as the harsh white light of the workshop reflected off the lenses. “But even Li Kui must obey Song Jiang’s orders. Who is Song Jiang?”

He paused, pointing to the cockpit. “It’s this—the avionics system inside. The plane’s nerves.”

Du Yuze said nothing, knowing the real challenge was just beginning.

Li Guodong continued, speaking slowly but each word striking like a rivet hammered into the other two men’s hearts. “We can modify the engine to be incredibly powerful, reinforce the airframe to withstand extreme overload. But then what? Who tells the plane when to accelerate, when to lift its nose? Should the pilot rely on their eyes and hands on the controls?”

“The current instruments can’t even show the correct altitude and speed! With the engine thrust and air intake changed, all feedback data is wrong! The pilot thinks they’re climbing, but the plane might already be nosediving! This isn’t flying—this is driving a coffin!”

The wild frenzy that had just ignited in the workshop quickly cooled.

Li Guodong’s words were sharper than a winter wind.

Pang Qingquan fell silent. He understood mechanics, hydraulics, and structure, but the dense tangle of wires and instrument panels were like an inscrutable script to him.

“I can calculate structures, material stress, even help redesign the turbine blades of the engine,” Li Guodong said, looking at Du Yuze. “But avionics... especially this kind of reckless modification, forcibly fusing unrelated systems together, it doesn’t need engineers—it needs a sorcerer.”

“The factory’s technical department?” Pang Qingquan tried cautiously.

“Them?” Li Guodong scoffed. “They just cling to Soviet manuals, translating word for word. Asking them to change a lightbulb takes three months of paperwork. Going to them is like confessing to Zhou Zhenhua’s office.”

The air grew heavy again.

Among the three, one understood the big picture, one knew mechanical practice, and one understood structural theory. But they lacked the crucial link—the nerve connecting flesh to bone.

The ‘Li Kui’ body existed, but it had no soul.

Pang Qingquan anxiously tugged at his greasy hair, pacing in place. Suddenly, he stopped, as if struck by an electric shock.

“Wait... I just remembered someone.”

“Who?”

“There’s a teacher at the factory technical school named Shen Qingyun,” Pang Qingquan lowered his voice, as if speaking a taboo. “That guy... he’s a genius, a real genius. When our factory imported the first batch of equipment from the Soviet Union, a crucial radio station broke down. Even the Soviet experts were helpless. He, a young man barely in his twenties, locked himself in a room for two days and two nights and fixed it. Using parts he scavenged from the scrap heap.”

Li Guodong’s eyebrows knotted. “Shen Qingyun? I think I’ve heard of him. Didn’t he get into trouble later?”

“Trouble doesn’t begin to cover it!” Pang Qingquan clicked his tongue. “The guy’s mind was too wild, always talking about ‘technical innovation.’ He said the Soviet design was flawed and wanted to fix it himself. What era was that? Modifying Big Brother Soviet’s stuff was downright reactionary. Plus, his family background was politically problematic. They made his life hell. If it weren’t for his unparalleled radio skills, he’d have been sent off to some mountain coal mine long ago.”

“What about now?” Du Yuze asked.

“Now?” Pang Qingquan snorted. “He’s a living dead man. Teaching the most basic electrician classes at the technical school, barely speaks three sentences a month. After class, he locks himself in his dorm and sees no one. Everyone in the factory treats him like a plague—avoiding him.”

Li Guodong’s face grew grave. “Du Yuze, this won’t work. We’ve already tied our heads to the belt. Bringing in someone with ‘political problems’ is too risky. If anything goes wrong, it’s not just being fired—that’s compounding the crime; no one escapes!”

“A genius abandoned by everyone,” Du Yuze ignored Li Guodong’s warning, softly repeating, “A madman locked in a cage. A madman more desperate than us to prove he’s not mad.”

He turned to look at Li Guodong and Pang Qingquan.

“Zhou Zhenhua gave us a noose to hang ourselves, and we want to use it as a slingshot.”

“And Shen Qingyun, he might be the only bullet we need.”

“I’ll go see him.”

Night was as dark as ink.

The factory’s single dormitory buildings stood like silent tombstones. In the corridor, only a dim bulb flickered weakly in the damp air. Paint peeled from the walls like a dried skin disease.

Du Yuze stood before a door, the nameplate reading “Shen Qingyun” faded and barely legible.

He raised his hand and knocked.

Knock, knock, knock.

After a long pause, a hoarse, impatient voice came from inside.

“Who?”

“Du Yuze from Workshop 207,” his voice clear in the empty corridor. “I want to talk to you about a technical problem.”

“No talking,” the voice was cold as iron. “Go away.”

“About pulse code modulation,” Du Yuze persisted unflinchingly.

Silence followed.

After a few seconds, the door creaked open slightly.

Through the crack appeared a pale, bloodless face behind thick black-rimmed glasses. What lay behind the lenses was unclear. A long-unseen sunlight mustiness mixed with the scent of solder wafted out.

“I don’t care about any modulation,” the man said. “I won’t help anyone. Leave.”

The door began to close slowly.

Just as the gap was about to close, Du Yuze moved.

He didn’t push the door or say another word. Instead, he pulled out several folded sheets of manuscript paper from his pocket and deftly slipped them through the crack.

“Simplified application ideas for pulse code modulation on old transistor equipment,” Du Yuze said calmly to the closed door. “If you think this is trash, use it to level a table. If not...”

“Come to Workshop 207 tomorrow and find me.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the silent corridor.

No sound came from behind the door.

The next morning, Workshop 207.

Pang Qingquan and Li Guodong arrived early. Both stared at the J-5 without touching it, smoking and chatting intermittently. The atmosphere was tense.

“Do you think that Shen guy will come?” Pang Qingquan flicked his cigarette butt and crushed it underfoot.

Li Guodong exhaled smoke. “I don’t know. People like that either give up completely, or they’re powder kegs—one spark and they explode.”

Before he finished speaking—

Bang!

The large iron workshop door was suddenly pushed open from outside, slamming against the wall with a thunderous crash.

The three men looked toward the entrance.

A figure stood in the doorway, backlit like a tottering statue.

It was Shen Qingyun.

He wore the same crumpled clothes as yesterday, his hair a tangled bird’s nest, stubble darkening his chin. His whole body seemed drained of energy, save for his bloodshot eyes, which shone fiercely.

In his hand, he clutched the manuscript papers, edges frayed from his grip.

Ignoring Pang Qingquan and Li Guodong, he strode directly to Du Yuze, thrusting the papers almost into his face.

His lips trembled, his voice like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.

“Th-this... the ideas on here... who wrote this?!”

Du Yuze met his wild gaze without stepping back.

He calmly answered with one word.

“Me.”

Shen Qingyun’s body shook violently. He looked down at the papers, then back up at Du Yuze, as if staring at a monster.

“Help me modify the plane,” Du Yuze said softly but with an irresistible power. “I’ll give you the full version of these ideas.”

He stepped forward, leaning close to Shen Qingyun’s ear.

“And inside my head... there’s something even more brilliant than this.”

Shen Qingyun’s breathing suddenly grew heavy.

He spun around sharply, looking at the silent J-5 in the center of the workshop—the steel beast bearing its cracks.

The bloodshot veins in his eyes seemed even redder.

“Nonsense... this is lawless nonsense...” he muttered, gripping the papers tighter, “But... but...”

As if making a decision, he turned back, locking eyes with Du Yuze.

“The entire avionics system must be torn down and rebuilt. You have nothing, right?”

“Nothing at all,” Du Yuze replied.

Shen Qingyun let out a short, strange laugh.

“Good.”

“I’m in.”