Retornando aos anos 70 para forjar espadas pela pátria: Modificando drasticamente o Tipo 59 desde o início
Renascido em 1985, no começo fui "designado" para um galpão decadente prestes a ser fechado, restando apenas seis meses! Na vida passada, morri cheio de rancor; nesta, Du Yuze só quer recuperar tudo o que lhe pertence! Justamente quando estava desesperado, ao tocar aquela velha aeronave J-5 coberta de poeira... [Ding! Núcleo industrial detectado, sistema auxiliar de tecnologia militar ativado!] [Objetivo: aeronave de combate J-5 (com defeitos graves)] [Avaliação geral: um caixão de aço incapaz de voar.] Sistema, me dê um projeto revolucionário capaz de transformar a era! [Aviso: o plano "Li Kui dos Céus" irá romper as barreiras tecnológicas do mundo atual, risco altíssimo!] [Plano gerado, lista de recursos necessária:] [Capital inicial: quinhentos mil yuan!] [Equipamento principal: uma fresadora CNC de cinco eixos!] [Material principal: 500 kg de liga de titânio para alta temperatura!] Olhando para essa lista digna de contos de fadas, Du Yuze sorriu. Outros têm sistemas; eu tenho uma lista de compras que fará o mundo tremer! Fechamento? Eu ainda não concordei, quem ousa mexer no meu galpão!
Retornando aos anos 70 para forjar espadas pela pátria: Modificando drasticamente o Tipo 59 desde o início
The luggage roll thudded against the muddy ground with a dull sound. Du Yuze didn’t glance at the mud splattered on his trouser leg. He reached into the pocket of his military-green jacket and pulled out a pack of “Lotus” cigarettes, the box softened by sweat. He flicked one out and held it between his lips. Striking a match, the smoke curled upward.
His gaze settled on what lay before him: a massive iron gate stained with rust. The rust spread from the hinges to the keyhole, a reddish-brown hue resembling dried blood. On the gatepost hung a decayed, blackened wooden sign, the faded paint barely revealing the words: “207 Aviation Repair Workshop.”
Du Yuze extended his right hand and knocked thrice on the iron door, “Knock, knock, knock.” The sound was muffled, the echo brief. The steel plate was over twelve millimeters thick; the main structure remained sound. He moved to the hinge, plucked a flake of rust with his finger. The corrosion was flaky, not powdery. Though oxidized for over fifteen years, the core remained intact. Replace the hinge, blast the rust with a high-pressure water jet, then apply three coats of epoxy zinc-rich primer—this door could last another twenty years. The cost would be about three hundred yuan.
These thoughts flickered through his mind, a wry smile briefly crossing his lips. Two lifetimes, yet he could not shed this occupational habit. Who would have thought that this dilapidated place, even shunned by a beggar’s sect branch, was once the pride of the 303 Factory under the “Third Front” project?
The Republic’s first-ge
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