Chapter 458: Steel Torrent Sets a New Course

The sun over Pilbara, Western Australia, is still so blisteringly hot it could fry oil out of a person.

But today, in the heart of this red desert, the atmosphere is starkly different from the usual mechanical roar.

The air is thick with a blend of diesel, rust, and an indescribable exhilaration.

Zhao Zhenshan stands on the newly completed loading station platform, a rolled‑up red flag clenched in his hand, his palms slick with sweat.

It's not from heat.

It's from nerves.

He gazes at the rail stretching into the distance, wavering in the heat haze, and at the massive ore train that looms endlessly on the tracks.

The cars are brand‑new, bearing deep‑blue markings of "Wanshang Mining", dazzling under the blazing sun.

Below the platform, a sea of people presses together.

Engineers and technicians who have come from within the country.

Dark‑skinned Australian workers wearing safety helmets.

Also present are the Sino‑Soviet security team led by Zhang Jianguo and Victor; today they carry no gear, standing upright at the outer edge of the crowd, their eyes equally full of anticipation.

Ma Guotao stands beside Zhao Zhenshan; the veteran mining commander accustomed to grand scenes now rubs his hands with a hint of excitement.

"Old Zhao, give the departure signal!" he urges, his voice carrying a barely perceptible tremor.

Zhao Zhenshan draws a deep breath of the scorching, dry air, as if to inhale the very power of this land.

He swings his arm abruptly, slashing the red flag forward with force!

"Departure—!"

"Wooo—!"

The deafening whistle tears the desert's silence.

The massive diesel locomotive at the front belches a thick black plume, its wheels grinding against the rails with a heavy roar.

Then follows the second, the third…

The entire mineral Special Train, over a kilometer long, moves like an awakened steel dragon, beginning to crawl forward.

The heavy wheels roll over the steel rails, producing a rhythmic, heart‑pounding "clank" sound.

As the first car passes beneath the loading station, the open carriage reveals jet‑black, lustrous magnetite ore, glittering like tiny steel grains, reflecting a heavy glow of wealth and power in the sunlight.

The crowd erupts in a massive cheer.

Hats are tossed into the air.

The workers shout in various languages, embracing each other, slapping each other's shoulders vigorously.

Zhao Zhenshan watches the black torrent surge past in sections, his eyes suddenly warming.

Nearly two years of secret exploration, silent land operations, and frantic infrastructure construction…

All the sweat, anxiety, sleepless nights, at this moment seem to flow together with the train's launch, becoming a tangible surge.

This is not merely a single carload of ore.

It is industrial sustenance seized from the Earth's depths.

It is the first heavy, solid piece in Wanshang's global resource strategy.

Moreover, it is the steel‑paved starting point toward a grand future.

The dragon‑like train accelerates, roaring with smoke and dust, racing toward a port fifty kilometers away, toward waiting cargo ships, ultimately heading to the distant East to feed the nation's throbbing industrial bloodstream.

Zhao Zhenshan watches the train's vanishing direction for a long while, until the shadow of the last carriage melts into the heat‑rising horizon.

He turns, addressing Ma Guotao and everyone present, saying only one sentence:

"First batch, 150,000 tons. This is only the beginning."

The voice is not loud, yet it carries clearly across the noisy platform.

The crowd boils again.

Almost as the steel dragon in Australia begins to surge.

Thousands of miles away in southern China, another silent "cabling" project is quietly accelerating.

Shenzhen, Longgang Electronic Industrial Park.

In a freshly arranged conference room, smoke swirls.

Xu Jiaming, Zhang Wei, and several senior engineers summoned from the postal‑telecommunication system circle a massive national map, debating intensely.

On the map, several major cities—Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Shenzhen, Tianjin—are highlighted with red circles.

"Simulating a honeycomb network, the technical standards must be unified; otherwise it becomes a collection of isolated 'islands'."

An elderly engineer with graying hair taps the map with a pen, "Base‑station site selection, frequency planning, switching capacity—each step must be flawless. Especially the capital and Shanghai, whose political and economic significance leaves no room for carelessness."

"Funding and equipment pressures are also huge," Xu Jiaming adjusted his glasses. "A set of base‑station gear with accessories is costly if imported. We can produce some domestically, but key components still rely on external purchase. Moreover, network construction and maintenance require long‑term investment; short‑term profits are hard to see."

"But it must be done," Zhang Wei said, his voice bearing the typical technical stubbornness. "Without a network, the 'big brother' is just an expensive brick. Only when the network is laid can this device truly be used, and our R&D investment makes sense. Moreover, this is the future, the trend. Whoever builds the network first will control the initiative of the next communications era."

He picks up the first‑generation handheld mobile phone of the "Wanshang" brand on the table, which has passed final testing.

The device remains boxy and hefty, but its craftsmanship is far finer than earlier prototypes, and the black plastic shell now has a matte finish.

"According to the final tests, in areas with good signal, continuous call time can reach thirty minutes. Standby extends to eight hours. Weight… nine hundred fifty grams. It's a bit heavier than Motorola's latest model, but our cost can be kept lower."

He pauses, adding, "The key is we've pre‑installed a simple Chinese character display and input function; although it only shows a few common characters, it's a start. Motorola doesn't have that."

This tiny differentiation advantage makes several veteran postal‑telecom engineers in the room nod.

In the Sinographic cultural sphere, even displaying a few surnames or common words offers huge convenience.

"For network construction, we could try forming a joint venture with local postal‑telecom departments, co‑investing and sharing profits."

Xu Jiaming proposes a compromise: "We provide some equipment, technology, and capital; they provide sites, licenses, and part of the maintenance force. We'll pilot in these key cities first, then expand gradually."

"Additionally, the sale and network entry of the 'big brother' must sync with base‑station construction. We could even offer bundled discounts to encourage early users."

The meeting finalizes the next strategic steps.

A primary mobile communication network, with key cities as nodes and gradually spreading, is moving from blueprints into reality.

And that nearly one‑kilogram "brick" is about to shed its mystery, fall into the hands of a few, and become a symbol of status, power and foresight.

Also in Shenzhen, within the Bao'an Automobile Industrial Park, a different heated scene unfolds.

He Xiao practically lives in the Workshop.

The smell of engine oil on him is stronger than perfume, his eyes are blood‑red from fatigue, yet his spirit is unusually exhilarated.

"Sedans are too high‑end; let's start with something down‑to‑earth!"

He points at several chassis being assembled in the Workshop, his voice booming, "See? Light‑weight truck chassis! The structure is relatively simple, market demand is huge! Construction sites, individual transport, factory and mining enterprises can all use them!"

Next to him is James Whitaker, brought over from Britain; the old man holds an unlit pipe (smoking is prohibited in the Workshop), frowning at the drawings and occasionally correcting them with a pencil.

"The suspension is too soft; hauling heavy loads will crush the rear! Reduce the steering gear clearance a bit; the play is too large!"

He Xiao immediately leans in, "Got it! Grandfather James, we'll change it exactly as you say!"

After several months of running in, the old man and the youngster surprisingly developed a wonderful tacit understanding.

He Xiao has drive; he dares to think and act.

James's seasoned experience can reel his wild ideas back to reality and apply them to the torque of every bolt.

Besides the trucks, at a neighboring workstation a boxy, brain‑shaped vehicle that looks like a big loaf of bread is being assembled.

It is the first‑generation prototype of a small van.

"This thing can haul passengers or cargo! Running passenger service or wholesale later, it'll be a hit!" He Xiao pats the adorably ugly van's shell, brimming with confidence.

He has even already sketched designs for a city bus and a coach.

"Step by step: first stabilize the truck and the van, get the engine and gearbox approved, then push upward!" He sets this roadmap for himself and the team.

The most exhilarating news for him comes from the engine Workshop.

After countless failures and adjustments, borrowing some foreign technology and integrating improvements to its own materials, the first fully self‑designed, primarily self‑manufactured 150‑horsepower diesel engine prototype has just passed a continuous two‑hundred‑hour bench reliability test!

Although its noise and fuel‑consumption figures still lag behind top imported products.

But "reliability" is the lifeline of commercial vehicles.

This breakthrough is of extraordinary significance.

The matching five‑speed manual gearbox has simultaneously achieved key progress; its shift smoothness and durability have met design targets.

With its own "heart" and "legs", Wanxiang's automotive path finally takes its first truly independent step.

When the Southern Hemisphere's ores, the domestic communication network, and automotive engines all roar in unison.

In the distant north, a silent yet pivotal "talent migration" stirs beneath the surface.

In the "office" converted from an abandoned warehouse on the Moscow outskirts, the haze is thicker than that in Shenzhen's conference rooms.

Ivanovich — the former KGB lieutenant colonel, now Wanxiang Group's "Special Affairs Coordinator" in the Soviet Union — stares at a long list, his brows tightly knit.

The list contains not soldiers but individual names, positions and specialties.

"Nikolayev Shipyard, aircraft‑carrier welding specialist, Valenky Peterovich, forty‑seven, dissatisfied with the plant's management, daughter ill and needs Western medication…"

"Kharkov Aircraft Design Bureau, senior aerodynamic engineer, Yelena Sergeyevna, fifty‑two, project cut, facing unemployment…"

"Moscow Machine Tool Research Institute, precision machining guru, Igor… this guy is a bit troublesome; his brother is in the KGB, but he himself is extremely disillusioned with the current situation, obsessed with technology, yearning for a 'research environment free from political interference'…"

Chen Jianghe sits opposite him, sipping vodka slowly, listening to Ivanovich's briefing.

"Old Ivan, Director Li's orders are crystal clear."

Chen Jianghe sets his cup down, his tone calm yet firm, "Time waits for no one. What we need aren't run‑of‑the‑mill people, but truly top‑tier core talent who can solve real problems the moment they arrive, even lead teams and projects. Compensation can be the most generous, resettlement the most thorough, families and children fully arranged. But speed must be swift."

Ivanovich crushes the cigarette butt.

"Chen, I understand. But these people… aren't veterans. They're sensitive, have concerns, some are even under 'surveillance'. Direct contact is risky. We need a more subtle 'bridge.'"

"What bridge?"

"Academic conferences, cultural exchanges, third‑party company technical consultancy contracts…"

Ivanovich's eyes glint with the seasoned shrewdness of an old intelligence officer, "For example, we could use academic institutions in Hong Kong or Western Europe to send invitations, asking them to come as 'experts' for short‑term visits or collaborative research. Once they're here, we negotiate. Or, under the pretext of procuring certain 'non‑sensitive' technical data or consulting services, sign a contract with their institute and 'second' the person out."

He pauses, lowering his voice.

"Even… we could engineer some 'accident,' making their situation at the current unit difficult, then we 'just happen' to offer a path rich in respect and research freedom. Of course, this requires extremely delicate handling."

Chen Jianghe ponders briefly.

"Two‑pronged approach. Open, legitimate invitations and commercial cooperation go first, building contacts and trust. Special channels serve as backup and for breakthroughs. Director Li said, spare no expense, but demand precision. Funding and overseas support—Zhou Wenbin has already prepared the channel in London."

He stands, walks to the window, and looks at the overcast Moscow sky.

"Old Ivan, it feels like a storm is coming. What we must do is, before the first drop of rain falls, move the most precious seeds into a safe nursery."

Ivanovich also stands, lighting another cigarette.

"I smell it, Chen. Faster than we expected. Those on the list… I'll approach them personally. Just as you said, spare no expense."

The two shake hands firmly.

A 'grab‑and‑secure' operation without gunpowder, yet concerning decades of future technological accumulation, silently enters its most critical acceleration phase amid the Soviet Union's increasingly bleak cold wind.

A black stream of iron racing out of Australia's scorching desert.

An invisible electromagnetic network silently woven over the skies of China's megacities.

The self‑made engine roaring in test in Shenzhen's Workshop.

And the intelligent formation quietly lining up under Moscow's shadow, about to set out.

All of this seems like unrelated lines.

Yet on the grand blueprint laid out by Li Ping'an, they slowly intertwine, sketching a solid, ambitious future vision that crowns the crest of the era's tide.

Thunder often brews in the deepest silence.

And the orchestrator has already heard the distant, rolling, muffled rumble from the horizon.