Chapter 493: Heart of Kunlun: Not Only Must It Echo, It Must Also Burn Through the Blockade Line!

Zhongguancun North Second Street hung a new sign—"Xinghan Electronic Keyboard Assembly Sub-factory".

Only two gatekeepers stood at the entrance, yet beneath this gray six‑story building lay underground works twelve levels deep. Every night, trucks bearing local plates came and went, hauling in boxes covered with thick canvas and hauling out only slag.

This is the Project 101 Command Center.

On the fifth underground level, outside the cleanroom.

Academician Wang Zhanfeng's hair was a mess, his eyes blood‑red, and he was leaning over the glass watching inside. The Asmar prototype brought back from the United States had been fully assembled, resembling a precise monster, silently lying on the temperature‑controlled platform.

"Wang Lao, is it powered?" the technician inside asked through the microphone.

"Power on! Start at thirty percent load, push slowly." Academician Wang gripped the intercom, his palms sweating.

The indicator lights lit up layer by layer, and the humming current soothed everyone.

Suddenly, the ceiling light flickered twice.

Then, a muffled "boom" came from the adjacent power distribution room, and a wave of burnt odor rushed through the ventilation ducts, instantly filling the corridor. The backup generator, having run less than two seconds, belched thick black smoke, as if someone had clamped its throat.

"Cut the power! Quickly! Protect the core board!" Academician Wang rushed into the power room like a maniac.

A few minutes later, Lu Qingshan arrived.

Academician Wang clutched a black, viscous lump in his hand, trembling with rage, and flung it in front of Lu Qingshan: "Sugar! Brown sugar! Someone poured dozens of jin of brown sugar into the diesel tank! When heated it turned to caramel, clogging the fuel lines and cylinder block! They're trying to blow the engine!"

"Raise the alarm! It must be raised! This is sabotage by agents!" Wang shouted hoarsely.

Lin Yueqiang, with several security guards, had already sealed off the site, his hand on his waist, his face ashen.

"We can't report it." Lu Qingshan glanced at the black sugar residue, his expression unnervingly calm, "If the police come, the commotion will explode. To the outside this place is an electronic keyboard factory; it can't stand inspection."

"Then what do we do? If we don't catch that ghost, we're sitting on a barrel of gunpowder!"

"The ghost is among us." Lu Qingshan scanned the panicked staff, "Outsiders can't enter the power room; anyone who can reach the backup fuel tank is of considerable rank."

He patted Wang's shoulder and lowered his voice: "The machine repairs are yours. The ghost‑hunting is on me."

That afternoon, the factory's loudspeaker blared.

"All departments, attention, all departments, attention. Tonight at eight, the core schematics of the aviation engine arriving from the northwest will be transferred to the third‑level underground archive. Security department, prepare the handover; unauthorized personnel must stay away."

The news spread quickly, even the master cook in the canteen was discussing it.

Late night, third underground level.

Most of the corridor lights were off, only the safety‑exit signs glowed a grim green.

A silhouette in a gray Zhongshan suit pressed against the wall base, footsteps as light as a cat's. He deftly avoided the blind spots of two surveillance lenses, produced a universal key, and gently pried open the archive door.

Inside, several metal cabinets were stacked, each bearing a top‑secret label.

The figure hurried over, took out a match‑box‑sized micro‑camera, and was about to press the shutter on a stack of files inside the cabinet.

"Snap."

The light came on.

The bright light forced the person to instinctively raise a hand to shield his eyes.

Lin Yueqiang sprang out from behind the door like a leopard, delivering a kick to the person's knee pit.

With a "crack" sound, the figure collapsed to his knees, the camera flying far away.

Lu Qingshan sat on a chair in the center of the room, a cigarette unlit between his fingers, watching the man on the floor drenched in cold sweat from pain.

It was the deputy factory director in charge of base logistics, Old Zhao.

In his fifties, a veteran, who had once studied in the Soviet Union in his youth.

"Old Zhao, that cabinet holds waste paper." Lu Qingshan lit the cigarette, his tone even, "For a few sheets of scrap, is it worth staking half a lifetime's reputation?"

Old Zhao collapsed on the ground, trembling all over, tears and snot streaming, "Director Lu… I had no choice… they have my photo in Moscow… I was reckless when young… they said if I didn't cooperate, they'd send the photo to the organization…"

"So you poured sugar into the fuel tank?" Lu Qingshan rose, stepped before him, "Do you realize how many more years our country would have to wait if that machine burned?"

Old Zhao only cried, unable to lift his head.

The door opened.

The white‑haired Academician Wang Zhanfeng entered. He stared at Old Zhao on the floor, his hands—tools of a lifetime of calipers and drafting pens—trembling violently.

"Wang Lao… I'm sorry…"

"Snap!"

A loud slap struck Old Zhao's face hard.

Wang Zhanfeng's slap used all his strength, shaking his own body.

"This slap is for the comrades who ate sand on the Gobi Desert!" Wang Zhanfeng pointed at his nose, his voice hoarse, "We poured our lives into it, and you're stabbing us from behind?!"

Old Zhao covered his face, completely broken, collapsing on the ground and wailing.

Lu Qingshan steadied Wang, giving Lin Yueqiang a signal.

Half an hour later, a high‑power radio set was placed before Old Zhao.

"Transmit." Lu Qingshan said coldly, "Send exactly as I instruct."

Old Zhao trembled as he pressed the keys.

The signal pierced the night sky, flying straight to Moscow: "Sabotage successful. Photolithography core component burned, now scrap metal. Lu Qingshan isolated due to internal review. Requesting further funding."

Shortly after, the reply came: "Well done. Funds have been transferred to the old account. Remain in standby."

Lu Qingshan looked at the translated telegram, sneered, "We'll later withdraw this money and donate it to the Hope Project. Consider it the KGB's contribution to the children in our mountain region."

After dealing with the insider, Lu Qingshan didn't stay in the Capital City another minute.

That night, a military transport aircraft took off from Nanyuan Airport, heading straight for the northwest.

There, an even larger battle awaited.

At the foot of the Qinling, a certain aviation engine test stand.

The cold wind swirled snowflakes, striking the face like a blade.

The verification machine codenamed "Kunlun" had already been mounted on the massive test rig. It integrates General Electric's core engine technology and has been refined day and night by Chinese researchers; now it resembles a sleeping steel behemoth.

The area was packed with people. There were elderly experts with white hair, young technicians, and several generals shouldering a golden star.

The atmosphere was so oppressive it made people unable to breathe.

This engine has burned up several hundred million in funding. If today's ignition fails, not only will the money be wasted, but the newly kindled spark of aviation industry revival will also be doused by a bucket of cold water.

"Consultant Lu, all parameters have been checked," the chief engineer said as he walked to Lu Qingshan, his voice a little strained, "You may ignite."

The eyes of everyone were fixed on Lu Qingshan.

Questioning, anticipation, tension, Fear.

Lu Qingshan stood behind the bullet‑proof glass of the control room, watching the cold machine outside. He knew that many were waiting to see a joke, waiting to see how this businessman who dabbles in finance, food, real estate, and specialty goods would stumble on the highest‑end industrial Crown.

He reached out, his finger hovering above the red ignition button.

"If this thing blows up, I'll jump right off here," Lu Qingshan suddenly laughed, pointing to the cliff outside, "But before I jump, I need to hear a sound first."

The tense atmosphere around was considerably eased by that joke.

Lu Qingshan reined in his smile, his gaze becoming as sharp as a knife.

Comrades, we've been sealed off for thirty years.

"They say we can't make a heart, only a shell. Today, we'll use this fire to tell them."

Lu Qingshan's finger pressed down heavily.

"This fire must not only ignite the engine, but also burn through the blockade line they've set up!"