Chapter 37: The Grand Infrastructure Future Won

The hoisting resumed. This time, two cranes, moving slower but more steadily, lifted the turret gently to the designated height, then moved it horizontally to align with the base.

"Descend! Slow, slow, good!"

The turret settled firmly onto the base, the securing bolts inserted into the reserved holes, tight as a seam.

"Installation complete!" Lao Zhao's voice echoed through the loudspeaker across the entire shipyard.

Cheering erupted. The workers embraced each other, slapped hands, and some even shed tears.

Chen Feng also exhaled a sigh of relief, only then noticing his palms were slick with sweat.

Liu Yongfu walked to his side and said softly, "President, today's two incidents exposed our aging equipment and the workers' fatigue. We've been on a continuous three‑shift rotation for three months; everyone's stamina is at its limit."

"I know," Chen Feng said, looking at the weary yet excited workers. "Starting tomorrow, we'll adjust the schedule. Enforce six days of work followed by one day off, guarantee eight hours of sleep each night. Raise the meal standards, ensure each day includes meat and eggs."

"What about the schedule..."

"The timeline can be extended appropriately, but the quality must never be compromised," Chen Feng declared resolutely. "Tell everyone: we are not building ships for Deguo, not building ships for money. We are building ships for Lanfang's tomorrow. Once the ship is finished, it must be able to set sail, to fight, to protect three hundred thousand compatriots."

He paused briefly: "So, we'd rather go slower but make it better."

Liu Yongfu nodded deeply: "Understood."

The setting sun sank in the west, and the lights in the shipyard lit up one by one.

The silhouette of the "Fuxing Hao" grew clearer in the lights—the streamlined hull, the towering bridge, the massive turret... It was no longer just a heap of steel; it was beginning to possess the soul of a warship.

Chen Feng stood at the edge of the shipyard, watching for a long while.

Three months remain.

In three months, this steel behemoth will be launched.

What will the world see then?

Where will Lanfang head next?

He did not know the answer.

But he knew that, whatever the road ahead, these people—these Chinese craftsmen, hands stained with oil, faces drenched in sweat, hearts full of dreams—would walk forward with him.

Walk to the South Ocean, walk back to their hometown.

Walk to the day when Chinese can hold their heads high.

Fifteen kilometers from Dubai Port, a railway construction site.

Yellow sand filled the sky, the scorching sun blazed overhead. Over a thousand workers were laying tracks, the shouts, hammer blows, and the roar of steam engines interweaving, echoing across the open desert.

Zhou Nian stood on the hastily erected command platform, holding the construction blueprint, and issued orders to several foremen beside him:

"Section One, you must complete five hundred meters of sleeper laying today. Section Two, the rail joint progress is slow; dispatch two crews to assist. Section Three, sand and stone supply is lagging; inform the transport team to send ten more trucks."

"Minister Zhou, water! The workers are running out of drinking water!" a young technician ran over to report. "The temperature is forty‑two degrees today, and three people have already suffered heatstroke and been taken to the hospital."

"Notify logistics to send a water truck immediately. Guarantee eight liters of water per person per day, with added salt," Zhou Nian ordered quickly. "Additionally, adjust work hours: start at five a. m., rest from eleven a. m. to three p. m., then work again until eight p. m., avoiding the hottest period."

"But the schedule..."

"The schedule is important, but lives are more important," Zhou Nian said gravely. "Tell all foremen: anyone who pushes the schedule and causes workers to suffer heatstroke will have their position revoked."

The technician hurried away to deliver the order.

Zhou Nian wiped his sweat, stepped down from the command platform, and walked forward along the freshly laid roadbed. The gravel beneath his feet was still hot, and the air was saturated with the scent of tar and steel.

It was the largest and most challenging project of his career—building a sixty‑kilometer railway across the desert, linking the port, industrial zone, and inland mining area.

There was no ready experience, no sufficient equipment, not even enough qualified technicians.

But they had to do it.

Because Chen Feng said, "Railways are the lifeblood of industry. Without railways, ore cannot be shipped out, products cannot be transported, and Lanfang would remain an isolated island."

"Minister Zhou!"

Someone called him again. Zhou Nian turned around and saw Materials Section Chief Lao Wu rushing over with an anxious expression.

"Bad news! The batch of cement shipped from Basra got damp during sea transport; thirty percent clumped and is unusable!"

Zhou Nian felt a weight in his heart. Cement is a critical material for railway construction, especially for bridges and culverts.

"How much inventory remains?"

"Only enough for three days. The next shipment must come from India and will take at least ten days to arrive."

Ten days. That meant the railway laying would have to halt for a week.

Zhou Nian thought quickly: "Notify the technical team to revise the bridge design, replacing part of the concrete structure with stone masonry. We have quarries along the line; the stone can be sourced on site."

"Stone masonry? Is the strength sufficient?"

"It's enough. My father built the Yunnan‑Vietnam Railway; many bridges were stone‑masonry and have stood for a hundred years," Zhou Nian paused. "Of course, critical sections still require concrete. Concentrate the remaining cement on the three key bridges first."

"Understood, I'll handle it immediately."

Lao Wu had just left when someone else arrived. This time it was the Safety Section Chief.

"Minister Zhou, the excavation of Tunnel Two has hit a quick‑sand layer; the collapse risk is high. Standard procedure calls for steel sheet piles, but we lack enough steel plates."

Zhou Nian took the report, glanced at it, and asked, "Use timber support. How much hardwood from Sumatra do we still have in inventory?"

"Five hundred cubic meters, is that enough?"

"First dispatch three hundred cubic meters there; I'll contact Minister Wang immediately to urgently procure another thousand cubic meters," Zhou Nian marked on the map. "Also, slow the excavation to no more than two meters per day. Safety first."

"Understood."

After handling each problem, Zhou Nian's mouth was dry and his tongue parched. He returned to the command tent, grabbed his water flask, took several big gulps, then spread out the overall construction map.

On the drawings, red lines indicated the railway already completed, blue lines the sections under construction, and black lines those not yet started.

Now, the red lines total less than ten kilometers.

Fifty kilometers remain to be conquered.

Three more bridges still need to be erected.

Two more tunnels still need to be bored through.

There are countless technical problems still to solve.

Zhou Nian rubbed his temples. He is forty‑five this year, has built a dozen railways in South Ocean and China, but has never faced pressure as great as this.

It's not only because the schedule is tight and the conditions are poor.

It's also because this railway carries the hopes of three hundred thousand people.

"Minister Zhou, dinner's ready."

The assistant came in carrying a lunchbox, with plain rice, vegetables and a few slices of salted fish.

Zhou Nian took a few bites, then suddenly asked, "Xiao Zhang, do you think all this hard work is worth it?"

The assistant was startled for a moment, then said earnestly, "It's worth it. My father said that back in Borneo, the Dutch trains passed by our doorstep but wouldn't let us Chinese ride. Now the railway I'm building will let Chinese ride whenever they want, go wherever they wish."

Zhou Nian smiled, patted the assistant's shoulder, and said, "Well said. Get back to work; after I finish eating I'll go to the construction site."

After the meal, Zhou Nian didn't rest; he put on his straw hat and left the tent again.

At the construction site, the workers were on their lunch break. Some napped under a temporary shade shelter, some gathered to chat, and others wrote letters—to family still in South Ocean.