Before using nuclear weapons, Ban Xia had to protect herself. The Nuclear Industry Corporation provided detailed self-protection guidelines (the expert group still maintained that Miss Qiu’s explosion wouldn’t cause substantial harm to the girl in the foreseeable future, but they couldn’t persuade the three fathers in the command center). The guidelines meticulously explained how to survive after a nuclear explosion. Ban Xia checked each item one by one, examining the seals on doors and windows, and wrapping supplies tightly in plastic sheets. But no matter what protective measures were taken—in the expert group’s words, nothing was better than running far away.
The Nuclear Industry Corporation suggested that Ban Xia stay away from Meihua Villa for a week after the nuclear explosion, moving east to hide around Nanjing Tech University or the Agricultural Sciences Academy for a week. If conditions allowed, hiding behind Purple Mountain in Qixia District would be even better. The northeast wind was blowing this season, and Qixia District was upwind, unaffected by contamination. So Ban Xia was preparing for the relocation.
This was quite an undertaking.
Ban Xia rolled up her sleeping bag, tent, and raincoat, strapping them tightly to her bicycle frame. She stuffed food, drinks, and supplies into her backpack. Squatting on the floor, she lifted the bag to test its weight—very heavy—then set it down heavily.
A small head poked out from behind the bag.
“We’re moving house, Lord Yellow,” the girl said, reaching out to pat the weasel’s little head.
Lord Yellow raised his head, turned away, and ran off.
“Don’t go too far—!” Ban Xia called out. “Don’t want to lose track of you when the time comes!”
Lord Yellow didn’t respond, and it wasn’t clear if he’d even heard. The girl sighed—such a worry.
She stood up and sat in her chair, letting out a slow breath. Feeling she should call out once more, she shouted toward the door:
“Don’t go too far!”
The house was mostly packed up. Everything that could be taken was packed, and everything that couldn’t was sealed away—like the Ming Dynasty Jingtai blue-and-white porcelain jar with ladies walking in spring from the kitchen, the Hongwu copper-red glazed plum vase with Three Friends of Winter pattern, and various other vessels large and small. What couldn’t be taken would all be buried in a deep hole dug downstairs.
There wasn’t enough time to pack so many things at the last minute; Ban Xia had to prepare in advance.
The current time was 3 PM on December 27.
The girl sat silently in her chair. The table before her was crammed full: an Icom725 amateur radio, Celeron 3150 industrial control motherboard, monitor, power supply, keyboard, cameras, and various electronic components piled into mountains. Under the table were batteries, tripods, and burnt-out LCD screens. These were the fruits of her labor over the past few months. Just half a year ago, she couldn’t have imagined handling such a complex system. Look how easily time changes a person—it doesn’t take long to turn you into someone else entirely.
Ban Xia picked up the headphones and put them on, an unconscious smile appearing on her face.
Taking them off, her face returned to expressionless.
Putting them on again, she smiled.
Taking them off, expressionless again.
She placed the headphones back on the table, staring at them motionlessly, her eyes gradually narrowing. When had she learned to pretend?
Pretending to be a girl who was always energetic, strong-willed, happy, cheerful, and undefeatable.
You know you’re not that kind of person.
Ban Xia said softly.
You’re timid, you’re afraid, you shrink back, you want to escape, you dare not face such great difficulties and dangers, you’re afraid of nuclear bombs, afraid of the Big Eye, you can barely hold on anymore.
“Who are you putting on this act for?” the girl asked the headphones on the table.
But the headphones remained silent.
That evening, when the Long March 5 Y3 rocket launched, the command center was watching the live stream—not CCTV’s terrible broadcast, but a special feed, the VIP angle among VIP angles, where you could see every pore on Long March 5’s face. From breakfast onwards, Old Zhao, Old Bai, and Old Wang had been on watch, maintaining remote synchronization with the Wenchang Center. They were probably the most nervous group in the world about this launch. The command center knew opportunities were rare and everything hinged on this moment—if the launch failed, even if Long March 5 had backup rockets, Miss Qiu had no backup.
The Nuclear Industry Corporation repeatedly emphasized that they only had one chance, they only had this one nuclear bomb. To make another identical one would take at least two months, and they knew the team couldn’t wait that long.
Old Zhao said shut up, you’re making me nervous!
So Old Zhao spent the whole afternoon contacting the launch center, repeatedly confirming procedures, almost to the point of harassment, until the launch center couldn’t stand it anymore and angrily shouted: “Can you shut up? If you call again to interfere with our work, you’ll take full responsibility if anything goes wrong with this rocket!”
Hearing this—Bai Zhen and Wang Ning felt incredibly satisfied.
Finally, someone could control that bastard Old Zhao.
Zhao Bowen was rebuffed, quite helplessly. He sat dejectedly on the sofa, gazing far away at the rocket standing in the lights letting off white smoke two thousand kilometers away.
“Professional matters should be left to professionals, right?” Bai Zhen said to Wang Ning. “Amateurs who don’t understand shouldn’t meddle—that’s the most basic work principle.”
Wang Ning nodded in agreement:
“I never bother people when they’re busy, making myself unwelcome.”
“It’s a matter of quality,” Old Bai said.
“Yes, a matter of quality,” Old Wang agreed.
At 8:45 that evening, the Long March 5 Y3 rocket ignited. In the command center, everyone’s eyes followed that big white fatty as it gradually receded into the sky, becoming a glowing point. To be honest, everyone was quite nervous. Long March 5’s technology wasn’t mature enough yet—two years ago, the Y2 rocket had problems during launch, with the hydrogen-oxygen engine malfunctioning and causing mission failure. The hundreds of people in the command center didn’t dare breathe, watching intently without looking away. This couldn’t be helped—if there was a way to go up with the rocket, someone from the command center would go. Without mentioning others, Zhao Bowen would be the first to volunteer. He wouldn’t be at ease until he could follow from launch to payload fairing separation.
Fortunately, both the Long March 5 team and the Buddha at Qixia Temple proved reliable. At 8:50 that evening, the rocket and spacecraft separated. The command center confirmed successful orbital insertion, and the long-absent big red screen lit up in the operations control hall. Everyone stood up and applauded.
The new crewed spacecraft prototype carrying Miss Qiu entered orbit and would cut off all contact with Earth an hour later. It would be humanity’s largest time-delay delivery to the future. The spacecraft’s orbit was designed as a path to the L4 Lagrange point between the Sun and Earth. At L4, the spacecraft would orbit in a halo orbit for twenty years, maintaining synchronization with Earth’s orbital period, until near the return date when it would restart its engines to return to Earth.
This was also the most complex time-delay delivery mission to date.
Even more complex than the previous Heng-Ha Two Generals, mainly in terms of atmospheric reentry.
The Two Generals had the most complex orbital design, but they didn’t need to enter the atmosphere and didn’t need to face this greatest challenge in human spaceflight history. Plunging into the dense atmosphere was a matter of life and death for any spacecraft, and Miss Qiu returning from the L4 point one astronomical unit away meant reentry speeds far exceeding those from low Earth orbit—this was why the command center needed to borrow the new crewed spacecraft. The new crewed spacecraft was prepared for lunar and even Mars missions; it could ensure its safety when returning to Earth’s atmosphere at high speeds.
“Done! Launch successful!” Bai Zhen slapped the table and stood up. “Who’s going to buy some alcohol? Let’s celebrate! Drink to our success—”
“Buy what?” Mom appeared silently behind him.
“No-nothing… but this is a joyous occasion, couldn’t we make an exception…”
Bai Zhen tried to struggle.
“Drinking interferes with work!” Mom gave no face at all. “Have you completed all your work? Already thinking about drinking.”
Old Bai deflated.
Looking back afterward, Bai Zhen’s celebratory drink was indeed premature. The rocket’s successful launch was only half the success, and the other half wouldn’t be clear until after 10 PM. According to the original plan, the spacecraft would return to Earth around 10 PM on December 27, twenty years later—so the group crowded outside Bai Yang’s room waiting for news, waiting for news of the spacecraft’s return to Earth.
Bai Yang told the girl that the crewed spacecraft’s return to Earth would be spectacular, like a super-large meteor streaking across the night sky, visible worldwide, so the girl happily prepared to watch for the meteor.
Ban Xia asked when it would come.
Bai Yang said ten o’clock.
Ban Xia asked what if it didn’t come at ten?
Bai Yang said then eleven o’clock.
Ban Xia asked what if it still hadn’t come by eleven?
Bai Yang said then noon, but it would come back tonight.
Ban Xia said okay.
So she sat there waiting and waiting, until dawn the next day.