At 2 AM, a large group drove through the night to Meihua Villa, the convoy speeding down the deserted Zhongshan East Road. Bai Zhen led in his old Toyota—he was an experienced driver.
Just moments ago in the conference room, Old Bai had erupted in curses at Zhao Bowen, shocking everyone. Such vicious cursing could only mean one thing—that Zhao Bowen had sent someone to dig up Old Bai’s ancestral graves. But Bai Zhen’s subsequent news sent everyone into an uproar. The conference room fell silent for three seconds before Zhao Bowen was the first to rush out.
While Bai Yang was repeatedly confirming with the girl whether what she’d seen was indeed the spacecraft’s return module (Lian Qiao had taught him many interrogation techniques about how to help interviewees comprehensively recall and relay all details), a crowd of people burst in. Bai Zhen pushed open the bedroom door, panting as he shouted:
“Did you find it?”
Bai Yang removed his headphones and turned to say: “To be precise, it found us.”
An emergency operations meeting convened in the living room. No one could explain why the spacecraft had returned so far ahead of schedule, but fortunately, it hadn’t gotten lost. The spacecraft project team leader was baffled—any error in any part of the plan should have resulted in massive deviations, and it wouldn’t have been surprising if the return module had landed in Africa. Yet inexplicably, it had obediently crash-landed in Nanjing.
The mission team realized that the future was a pure black box. Whatever you sent into it, its development was unpredictable. You could only wait for the black box to output results.
“We estimate the nuclear bomb is still effective, as long as the return module remains intact, the bomb should be usable,” said the nuclear working group.
“That sturdy?” Bai Zhen asked.
“When designing it, our requirement for the nuclear bomb was that it would maintain safety even if the spacecraft failed to land properly. The return module could burn up, but the nuclear bomb couldn’t be damaged,” the nuclear working group answered. “Since MSR observed that the return module maintained its main structural integrity, the nuclear bomb is likely still effective.”
“So we don’t need to wait two months to redesign the bomb?”
“Probably not, but we can’t guarantee it.”
“Good!” Zhao Bowen clapped his hands forcefully—this was the only good news he’d heard in recent days.
“Don’t celebrate too early. The nuclear bomb may have been lucky enough to survive, but the key got destroyed.” Someone from the nuclear working group tore off a thin strip from a stack of A4 paper at his feet, holding it up and waving it. “The key is only this big, very thin and delicate. We couldn’t make it too sturdy. If the spacecraft didn’t land normally, it definitely couldn’t withstand the impact.”
Everyone stared at the small strip of paper, only as wide as a thumbnail and a few inches long.
“Is there any way to activate the nuclear bomb without the key?” Zhao Bowen asked.
“Impossible,” the nuclear working group shook their heads. “Without the key, the nuclear bomb’s unlock circuit is broken. The lock can’t be opened. Forcing it open would damage the bomb’s structure, rendering it ineffective.”
“Can we make a new key?” Zhao Bowen asked.
“Yes, we have backups,” the nuclear working group nodded.
“How long would it take to prepare and send over a backup key?”
“Twelve hours.”
“Good, make a call and have them send the new key as soon as possible,” Old Zhao said. “Little Lian, help make a note…”
“It’s 2:30 AM, Lian Qiao went to sleep,” Wang Ning said. “Who are you going to call?”
“Tomorrow morning, we’ll call when work starts tomorrow morning.”
“Preparing a new key is easy, but delivering it isn’t so simple,” the nuclear working group said. “This thing is very precise and fragile, and absolutely cannot be lost. Normal time courier methods won’t work.”
“Can’t we put it in a time capsule and throw it in the lake?” Wang Ning asked.
“Absolutely not. This is a nuclear arsenal key, it cannot be lost under any circumstances. None of us can bear the risk of it potentially being lost,” the nuclear working group said. “There can only be two outcomes—either it reaches the target’s hands, or it’s destroyed.”
“If we lose it, we’ll all go to jail, for at least a few years. The political security officers are watching command like hawks,” someone said in a low voice.
Wang Ning frowned, looking around the room.
“What if we hide it here? Chisel a hole in the wall and seal it inside?”
“No good, sealing it in the wall would ruin it.”
This stumped Wang Ning too. He hadn’t expected that after managing the Long March 5 crewed spacecraft and even nuclear weapons, they would be blocked by a tiny key.
The key had to be delivered precisely and without fail into the girl’s hands—this was no easy task. Any time courier method had a chance of failure. They could take various measures to improve the success rate, but couldn’t guarantee 100%—everything in this world was like this. Getting 60-70% was simple, but 80-90% was difficult, and demanding 100% meant they weren’t meant to succeed.
“None of this matters,” Zhao Bowen stood up, clapping his hands forcefully. “We’ll find a way to deliver the key. The urgent task now is to reorganize the team and continue Phase Three of Project Dongfang Hong according to the original plan! Comrades, time is life. Now that we’re picking up Project Dongfang Hong again, we’ll set the action timeline starting from receiving Miss Qiu. How much time remains until the planned nuclear bomb unlock moment?”
Bai Zhen pulled out his tablet from under him, opening the mission notes.
“72 hours.”
“Good, then we’ll proceed based on 72 hours remaining!” Zhao Bowen waved his fist. “In 72 hours, we will unlock that nuclear bomb!”
48 hours before the expected nuclear bomb unlock.
Ban Xia lay flat on the gravel, her waist, legs, and buttocks aching from the rough surface. Just inches from her face was a massive concrete wall that had completely collapsed. After the wall coating had peeled off, it revealed the gray concrete underneath. After the concrete cracked, it exposed finger-thick crevices that seemed bottomless. Several thousand tons of weight hung above the girl’s nose tip. If it collapsed and slammed down flat, she would “splat” and burst, turning into a pancake—Ban Xia thought silently.
But it had maintained this state for many years. Moss and vines had grown in the concrete cracks, green plants were engulfing this massive, irregular mixture of steel and concrete, turning it into a green sculpture. What year had the ruins of People’s Life Plaza formed?
The girl had no memory of it.
The ruins were a good place. They provided hidden passages for Ban Xia to traverse. The girl was like an ant crawling through rock layers, with no light around her. In complete darkness, she could only feel her way forward from memory. The cracks in the ruins led everywhere, but some were dead ends. When she hit a dead end, she would return the way she came. Some cracks were so narrow only one person could squeeze through sideways. She would take off her backpack and slowly crawl through.
Ban Xia lay there as a slight breeze blew in from outside, moving her hair.
She was waiting.
While waiting, she recalled the route she had just taken. She would return the same way. She tried to construct a model of the ruins in her mind but quickly failed. These ruins were formed by the collapse of two or three high-rise glass-curtain buildings. Previously, she had trouble imagining what could have caused this.
Now Ban Xia knew it was created by the spacecraft’s impact. The return module had crashed like a meteorite, trailing fierce flames.
And that spacecraft was now in her line of sight—Ban Xia had waited for the moonlight she’d been expecting. The moon emerged from the clouds, suddenly brightening the outside. Ban Xia looked out, and she could vaguely see a tall black shadow standing in the center of the crater. That was the spacecraft’s return module.