163: Chapter 73 Steel City

On the Gobi Desert in the northwest, a sandstorm had just passed, leaving the world in a hazy, yellowish gloom.

Fine sand, like sifted flour, covered every inch of land evenly, and tiny particles hung in the air, making one's throat feel parched with every breath.

Two hundred kilometers west of Yumen Pass, a brand-new steel mill was under intense construction.

The massive skeleton of a blast furnace had been erected, standing tall in the sandstorm like the ribs of a steel beast, its rust-red steel frame gleaming with a dull luster under the dim, yellowish light.

On the construction site, thousands of workers were busy.

Some were pouring concrete foundations, the buzzing of vibrators rising and falling; others were welding steel frames, the electric arcs flickering in the sandstorm like sleepy fireflies; still others were laying pipes, the crisp sound of hammers striking pipe walls echoing through the valley.

The roar of cranes, the clashing of metal, and the rhythmic chants of workers blended together to form a rugged industrial symphony in the grey-yellow world.

This was the largest steel project in the Five-Year Plan—the "Yumen Steel Complex."

According to the plan, it would possess six blast furnaces, thirty steelmaking converters, and twenty rolling production lines, with a designed annual output of five million tons.

Once completed, it would become the largest steel mill in Asia, surpassing even any steel center in the British Isles at the time.

Its chimneys would poke into the sky like fingers, its factory buildings would stretch for kilometers, and its rails would transport ore from the mines to the furnaces, and then carry steel ingots across the country.

In the core area of the construction site stood a huge propaganda board, depicting a silhouette of a person with hands on their hips, grinning broadly, with large characters written beside it: "The backbone of the Tang Country rises from here!"

The lines of the silhouette had been blurred by the sandstorm, but that heroic spirit remained distinct.

Li Ling stood under the propaganda board, wearing a hard hat, crouching on the ground with a group of German engineers to look at blueprints.

He was wearing a dusty, coarse cloth work uniform, his trouser legs splattered with mud, and the strap of his hard hat had left a red mark on his chin.

His face was covered in red marks from the wind and sand, his lips were cracked, and his fingernails were embedded with an indelible rust-colored grime.

He held a pencil in his hand, pointing at a mark on the blueprint, speaking in fluent German, the pencil making a faint scratching sound on the paper.

"Here, the foundation must be half a meter deeper."

He tapped the location of the blast furnace base on the blueprint with his pencil, the tip causing the paper to dent slightly.

"The winds on the Gobi Desert are too strong; if the foundation isn't solid, the blast furnace will eventually be blown crooked. In spring and autumn every year, the wind speed here can exceed twenty meters per second. We cannot take the risk."

The German engineer beside him, Fritz Krupp, adjusted his glasses and replied in German with a slight accent: "Your Majesty, according to your standards, the construction period will have to be extended by at least half a month. Furthermore, the cost will increase by about five percent. The consumption of concrete and steel will both increase, and additional foundation reinforcement measures will be needed."

"Extend it then; money is not an issue."

Li Ling waved his hand and straightened his back, his knees making a faint clicking sound.

"I don't need a steel mill that will have problems in five years. What I want is a 'City of Steel' that can be used for fifty years."

When he said this, his tone was calm, but that unquestionable air of confidence made the German engineers exchange glances and nod silently.

They were talents obtained by Li Ling through the system lottery—a group of German metallurgical experts at the level of the 1920s.

Although they were only average in their original timeline, in the Tang Country of 1899, they were already at the ceiling level.

Fritz's beard was still stained with crumbs from the steamed bun he had just eaten, but his eyes were focused, as if he were examining a work of art.

Li Ling stood up and scanned the construction site.

The steel structure of the blast furnace gleamed with a dark red luster in the setting sun, and huge cooling water pipes coiled around the furnace body like giant pythons.

Workers were busy on it like ants; some were sitting on massive steel beams eating, their legs dangling in the air; some were tightening bolts on scaffolding dozens of meters high, the crisp sound of wrenches striking nuts falling down; others were directing crane operations on the ground, their arms waving like orchestra conductors.

Bundles of rebar and steel plates were stacked in the temporary storage area, the roar of diesel generators came from a nearby temporary power station, and the air was filled with the smell of welding fumes and machine oil, as well as the aroma of mutton stewed with potatoes wafting from the worker sheds.

He walked to the base of the blast furnace and looked up at the steel giant rising from the ground.

The outline of the blast furnace appeared exceptionally majestic in the twilight, with scaffolding wrapped around the furnace body like a suit of iron armor in the making.

The refractory bricks at the bottom of the furnace had begun to be laid, rows of bricks arranged neatly, the gaps filled with special refractory Mortar, shimmering with a dark red light in the setting sun.

"Your Majesty! Watch out!" a worker shouted.

Before Li Ling could react, a small stone fell from above, hitting the ground with a "clack" near his feet and kicking up a small puff of dust.

He looked down at the thumb-sized stone, then looked up and shouted: "Who threw that? What if it hit someone?"

A simple, honest voice came from above, carrying a thick northwestern accent: "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to! My wrench slipped!"

"Be careful!" Li Ling shouted. "Falling down is no joke! Tie your safety rope tight!"

A chorus of good-natured laughter rang out across the site.

An old worker with a wrinkled face came over, rubbing his hands, and asked nervously: "Your Majesty, I heard you're going to build a city here? Is it true or false?"

His fingers were as rough as old tree bark, and his fingernails were embedded with an indelible black mud.

Li Ling patted his shoulder, his palm feeling the thin shoulder bones beneath the old man's cotton-padded jacket: "Brother, it's not just a city, it's an industrial base. In five years, there will be steel mills, machine plants, chemical plants, power stations, schools, hospitals, shops, and residential areas—larger than a small county town. Your children won't have to go elsewhere to find work; they can earn money right here."

The old worker grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth: "Then I won't have to farm anymore? My three sons are all on the construction site, and I want to come too."

"If you want to come, then come!" Li Ling waved his hand. "As long as you are willing to work hard, there is plenty of work! We provide food, housing, and after three years of work, you get land!"

The old worker nodded excitedly, turned around, and ran to find the foreman to sign up.

He ran so fast he almost tripped over some rebar, but he got up, brushed off the dust, and kept running like a child who had found a treasure, his dusty figure quickly disappearing into the twilight.

When night fell, Li Ling did not return to the temporary prefab housing but went straight to the staff canteen on the construction site.

It was called a canteen, but it was actually just a few sheds made of color-coated steel plates, drafty on all sides, with the wind sneaking in through the gaps in the panels, causing the flame of the oil lamp to sway wildly.

The stove was built of bricks, burning red willow branches gathered from the Gobi Desert, the flames twisting violently in the wind and crackling.

A large iron pot was stewing potatoes and mutton, the steaming aroma wafting through the cold wind, mixed with the woody scent of burning red willow branches.

Dozens of workers held enamel bowls, squatting outside the shed, eating while chatting loudly, the steam from the bowls condensing into white mist in the cold air, blending with the white breath they exhaled while talking.

Li Ling also took a bowl, squeezed in among a group of workers, and squatted on the ground, drinking the soup in big gulps.

The edges of the enamel bowl had several chips, but it was washed clean.

There wasn't much salt in the soup, but the mutton was stewed until tender, the potatoes melted in the mouth, and it had the unique smoky flavor of the red willow branches.

He drank two bowls, a layer of fine sweat forming on his forehead, which steamed into white mist in the cold wind.

The workers next to him, seeing the Emperor eating the same communal meal with them, were incredibly reserved, constantly shifting to the side to make room for him.

Someone even stood up with their bowl, wanting to give up their spot to him.

"What are you afraid of?" Li Ling wiped his mouth, the grease shining in the firelight. "I'm not a tiger; I won't eat you, will I?"

A bold young worker asked tentatively, his voice a bit tight: "Your Majesty, do you really think this place can become a big city in five years? My wife wrote to say that we're almost out of food at home, and I'm anxious."

"Yes," Li Ling put down his bowl and looked at him earnestly, the firelight dancing in his pupils. "And not just here. Five years from now, the entire Tang Country will be different. The sweat you shed now will eventually turn into silver, into food, and into tuition for your children's schooling. Tell your wife to hold on for three more years; I guarantee she won't go hungry again."

The young worker nodded vigorously, his eyes slightly red, his Adam's apple bobbing: "My dad says you are the best official he has ever seen in his life. I believe him. My dad has farmed his whole life and had never seen what a silver dollar looked like. Last year, when you distributed grain seeds to the village, my dad hugged that bag of seeds and cried for half the night."

Li Ling said nothing, just patted his shoulder, feeling the other man's slight trembling beneath his palm.

The firelight danced on his face, casting a warm halo and stretching his shadow long, projecting it onto the color-coated steel wall behind him.

Just then, the adjutant walked over quickly and whispered a few words in his ear.

Li Ling's expression did not change, but his hand holding the bowl paused slightly, and a faint ripple appeared on the surface of the soup in the bowl.

He stood up and smiled at the workers: "Finish eating and get some rest early; there's still a lot to do tomorrow."

He turned and walked out of the canteen, striding toward the temporary command post.

After walking a dozen steps, his pace noticeably quickened.

The adjutant followed behind, reporting in a low voice: "Your Majesty, Commander Zhao Tieshan sent a secret telegram. The stronghold of those foreign militants has been found in an abandoned fortress about forty kilometers south of the border. There are about eight hundred of them, equipped with old-style Tsarist Russian artillery and Heavy Machine Guns. They are digging fortifications, which seems to indicate they plan to occupy it long-term. Commander Zhao Tieshan says that while parts of the fortress walls have collapsed, the main structure is still intact and can be used as a defensive position after reinforcement. He found newly dug trenches, firing bunkers, and traces of barbed wire on the perimeter of the fortress."

"Eight hundred people?" Li Ling's footsteps crunched on the sandy ground, each step leaving a clear indentation. "That's more than expected."

"Yes. Commander Zhao Tieshan says there may be a few veterans of the Tsarist Russian Cossacks among them; they are very accurate marksmen and are not easy to deal with. He saw through his binoculars that some were wearing traditional Cossack uniforms, with sabers at their waists."

Li Ling stopped and turned to look at the shadowy skeleton of the steel mill in the night.

The outline of the blast furnace was faint in the darkness, and a few night-shift workers holding torches were patrolling on the scaffolding, the firelight drawing short arcs in the darkness like question marks written on the sky.

"Tell Commander Zhao Tieshan to continue lurking; do not alert the enemy."

He spoke slowly, his voice carrying a hint of coldness, like the whistling sound of the night wind passing through the iron framework. "Wait until we figure out who is behind them, then we will act."

"Yes." The adjutant stood at attention and saluted, about to turn and leave.

"Wait." Li Ling called him back. "Tell Chief of Staff Zhang Wanshan to move the Third Mechanized Brigade to Yumen Pass under the guise of a 'relief exercise.' Do not alert the local populace. Tell Chief of Staff Zhang Wanshan to bring the latest equipment; I may go see for myself. Make sure the armored vehicles and Mortars are all brought along."

The adjutant was stunned for a moment: "Your Majesty, you want to go to the front line yourself?"

"Why? Can't an Emperor go to the front line?"

Li Ling's mouth curled into a smile, that unique, slightly cruel expression of a battlefield commander, which flashed and vanished in the firelight. "Those fellows think we are busy with construction and have no time to deal with them. Well then, I will let them see that the Tang Country's construction and warfare can be conducted simultaneously."

The adjutant asked no more questions, turned around, and quickly disappeared into the night, his footsteps rapidly swallowed by the wind.

Li Ling stood in place, looking at the horizon on the distant Gobi Desert.

The sandstorm howled through the darkness, whipping fine grains of sand against his face, stinging slightly and leaving fine red spots on his skin.

The campfires danced in the wind, and the singing of the workers could be faintly heard, carrying the unique desolation and strength of the Gobi Desert, the tune drawn out long, as if drifting from a very distant place.

In the distance, a night owl swept over the ruins and disappeared silently into the darkness, its wings making not a sound as they sliced through the air.

His fingers tapped lightly on the holster at his waist, one tap, then another, like some silent countdown.

His fingertips touched the rough texture of the leather, receiving a cold sensation.

"Tomorrow, go to Yumen Pass."

He turned and walked back to the command post, his cotton boots making a dull sound on the sandy ground. "Tell the base to prepare helicopters and the assault team. Tell logistics to have ammunition and dry rations ready; we might be staying for a few days."

"Yes!" The adjutant's voice spread in the wind and was quickly swallowed by the sandstorm.

A new phase had quietly begun.