Chapter 235 Smith's Silence 2

The live broadcast frame froze on that steel platform standing atop the blue waves.

The afterglow of the setting sun cast a golden rim over the sky ladder project's foundation-laying site. Lin Mo's figure stood in the center of the rostrum, behind him a massive backdrop reading "sky ladder project Foundation-Laying Ceremony." His voice reached Smith's ears via simultaneous interpretation: "Today, we are building a bridge on Earth that leads to the stars. In the future, this bridge will lead to the Moon, Mars, and even the sea of stars."

In an office at King's College, Cambridge, Professor Smith sat in his leather chair, motionless.

On the screen, applause surged like a tide. Rear Admiral Zhao Gang stood at the side of the rostrum, his military uniform crisp, his gaze fixed on Lin Mo's direction. Li Xiao stood in the first row of the technical team, her eyes rimmed with red, clapping vigorously. Chen Xueming, dressed in a suit and leather shoes, stood beside her with his chin slightly raised, his expression holding a complex sense of pride—the kind of pride that says, "I am a part of this."

The broadcast cut to a wide shot. The offshore platform looked like a white chess piece dropped onto an endless blue chessboard. Four massive cables anchored the platform's four corners, extending toward the deep seabed. In the future, they would bear the weight descending from the heavens.

John, the assistant, pushed the door open cautiously, carrying two cups of coffee.

"Professor, the coffee you asked for."

Smith did not respond.

John hesitated, his gaze sweeping across the screen. He knew the professor had been following the Chinese sky ladder project for the past few days. From the Carbon Nanotubes breakthrough to the engineering feasibility meetings, and then to the global bidding and the Luxembourg signing, Smith had him collect data at every step, yet never offered a comment.

The last time the professor had been this silent was the day the Chinese successfully achieved Nuclear Fusion ignition.

"Professor?" John called out again.

Smith slowly withdrew his gaze, picked up the coffee, took a sip, and set it back down. His gaze fell back onto the screen, which was replaying highlights of the foundation-laying ceremony—Lin Mo's speech, the guests cutting the ribbon, the honking of engineering vehicles, and peace doves soaring into the sky.

"There's nothing to say," Smith finally spoke, his voice low.

John was stunned for a moment. "But... you said before that the space elevator is the pinnacle of human engineering and wouldn't be possible for fifty years. They're starting to build it now; do you really have nothing to say?"

Smith remained silent.

On the screen, a reporter was interviewing the Luxembourg Ambassador to China. The ambassador was saying something in French, and the subtitles read: "Luxembourg is honored to become the first international partner of the sky ladder project. This is a great undertaking for the benefit of all mankind, and we look forward to deep cooperation with the Chinese side."

John noticed that the professor's gaze had changed.

It was a complexity he had never seen before—shock, naturally. Anyone who understood the technical difficulty of a space elevator would be shocked to see the Chinese actually break ground. Wariness was also inevitable. If the Chinese really could complete the sky ladder within ten years, they would completely control access to Low Earth Orbit.

But there was also a hint of... admiration?

No, how could the professor admire the Chinese? He was a top candidate for the Nobel Prize for two consecutive years, an authority in the field of plasma physics, and the Smith who had published a paper in Nature questioning the Chinese Nuclear Fusion data. He had led a team to China to verify it and witnessed the successful ignition of tokamak-3 with his own eyes. After returning, although he wrote that article "The Chinese Tower of Babel" mocking their ambition, he had written a letter to Lin Mo privately—John had seen the draft of that letter, its wording arrogant yet tinged with sincerity: "I do not believe you can build a space elevator, but I hope you succeed."

"John," Smith suddenly spoke, "do you know what the core difficulty of a space elevator is?"

John thought for a moment. "The cable material?"

"That's part of it." Smith stood up and walked to the window, his back to the screen. "What's harder is the engineering system integration. Material strength, cable deployment, climber design, power supply, orbital stability, space debris avoidance... every single one is a world-class problem. A single breakthrough might rely on a genius, but solving all these problems simultaneously requires the support of a nation's industrial system."

He turned around, his gaze falling back on the screen.

"When I wrote that article, I was betting that their Carbon Nanotubes production line would stall, betting that the international technical blockade would work, and betting that their project management would fail." Smith gave a bitter smile. "But look, the Carbon Nanotubes production line has already successfully completed its trial run, the Luxembourg signing means a breach has appeared in the EU's technical embargo, and as for project management..."

He pointed to Academician Zhou Deming, who was being interviewed on the screen. "That is Zhou Deming, a titan in the field of Chinese project management. He cast a dissenting vote during the feasibility meeting, but now he's standing on that stage. Do you know what that means?"

John shook his head.

"It means their feasibility study was rigorous enough to lay all the risks out on the table." A hint of exhaustion crept into Smith's voice. "I underestimated them. Not their technology, but this... cohesion."

On the screen, the live broadcast was nearing its end.

Lin Mo was being interviewed by a CCTV reporter. The reporter asked him, "Chief Designer Lin, do you have confidence in the future of the sky ladder project?"

Lin Mo smiled. "Confidence isn't something you shout about. We have a five-year plan, monthly milestones, risk assessments, and emergency protocols. Every technology has a backup plan, and every link has primary and secondary personnel. Confidence is built on details."

The reporter asked again, "Some question if this is just a vanity project. What is your view?"

Lin Mo's gaze was calm. "Questioning is normal. Twenty years ago, people questioned if we could build high-speed rail. Ten years ago, people questioned if we could achieve manned spaceflight. Now, people question the sky ladder project. We don't need to argue; we just need to build it well. On the day the sky ladder is completed, the questions will naturally vanish."

The frame froze on Lin Mo's smiling face.

Smith stared at that face for a long time.

He remembered the first time he met Lin Mo, at a small-scale exchange meeting after the successful Nuclear Fusion ignition. That young man wore an ordinary dark suit and didn't say much, but every sentence hit the mark. When Smith asked about the key parameters of plasma control, Lin Mo didn't answer directly but instead handed over a printed preprint of a paper—it was their team's complete analysis of the tokamak-3 operation data.

"This is all the data we have made public so far," Lin Mo had said then. "If you are interested, you are welcome to verify it."

Smith really did have his team verify it after returning. The conclusion was: the data was real, the parameters were reasonable, and the conclusion was credible.

That night, he suffered from insomnia.

"Professor," John asked tentatively, "should we publish a commentary? After all, you are an authority in the industry, and the outside world is waiting for your view."

Smith walked back to his desk and slowly sat down.

On the desk lay a printed draft of a paper titled "On the Structural Stability and Material Limits of space elevator Engineering." This was the article he was preparing to submit to Science. The core argument was: based on currently public Carbon Nanotubes strength data, the Chinese could not solve the problem of the cable's self-weight.

But he had received news this morning that the Chinese Carbon Nanotubes production line had already pulled out a 500-meter continuous sample with a tensile strength reaching 83.6 GPa—nearly 10% higher than the data cited in his paper.

The paper was now useless.

"I won't publish it." Smith pushed the draft aside.

John was surprised. "Why?"

"The data has been updated," Smith said briefly. "Publishing a challenge now would only make me look like a buffoon."

John fell silent.

The sound of church bells drifted in from outside; it was already six in the evening. The afterglow of the setting sun spilled through the window into the office, casting warm light and shadows on the bookshelves. There sat rows of academic works and award certificates, witnessing Smith's thirty-year academic career.

He suddenly remembered his father's words.

His father was also a physicist who had participated in the American Strategic Defense Initiative during the Cold War. On the day the project was cancelled, his father got dead drunk and said to him, "Son, remember, some projects aren't impossible because the technology can't do it, but because the country can't afford to wait."

Now, the Chinese were waiting.

They had waited for twenty years, from the first artificial satellite to manned spaceflight, from the space station to lunar sampling, from Nuclear Fusion to the space elevator. Step by step, without leaping or rushing blindly, yet never stopping.

"John," Smith said suddenly, "archive that paper draft."

"Archive it?"

"Yes." Smith's gaze fell back on the screen, which was playing a CG animation of the sky ladder project—the cable rising from the platform, piercing the clouds, the climber slowly ascending along the cable to finally reach the space station. "If the day comes when they complete it, this draft can serve as historical material, proving that someone once questioned it."

John opened his mouth to speak but stopped, finally nodded, and exited the office.

The moment the door closed, Smith sat alone in the dim room.

The CG animation on the screen was still looping. He watched as that tower to the heavens rose section by section, watched the climber carrying cargo and personnel back and forth between heaven and earth, and watched the space station rotating slowly in geostationary orbit.

He remembered writing in a paper once: "The space elevator is the ultimate tool for humanity to conquer near-earth space, but its engineering difficulty is comparable to the moon landing. With existing technology, it will take at least fifty years."

Now, the Chinese said: fifteen years.

He remembered Lin Mo's final words at the foundation-laying ceremony: "The road is long, but we are already on our way."

Smith slowly closed his eyes.

His father's voice seemed to ring in his ears: "Son, remember, some projects aren't impossible because the technology can't do it, but because the country can't afford to wait."

The Chinese could afford to wait.

The light and shadow from the screen flowed across his face, reflecting those complex eyes—shock, wariness, admiration, and an emotion he was unwilling to admit even to himself.

It was called envy.

After a long while, he opened his eyes, picked up his phone, and composed a text message.

The recipient was an encrypted number—the emergency contact information Fang Lin had left him during his last trip to China.

The content of the message was just one sentence: "If the sky ladder project needs support from the international scientific community, I am willing to provide whatever help I can."

Sent.

Then he turned off his phone, stood up, and walked to the window.

Outside, the Cambridge twilight deepened, and the church spires pierced the deep blue sky. Beyond the eastern horizon, a nation was building a bridge to the stars.

Smith stood in silence.

For a long, long time.

Until night had completely fallen.