061 Each with Their Own Schemes - 2
The semi-balloon type shooting correction drone calculates the target distance with centimeter-level precision through three-point positioning and feeds the results back to the ballistic parameter correction computer. The computer then updates the sniper rifle’s scope in real time, factoring in wind and other climatic conditions. As soon as the reticle in the scope changes from red to green, Mai Rujing can pull the trigger, ensuring the bullet hits its mark.
Ultimately, the little gadget Mai Rujing made in his spare time played a far greater role than the telescope Zhao Ying held or the finger pulling the trigger.
When Tu Hongye stood beside the two with his hands behind his back, Zhao Ying was still excitedly shouting, “The seventh one! The seventh one! Mai Rujing, you’re amazing!”
“The size is too large, solar power supply is overly limited, the balloon is an obvious floating target, and compared to similar commercial products from the United States, it requires improvements, requires improvements,” Mai Rujing said in his usual rigid and dull tone, with barely a trace of emotion.
Zhao Ying knew that the man beside her suffered from Asperger’s syndrome and was actually a lonely soul longing for company, so she didn’t mind Mai Rujing’s words. She turned to see Tu Hongye’s handsome face and hurriedly got up, mumbling in a muffled voice, “Director Tu, hello.”
“Don’t be so formal. You two continue; I’m just here for a stroll. Remember not to take off your gas masks,” Tu Hongye said. He knew Zhao Ying had a small crush on him, but he was not the type to indulge in flirtations. With Ruxi in his life, he sought nothing else. Thus, he always showed little response to Zhao Ying’s hints. After a few attempts, Zhao Ying recognized it was a one-sided affection. She openly discussed it with Tu Hongye once to set her own mindset straight. Whether she could fully let go was not something Tu Hongye cared to consider—he had far too many other matters to attend to and no time for such trivial romantic concerns.
Seeing that Tu Hongye said he was just wandering but stood motionless beside Mai Rujing, Zhao Ying immediately understood he wanted to talk to Mai Rujing alone. Wisely, she found an excuse to leave the enclosure, leaving Mai Rujing by himself.
After Zhao Ying disappeared with her rifle beyond the wall, Tu Hongye looked at the withering shrubs and trees nearby and softly asked, “How is the progress?”
Mai Rujing, expressionless, began packing up the equipment and recalling the drone. “Basic requirements met. Improvements can be completed in two days.”
“Good. Thank you for your hard work. When finished, take some time off at the Jingji base.”
“No. Wherever you are, I am.”
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“I’m uneasy about Ruxi’s side. I have a feeling something’s about to happen.”
“Feelings aren’t reliable. Data is the most accurate.”
“Alright, you’re right. But I insist you return to Jingji base.”
“Okay, since you insist.”
Their exchange was brief. Mai Rujing was not like Zhao Ying—no polite small talk. Once he packed up, he left the enclosure, leaving Tu Hongye standing alone in the wind. Facing the wilderness, Tu Hongye reviewed the earlier plans twice in his mind to ensure nothing was overlooked. Just then, a shadow appeared in the distant sky—it was the helicopter he had been waiting for. Straightening his windbreaker, Tu Hongye turned and descended from the enclosure.
The timing was perfect. The helicopter landed steadily on the forward base’s helipad, and Tu Hongye stood nearby just as Director Xiong Xiaoning of the Jingji base disembarked. Tu Hongye quickly stepped forward, clasping Xiong’s hands tightly. Despite their history of mutual scheming and private animosity, they both knew appearances must be maintained.
They entered a reception room arranged by Tu Hongye, closed the door, and sat down. The atmosphere shifted dramatically. Xiong Xiaoning seemed like a different person—the imposing aura of a base director completely gone. He slumped in the chair, his once robust frame reduced to a limp mass.
In official circles, appearance and demeanor are paramount. Tu Hongye was shocked by Xiong’s transformation. There was no trust between them, and Tu Hongye held no leverage over Xiong, while Xiong at least had ties to Ruxi, who had once been involved with Tu Hongye. Yet, Xiong now appeared utterly resigned, as if ready to be slaughtered.
It was baffling. Even with his superior intellect and emotional insight, Tu Hongye could not predict Xiong’s intentions. His wisest move was to remain silent and observe.
Xiong was straightforward. He grabbed a cigarette from the table and lit it, exhaling smoke before saying, “Director Qin died in the United States.”
Tu Hongye was momentarily stunned, then recalled Xiong meant Qin Aihua, who had gone to the U.S. before the pandemic to negotiate vaccine and amoebic brain-eating parasite projects. She was an official, after all. Could she really have died in the U.S. within ten days of the outbreak? He maintained a steady expression and began brewing kung fu tea.
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“The exact cause is unknown. The Americans didn’t explain and haven’t returned the body. They say it was an accident when the helicopter landed. Her family has been settled, but what good is that? She’s gone. The organization wants Chen Hanxin to be my deputy. I didn’t oppose it. Honestly, I want to resign and take a quiet post within the base. Years of scheming and climbing have left me little time with my family. In times like these, every extra day is a blessing. I want to spend more time with my wife and children.”
Wanting to spend more time with family didn’t require putting on a facade before others. Tu Hongye knew at Xiong’s level, things were never simple, so he said little. His hands moved steadily as he leaned forward to pour tea. Amid the rising steam and fragrant aroma, Xiong forced a weary smile and spoke of something Tu Hongye, as a technological official, found both irksome and unavoidable:
Political strife.
Politics has always been this way. In crises, everyone unites, cutting through obstacles and conquering the world. But in times of peace, they sit in ranks and divide spoils. Internal conflicts are inevitable. Even the supposedly most democratic United States sees countless exchanges of power and profit behind closed doors. What ordinary people know is but a tiny glimpse.
This pandemic has been tumultuous and is far from over. Its impact will linger for years to come. Is it too soon for political infighting at the top?
Not necessarily.
The key lies in the structure of power—a pyramid. Massive population loss at the base causes the bottom to shrink drastically. Meanwhile, the mid-to-upper echelons survive in greater numbers due to special privileges. Thus, cuts among mid and upper levels are unavoidable. Waiting until the pandemic is fully controlled to prune the bloated, bureaucratic middle and upper cadres would hinder work. It is better to streamline responsibilities and reduce personnel now, allowing those who retire to return to civilian life.
Hence, political strife is inevitable.
And the crux of this conflict centers on the selection of the new political and economic center’s location.