Chapter One Hundred Forty: The Foundation of Expertise

Having understood the background of the matter, Yang Hui was now able to share his thoughts.

"So that's how it is. For the new aircraft, I think just installing two Blue Fox radar displays will suffice; there’s no need to add more. Having two displays is already quite good. We should proceed step by step; the trainer aircraft shouldn’t deviate too much from the J-7."

Though simple, Yang Hui’s idea hit the core truth: the current project was still just a trainer aircraft, and the priority was to excel at that role. As for the proposal to convert it into a fighter, which many favored, there was no solid evidence yet—so there was no need to overthink it.

Chief Designer Yu was pleased to hear that Yang Hui’s thoughts aligned with his own. However, considering the importance of Tu Jida, the chief designer of the cockpit avionics system, Yu could not overlook his input. Troubled by this, Yu decided to openly discuss it with Yang Hui.

“Your view is quite similar to mine, but since Tu Jida oversees the cockpit avionics development, we must consider his suggestion. What do you think we should do?”

What to do? The answer was simple. Yang Hui instinctively thought it through. The one-display-plus-three-displays setup would become mainstream in the future. The American F-18 had already achieved this in the 1970s, forming an integrated electronic display system and realizing the concept of a ‘glass cockpit’ for the first time. This marked the era of cathode-ray tubes entering system integration.

Installing multifunction displays was the inevitable trend. To secure a place in future military aircraft development, mastering multifunction display technology was essential. Therefore, this technology had to be developed.

“This isn’t really a dilemma. As long as we have the funding, the display project must proceed. Not only that, but we must delve deep and catch up with the world’s mainstream. We have to prepare to research multifunction displays.”

Achieving multifunction displays wasn’t merely about the screens themselves; it required research into data bus technology and high-performance onboard computers. Only with these could the glass cockpit be realized. In essence, a single display’s ability to switch between different information depended mainly on the onboard computer and data bus, among other electronic technologies.

This was beyond the capability of the aviation industry alone. The electronics industry at the time was the bottleneck. Given the current state of domestic electronics, Yang Hui had little hope of developing high-performance onboard computers that met the requirements. This demanded extensive support, especially since military-grade computer chips were completely unavailable. Only significant national efforts to support the electronics sector could make it possible.

Herein lay a deadlock: to independently develop an integrated electronic display system, a chip industry was essential. The chip industry was a far deeper and more challenging abyss, one Yang Hui did not understand. Thinking about the integrated electronic display system plunged Chief Designer Yu into deep contemplation. This was no simple aviation issue.

“You say this, and I know it well. But we simply can’t afford to develop this project. To achieve it, we need high-performance onboard computers; for those, we need high-performance military chips; for those chips, we need...”

A long sigh followed. Developing chips was a money-devouring beast; it was impossible for the country to invest in chip production at this time. They had to wait patiently and, if necessary, stockpile imported chips before 1989.

This was a major shortcoming beyond Yang Hui’s control. “Alright, then. We can only conduct preliminary research. Given our current situation, we must rely on outdated instrument cockpits for now.”

Shaking his head, Yang Hui finally felt the helplessness and sorrow of this era. In later years, there were at least a few domestically developed military chips, but now, there was no hope at all.

Gathering himself, Yang Hui chose not to dwell on this. Even without an integrated electronic display system, the aircraft could still be built, albeit with some performance shortcomings—something they could temporarily endure.

“Yang Hui, don’t think so much. You still need to focus on aerodynamic testing—that’s your real job. Now go get some rest.”

Early the next morning, Chief Designer Yu no longer saw Yang Hui, who had already gotten up and headed to Beihang University. The fierce wind there helped calm his mind.

“Professor Zhu, I rushed over. The wind tunnel tests need manpower now. I wonder how far the project has progressed. I still want to contribute.”

Opening the file cabinet, Zhu showed Yang Hui the data from the aerodynamic tests performed during his absence. Although the data was thin, the volume of tests behind it was much larger. Those seemingly unnecessary data were actually the foundation and would prove useful in the future.

“So soon? The intake duct tests in the low-speed wind tunnel are all done? Very efficient. Looks like the tests have even reached the nose radar dome.”

Professor Zhu was proud. Such rapid progress was largely thanks to a new batch of undergraduates with decent skills.

“This was your suggestion last time—to bring in more undergraduates. Although they aren’t as capable as graduate students, their numbers make an impact. Many of the simpler theoretical analyses were assigned to them.”

Had Yang Hui not been reminded, he might have forgotten his other daunting task: intercepting Hu from the Fengtian Institute. Judging by the pace of the tests and the limited time left in the capital, Yang Hui knew the interception plan had to start immediately.

To intercept, he needed to quickly build rapport and leverage the influence of the base. “Alright then, no more talk. It’s time to get to work.”

With the testing team assembled, the wind tunnel experiments began immediately. The theoretical analyses and models were ready; they just had to start testing today.

The test of the nose radar dome was the simplest experiment. The radar dome was a simple conical shape, and the test aimed to find the optimal design that balanced forces, heat resistance, and other factors.

Speaking of the radar dome, this was another major shortcoming for the nation at this time. Manufacturing radar domes was not easy; it wasn’t just about fitting a shell over the radar.

As the name implies, the radar dome covered the radar, which relied on radar waves as a medium. The problem was that different dome materials attenuated radar waves to varying degrees.

Thus, there was a significant difference between high-performance and average radar domes. Composite materials, which were relatively well-researched domestically (though still secondary tier), offered better performance. Whether imported or self-developed, composites were feasible.

While Yang Hui was lost in thought, the wind tunnel roared to life. The radar dome test focused primarily on the transonic phase, with breaking the sound barrier as a key point. The current low-speed wind tunnel had few test items, and at low speeds, the radar dome’s drag difference was minimal.

The wind tunnel’s noise was deafening, leaving no room for conversation. Everyone waited for the test data. After nearly ten minutes of the cool breeze blowing softly, the noise gradually subsided, signaling the end of the test.

The data would be processed later. Next came the final low-speed wind tunnel test: the “double-delta wing” configuration. This wing type offered excellent low-speed performance, but determining the optimal sweep angle required testing various configurations.

There were about a dozen different wing variations—relatively few. This was thanks to the domestic research foundation already laid. These wings were selected based on previous wind tunnel experiments. (To be continued.)