Chapter Twenty-Six: Which Toy Plane Is Best

After exerting considerable effort to squeeze through the crowd, by the time Wu Dabo and Wu Hongjun realized what was happening, Yang Hui had already disappeared without a trace. They glanced around, saw no sign of him, and decided not to bother chasing after Yang Hui.

Meanwhile, Yang Hui jogged all the way until he finally caught up to Director Bai, who, it seemed, was quite spry himself, walking at a brisk pace that rivaled any young man—one could say he moved with the swiftness of an arrow.

“Director, why are you walking so fast? I need to talk to you about something. Please wait for me!” Yang Hui called out from afar, finally getting the director’s attention. Director Bai stopped and turned toward the sound.

“What is it, young man? You looking for me?” Director Bai asked.

Still catching his breath, Yang Hui slowed his pace as he approached. “Yes, Director. I need to discuss something with you. It might take a while, and would be better said inside.”

Sizing up the slightly winded Yang Hui, Director Bai considered that he did have some time to spare and agreed. “Alright, come upstairs with me. We’ll talk sitting down.”

Director Bai led the way, with Yang Hui following in silence, all the while pondering how to convince the director to approve his proposal. After all, taking on unplanned projects, especially with the special status of a state-owned enterprise, was not without risk.

When they reached the office, Director Bai invited Yang Hui to sit and even poured him a glass of water, which surprised Yang Hui. The office was modest, not much more upscale than the other departments—perhaps the only difference was the safe in the back and the more complete set of tools on the desk, though everything was kept tidy.

“Alright, what is it you wanted to talk about? I’m listening. If it’s about money, don’t even bother—everywhere you look, we’re short on funds.”

Before Yang Hui could speak, the director had already blocked any request for money. But in truth, he had only guessed half of Yang Hui’s intentions. After all, it was hard to imagine that someone would come to solve the funding problem rather than add to it—a limitation of the times, perhaps, and one easily forgiven.

Yang Hui grinned. “Director, you’re astute. You guessed right—my visit is indeed about money, but that’s only half the story.”

Now it was Director Bai’s turn to be intrigued. “Then what is it you’re here for? Go ahead, say whatever you want; I can’t allocate you any funds anyway.”

Yang Hui gathered his thoughts and began to explain his purpose. “Director Bai, I’m here to solve our funding issue.”

The prospect of someone from below actually bringing solutions to the funding problem was unheard of, but regardless of how unlikely it sounded, Director Bai perked up and decided to listen closely.

Seeing the director’s interest, Yang Hui sensed a glimmer of hope and laid out his idea. “Here’s what I’m thinking: since we lack funds, and therefore have almost no ongoing projects, why not initiate our own project? We design it ourselves, find a factory at the base to manufacture it, and then we handle the sales. The revenue would go directly to our institute, free from higher-level restrictions, allowing us to pursue the projects we truly want.”

Director Bai had originally thought that, since Yang Hui was from the capital, he might have connections to secure funding from above. He hadn’t expected this sort of proposal—it was pure improvisation, with no production plan to speak of. Designing in-house was one thing, as long as it didn’t interfere with normal operations, but manufacturing was another issue entirely. Few factories would dare take on this kind of unofficial work. State-owned military factories prized stability above all.

Urban state-owned enterprise reforms didn’t begin until 1985; before that, no state-owned enterprise would dare mass-produce off-plan products, despite the ongoing strong demand for goods on the market.

“What you’re suggesting is completely unrealistic. Even if you design it, you still need a factory to produce it. Without an official plan from above, no factory would dare manufacture it, nor would you have access to materials. How do you propose to produce anything?” Director Bai challenged.

Yang Hui, full of confidence, responded, “Director, this project of ours could actually get approval from above. Our product is special—it can earn foreign exchange. The authorities might withhold approval, but in these times, the country's desperate for foreign currency.”

Would there really be a market for small unmanned aerial vehicles in China right now? Impossible. People were still hovering around the subsistence line—who would have money for such things? The only possible customers would be abroad, where wealthy enthusiasts abounded. Yang Hui never even considered the domestic market.

“So you intend to sell abroad? Are you confident in that?” Director Bai asked. It wasn’t a bad idea. For the sake of foreign exchange, the higher-ups would likely approve, perhaps even give special support.

But after all this, he still didn’t know what the project actually was. That was crucial—without a viable project, everything was just wishful thinking.

“So, what is this project you’re talking about? Let me hear it and see whether it has any promise.” Now the question of official plans no longer mattered; if the product was good and exportable, approval could be secured one way or another.

Seeing the director drop the issue of planning, Yang Hui felt the matter was more than half resolved. As for whether the project itself was viable, he had long since thought that through.

With a broad smile, Yang Hui stood up eagerly. “Director, there’s no issue with the project itself. But after the funds come in, could a little bit—just a little—be allocated to our department? Just enough to support the annular combustion chamber project.” He even made a gesture with his fingers to indicate how little he was asking.

Director Bai gave a wry laugh. “Heh… no wonder you’re so invested.”

“Of course! How could I not be, when it’s the most important project in our department?”

Seeing Yang Hui still hung up on the allocation of funds, Director Bai grew impatient, frowning. “You think you’re the only one who knows how important that project is? Don’t I know as well? If we had the money, would I not support it? Enough—tell me what your project actually is.”

Yang Hui immediately understood the director’s meaning and got to the point. “The project is actually related to our area of expertise. It’s simple, really: we produce small unmanned aircraft, sell them abroad, and equip them with cameras for aerial photography.”

Once he heard what the project was, Director Bai fell into deep thought. Minutes passed, and his frown only deepened.

“What you’re proposing doesn’t seem very feasible. Wouldn’t that make it a helicopter? We don’t have experience with that. Our institute specializes in engines, and even partnering with another would be difficult. The entire base only makes fixed-wing aircraft. Achieving your idea would be nearly impossible. Even if we managed to build it, how would the unmanned aerial photography work without someone to operate the camera?”

These two problems immediately dashed Yang Hui’s hopes. At the current technological level, transmitting real-time data wasn’t impossible, but the costs would be astronomical. Even foreign tycoons might balk at the price.

Director Bai continued, “Your idea isn’t bad, but the costs are too high. Our expertise is limited to engines, and the whole base only makes fixed-wing aircraft. For something of the size you’re talking about, we could only manage a target drone, at best.”

Just as he was at a loss, the mention of target drones sparked a new idea in Yang Hui’s mind.

“Director, are you saying we can produce target drones?”

“Exactly. We haven’t produced target drones before, but it’s not difficult. If we can build fighter jets, how could we not manage that?” Director Bai replied matter-of-factly. After all, for a factory already producing fighter aircraft, target drones were trivial—hardly worthy of excitement.

Yang Hui was suddenly filled with excitement—truly exhilarated. He had finally hit upon a good idea.

“I’ve got it—a new idea just came to me!” he exclaimed.

Among the most thrilling spectacles at any major airshow in later years were the flight performances by elite aerobatic teams. But there was another, equally exciting event: airspace set aside for model aircraft enthusiasts to fly their creations. The scene was always lively, with scaled-down versions of classic aircraft gathering in one place—the ensuing aerial melees were every bit as intense as the official flight demonstrations.

Yet, in the 1980s, this hobby had not yet caught on. What existed were only DIY piston-powered models that were too slow to be exciting. But with the advent of jet-powered models, the atmosphere would be electrified. Jet model aircraft were an untapped market waiting for development—a promising project indeed. For enthusiasts, the technical requirements were high, but for professionals in the aircraft industry, was it really that hard? As long as the product was easy to operate, it was bound to be a big seller.