Chapter Seventy-Seven: The First Day of the Airshow Draws to a Close

Here comes the second update. Now that the recommendations are going strong, I hope readers will show their support as well; if we charge ahead, we can definitely make it to the new book rankings.

It seemed these fellows simply couldn’t hold back any longer, but that’s hardly surprising; after all, who wouldn’t obediently pay up under these circumstances? Everything was unfolding just as expected.

“What are you all standing around for? Hurry up and attend to the guests! There are so many important customers now, don’t just stand there—go and serve them quickly!”

Still dazed by the overwhelming surprise, the five people at his side were hurried off to manage the guests, while Yang Hui continued in his role as instructor—what a great job this was. Watching these people show such respect for their teacher, he truly felt they were promising students.

It wasn’t their fault that the director and his colleagues hadn’t reacted right away; just moments ago, they’d been shocked by Yang Hui’s audacious asking price. As soon as they’d finally recovered, suddenly a large crowd wanted to place orders—this was happiness arriving too suddenly. After living so many years under socialism, they still couldn’t quite wrap their heads around such situations. But once Yang Hui gave them a nudge, they immediately snapped to attention.

Seeing Yang Hui sell the model planes at such a high price, none of them would consider lowering it now. Even those who felt the price was a bit steep didn’t dare haggle, but simply kept praising the superior performance and value of the models.

There were plenty of buyers; in just that short moment, more than ten people had already placed orders. Yang Hui couldn’t handle it all by himself, so he called Xie Lianfa over to help as another instructor. As for refueling the models after flights, Yang Hui naturally assigned that task to the students under the pretense of “training their ground crew skills.” The students, here to learn to fly model planes, were delighted—they knew that ground maintenance and operations for these models were very different from those for propeller models, and they were eager to learn.

Thus, what began as a proper model aircraft flight demonstration turned into a bustling sales convention, with Yang Hui’s group as the sole vendor. The flight demonstrations ceased; instead, there were now occasional novices piloting models in the sky, while the propeller-driven planes dared not take off at all—if they did, they might never come down again.

By midday, nearly twenty model jets had been sold—a remarkable figure, bringing in over a million dollars. Though the high-performance models could still fly for many more hours before their engines required a major overhaul, the fuel was already running low. And, with lunch approaching, Coach Yang announced:

“All right, everyone, we’re almost out of fuel. That’s it for today’s training. In a moment, get your pickups ready and follow us to the warehouse to pick up your model planes.”

At last, it was time to collect their models. The students, having only trained for a short while, could barely contain their excitement—after all, nothing beats owning your own plane.

“Got it, Coach! We’ll go get our models now!”

With that, they all dashed off to pack up their old model planes, eager to start their pickups and follow along.

Once the students had left, Yang Hui finally had a chance to check on the sales situation at the other end. Over by the display, about a dozen people were still gathered, asking questions and weighing their options.

It was time to give them a little push. Yang Hui walked over.

“Hello, everyone. I have something to announce: we brought a total of fifty sets of model planes this time, and nearly twenty have already been sold. So if you want one, I advise you to place your order soon. We won’t be coming here in the afternoon. We need to head back to translate the flight manuals, print new copies, and handle test flights and handovers. If you have any more questions, you’ll need to wait until tomorrow morning.”

Only fifty sets in total—how could that possibly be enough? And they wouldn’t be back in the afternoon. Who knew how many model enthusiasts would show up tomorrow, having heard the news? There was no guarantee of getting one then, so it was better to place an order now. It was clear these models would have no trouble selling at all; price cuts were out of the question.

With Yang Hui’s “final offer,” a few more hesitant onlookers joined the purchasing crowd, boldly stepping into the era of jet-powered models. As for the remaining dozen or so, it was clear today wasn’t the day for them—some were DIY experts hoping to buy just the engines and build their own models, while others, though passionate, simply couldn’t afford the $80,000 needed to upgrade.

Gradually the crowd dispersed, leaving Yang Hui and his five companions, along with the old Flying Tigers pilot, still present. Seeing the old pilot, Yang Hui could only feel grateful—if it hadn’t been for his help in calling off the propeller plane flights, they would never have been able to activate the control system, let alone stage an aerial demonstration.

“Sir, to express our gratitude and respect, I think we should present you with a model plane,” Yang Hui said, turning to the director for approval.

The director was a seasoned veteran, and even before the demonstration began, he’d noticed the extraordinary bearing of this elderly gentleman. To be able to ground all the performing planes with a single word—he was clearly a figure of renown in the model aviation world. On top of that, as a former Flying Tigers pilot who had aided China during the war, it was only right to gift him a model plane.

“No problem, sir. Please accept our respect and thanks.”

The old pilot was clearly not a man in need of money. Hearing these state-owned defense enterprise leaders from the red republic acknowledge the exploits of the American Flying Tigers, he was visibly pleased.

“That’s not necessary. I’m already happy just to know you recognize the achievements of us Flying Tigers from America. As for the model, I’d rather pay for it—I don’t lack the funds.”

Seeing the old gentleman’s refusal, Director Bai quickly insisted, “Sir, this is a token of our appreciation. Please accept it.”

Knowing that his refusal might embarrass the representatives of the republic, the old pilot explained,

“Well, it’s like this—I can see that funds are tight for you. Otherwise, why would a company that manufactures military fighter jets stoop to selling model airplanes? My estate on the outskirts of Paris is already open for model enthusiasts to use free of charge, so I really have no shortage of money.”

Faced with this, Director Bai was at a loss for words. It was clear the old gentleman was determined to pay.

The old pilot caught the look on Director Bai’s face, and came up with another solution.

“How about this—do you see that young man packing up his model over there?”

Following his gaze, they saw a young man carefully putting away his old biplane model. Its propeller was clearly not original; it was likely a homemade plane assembled from salvaged parts.

“See that? His model is built from pieces of our old, broken ones that he’s collected. He’s very skilled, but doesn’t have much money. If possible, I hope you’ll entrust after-sales service in France to him. I’ll provide him with a space at my estate. That way, you’ll help a young man realize his dream.”

Who would have thought? That young man had been watching the whole time but had left reluctantly after seeing the price. Remarkably, his was the only propeller model not affected by the jet model’s electromagnetic interference—clearly, his technical skills were superb. Assigning him as the after-sales technician would be ideal.

“That’s wonderful. His skills are impressive—his model functioned even in a strong interference environment. He’s certainly up to the task for after-sales service, and as for his character, I trust your judgment.”

And so, a maintenance point for after-sales service was settled, almost effortlessly. With everything packed up, they prepared to head to the suburban warehouse. Yang Hui, Old Wu, and Director Bai each grabbed a pickup and set off. Yang Yue and the others naturally followed the truck back to the hotel.

More than twenty pickups streamed out of Le Bourget Airport in the suburbs, drove through Paris, and, after Old Wu announced the warehouse address, headed to the other side of the city.

At the large open-air warehouse, they found the containers and opened them to reveal rows of neatly stacked army-green crates—some for ground control systems, some for the model planes themselves, and others for the engines.

“All right, everything’s here—no problems at all. Now, bring your receipts; each pickup gets a full set. We can’t test fly here, so after you load up, don’t open the crates. We’ll go to the old gentleman’s estate for test flights, and any issues can be resolved on the spot.”

Buying a model plane isn’t like buying clothes, where you just pay and leave if you like them. It’s more like buying a car: you test drive a new car before purchase, and you also need after-sales service—model planes are no different. So, there’s no shortage of hassle.

In orderly fashion, all twenty-four sets of model planes were loaded onto pickups, heading straight for the suburban estate. Handing over and test flying so many models would certainly be a complicated business.