Chapter 470

Chapter 470: Turbulence

In his search for guidance, Lin Mo unexpectedly developed the “monstrous” fighter jet design, surprising many and rallying elite individuals from various departments and units across China into a team battle of unprecedented scale.

Any aircraft manufacturer in the world would certainly take notice of this luxurious team.

Many did not realize that the “monstrous” design was actually a product of national efforts, wielding great power that could achieve terrifying results. For various reasons, foreign intelligence agencies overlooked it, seeing an idea that was becoming common in the industry and not likely to be mass-produced as lacking sufficient attention value.

Some participants initially thought this was just a paper-based farce, unconsciously relaxing their ideas, brainstorming various creative concepts and bold technical designs.

Little did they know that when everyone contributed their strengths, the minor changes culminated in a qualitative leap, leading to a fighter jet design that was not only highly feasible but also contained many referable elements.

Even before Lin Mo’s official "monstrous" was completed, certain domestic manufacturers had already created experimental machines with similar models, with National Defense Star being one of them.

It is well-known among those who participated in this project that fully realizing the design faced considerable challenges. After all, many designs were overly ambitious. Everything aimed for perfection, yet the materials, components, and technologies exceeded what China could currently handle. Even the Americans would have to weigh whether their technical foundation was sufficient to implement it.

A blueprint that everyone thought was impossible to realize was being actively pursued, and the progress was surprisingly steady, resembling reality more and more. Such determination is rarely found in ordinary people, and even the higher-ups in the government were caught off guard, joining the frenzy by directly allocating two precious F119-PW-100 vector thrust engines to Lin Mo.

Eventually, some units discovered that two of those engines had ended up in individual hands, prompting a frenzied feeling that no one could understand.

Due to all these reasons, Lin Mo retained a high reputation and recognition among China’s fighter jet manufacturers and design institutes. With so many unforeseen events occurring, it was hard not to know the leading designer of the “monstrous” plans.

At the dinner table, Qiu Zhengjun, an engineer from Shenyang Aircraft Corporation, firmly grasped Lin Mo’s hand. "Dragon Knight, we are counting on you for our orders at Shenyang!" He raised a tea cup in place of a wine glass to toast him first.

Remembering how last year’s export orders were largely snatched away by Chengdu’s J-10, Shenyang felt quite frustrated.

Without top-notch demonstrators, how could they elevate their products to showcase their excellence?

To solve their troubles, Shenyang needed to endear themselves to Lin Mo, who had performed the stunning ultra-low altitude Cobra maneuver at the Zhuhai Airshow.

The higher-ups from Shenyang also raised their wine glasses, exchanging knowing glances with Vice President Qin from Chengdu, indicating a mutual understanding.

Last time, the J-10 had been eye-catching enough to nearly starve Shenyang, while Chengdu, in contrast, almost faced an influx of orders.

Thus, the bigwigs from both sides privately reached an agreement: this time, the spotlight would be on Shenyang while Chengdu focused on digesting their current export orders.

With everyone able to earn money and have meals together, it was easier to maintain a friendly relationship within the China Aviation Industry Corporation.

The agreement reached by China’s aviation leaders turned National Defense Star’s showcase at the exhibition into Shenyang’s home ground. With no self-developed main models, the industry’s bigwigs got to call the shots. There was little National Defense Star could do about it.

At the same time, Lin Mo’s influence was spreading wider in Afghanistan—not just in the northern provinces but even shaking the capital itself.

In Kabul, within a dark, run-down teahouse only serving peculiar tea and rough wheat cakes, Afghanistan had long been ravaged by war, feeling stuck in the past with a lack of progress. It was a place seemingly abandoned by the world.

“Longbu, I’m so glad to see you alive,” said a man with deep-set eyes and a prominent nose, wearing a dirty checkered scarf over long, messy hair that resembled a Chicken Coop. He raised a chipped enamel tea cup toward the other person seated on the long bench opposite him, savoring the near-poisonous low-quality tea like it was a divine nectar.

Beside him, the owner of the teahouse energetically waved a tea bowl, performing a dance as he poured tea, crying out to passersby, showcasing his unique skills for a few extra coins.

His wife, her body covered by a face veil, revealed only thin, blackened hands, seemingly unbothered by the heat as she flipped wheat cakes in a black mud oven. Who knew how much flour was in those cakes? They might just be clay cakes meant to fool the unwary.

Even so, some impoverished Afghan people couldn’t afford these clay cakes.

The turmoil had pushed the country to the brink of collapse.

“Alive? Hmph!" The man across, covered in dirt and seemingly unbathed for months, said, “Death is not far off.”

He extended his right hand, revealing a half-missing hand with only the ring and little fingers left, and a bandaged palm that no longer resembled its original color, with pus seeping out and attracting flies that buzzed and landed to feed.

“I noticed early on, I said, old buddy, what happened? Did someone chop off your hand? I warned you to stop your petty thefts; the Almighty will punish you.”

The man with the checkered scarf spoke with an undertone of schadenfreude. In rural Afghan culture, if a thief was caught, the owner would chop off their hand as punishment, clearly believing the other had gone through such an experience.

“Unlucky fool. If you hadn’t been so poor since childhood, you wouldn’t have walked down this path. Even if you struggled through to adulthood, you never changed your ways.”

“Shut your mouth. I’ve quit. Damn it, it’s those guys up north; who knows if they have some divine power to become so insane. It’s just cursed, cursed!”

As if provoked, Longbu’s rage flared. He swung his injured hand dangerously close to the man with the checkered scarf, nearly grazing his hair, but ultimately held back from striking.

Finally, all his anger turned into a curse muttered under his breath, “Damn this broken gun, lousy weapon, bastards, to blow up like that. I curse the one who made you; may their soul be tormented by demons for eternity…”

The man in the checkered scarf paused, astonished that Longbu’s injury came from an exploding gun.

An exploding gun is a terrifying thing; metal fragments from the weapon can be just as lethal as a bomb, capable of piercing the skull and potentially leading to death—a true game of deadly Russian roulette.

“Poor Longbu, don’t get angry; life has to go on. Anger doesn’t help, does it? The Almighty won’t give you a single extra cent.” The man with the scarf patted Longbu on the shoulder and continued, “Can you still do the job Mr. Jidin assigned you? You look like you’ve suffered a lot.”

“Mr. Jidin? Hmph! If he hadn’t provided this garbage, I wouldn’t be in this state,” Longbu replied, his anger surging again. His eyes almost sparked with fire as he raised his injured hand dangerously close to the other man’s face, snarling, “I lost over a dozen men on this job, you bastard Mari, you have to take responsibility."

To take on this job worth it, being injured was one thing; as long as there was money and guns, finding people wouldn’t be hard; those unfortunate souls could just die. However, he had lost his hand due to this, leaving Longbu furious.

“Alright, okay, Longbu, don’t get angry, alright? Partner, let’s talk nicely. I want to ask you—are you willing to keep going? You know Mr. Yadin’s reputation is unquestionable.” The man, Mari, patted his chest confidently.

“Reputation? Hmph, Mari, let’s settle the accounts first; the original price doesn’t count. The remaining payment must be doubled,” Longbu stated, shifting from his previous fury to a more assertive tone, pulling open his shirt to reveal an unblemished hand that pulled out a scarred old pistol, holding it half-closed.

Though it was an outdated weapon, it could still kill, especially at such a close range where there would be no chance to evade.

Mari’s expression stiffened, surprised this old partner would suddenly turn hostile. His eyes darted, quickly putting on a smile. “Alright, alright, Longbu, my brother, I understand how you feel. Fine, let’s go with your four percent. I’ll pay you right now, even if Mr. Yadin doesn’t agree, I’ll cover it. After all, if I can’t trust you, who can I trust? Business needs to continue, doesn’t it?”

Mari displayed some courage, accepting the request for a doubled remaining payment without much hesitation. Compared to the part he had intercepted and swallowed up, it was just a small loss to him. Given the state of his partner, he figured it was a rare moment of conscience showing.