Courtyard House: I Rely on Time-Space Trade to Build a Nation

The training ground is located on a flat open space on the outskirts of Shenyang.

Zhao Ping'an redeemed fifty Dongfanghong-1004 tractors from the system—a mainstream domestically produced model from 2005, 100 horsepower, four-wheel drive, with a cab and air conditioning. For 1949, this was already science fiction-level equipment.

The training was simple and direct. Zhao Ping'an personally demonstrated: how to start the machine, how to shift gears, how to control the direction, and how to operate the hydraulic system to raise and lower the plow. Each action was broken down and taught step by step.

The wounded soldiers' enthusiasm for learning exceeded everyone's expectations. The veteran who lost a leg was named Li Dashan. His right leg was blown off by an artillery shell during the Huaihai Campaign. Now he sits in the driver's seat, using his left leg to press the clutch, his right leg stump to control the accelerator, and his hands on the steering wheel, driving the tractor steadily forward.

"Commander Zhao, this thing... is even more exciting than riding a horse!" Li Dashan poked his head out of the driver's seat, a long-lost smile on his face.

In three days, all 50 tractors and 300 drivers passed the test. Although their skills were still a bit rusty, they could at least drive the machines and plow the land.

On the fourth day, the first group of pioneers set off. Their destination: a wasteland in the northern part of the Liaohe Plain.

The scene of clearing the land shocked everyone who saw it.

Fifty tractors were lined up in five rows of ten, like an army of steel.

The massive plowshare plunged into the black soil, and as the tractor moved forward, the soil was turned up and broken, revealing the fertile black soil layer beneath. One pass covered a ten-meter-wide tractoryard.

As for the trees and other plants that are the most difficult to manage on the wasteland, they have long been uprooted by chainsaws, tractors, and excavators and transported to where they are needed.

Following behind the tractor was a seed planter. The seed box contained hybrid corn seeds Zhao Ping'an had redeemed from the system—a 2006 variety, drought-resistant and insect-resistant, with a yield of over 1,100 kilograms per mu (approximately 0.16 acres). In 1949, the average corn yield per mu in China was less than 100 kilograms.

Next up is the fertilizer truck. It uses compound fertilizer with a scientifically balanced ratio of nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium.

Finally, there's the pesticide sprayer, used to prevent pests and diseases.

A production line can take only two days from wasteland to planting.

Local farmers came to see what was going on, and they were all dumbfounded.

"This one iron ox is worth a hundred oxen!"

"Look at the depth of that plow, it's at least a foot! We're lucky if we can dig five inches with a hoe."

"Those seeds were so evenly scattered..."

Li Dashan drove past them in his tractor, deliberately slowing down and sticking his head out of the cab: "Fellow villagers, come back in the fall, and I guarantee the corn in this field will be even stronger than the corn you planted!"

Zhao Ping'an did not stay in Liaoning Province for long.

He left 10,000 tractors and other agricultural machinery in Shenyang and handed them over to Lao Xu, who rushed over.

"The machinery is all here, along with the operation manuals, maintenance manuals, and parts list—everything's complete." Zhao Ping'an handed a stack of documents to Lao Xu. "The resettlement of 100,000 people, the reclamation of wasteland, the planting of crops… you're in charge of the specific implementation. If there's anything you can't handle, send me a telegram."

Old Xu took the documents, looked at the endless rows of machinery in the warehouse, and said with a wry smile, "You're trying to work me to death."

"I'm not exhausted." Zhao Ping'an patted his shoulder.

"Engineer Zhou has assigned you twenty administrative cadres, all veterans from Yan'an, who are very experienced in production and construction. Technically speaking..."

I transferred fifty mechanics from Anshan Iron and Steel Group; they can fix most common tractor malfunctions.

He paused for a moment: "The most important thing is those 100,000 comrades. They are crippled, but their hearts are not broken. They are our most steadfast partners."

They may not have a good life when they return to their hometowns, but here in my hometown, I give them respect and a good job, and they work harder than anyone else.

Old Xu nodded: "I understand."

After explaining the situation in Liaoning Province, Zhao Ping'an boarded a train overnight. Next stop: Changchun.

The governor of Jilin Province was somewhat surprised by Zhao Ping'an's arrival, but after hearing the plan, his attitude was exactly the same as that of the governor of Liaoning Province.

"Wasteland? We have plenty!" The provincial governor waved his hand dismissively. "The Songnen Plain has fertile black soil, it's like oil dripping from the ground. It's just that there aren't enough people to cultivate it all. You want to use machinery to clear land? Welcome! We'll give you as much land as you need!"

Zhao Ping'an's negotiations took only two hours. Jilin Province approved three million mu of wasteland, mainly concentrated in the Yushu, Dehui, and Nong'an areas. They also promised full local cooperation, providing manpower and grain as needed—although Zhao Ping'an didn't need the grain, only to be undisturbed.

Starting from Changchun, they continued north. Three days later, Zhao Ping'an arrived in Harbin.

The response from Heilongjiang Province was even more enthusiastic. Heilongjiang is sparsely populated, with more wasteland than Liaoning and Jilin provinces combined. The administrative head came directly to Zhao Ping'an with a map: "Commander Zhao, look at this Sanjiang Plain, over ten million mu of wasteland, all black soil, you could squeeze oil out of a handful. Open up as much as you can!"

Zhao Ping'an didn't mince words: "The first batch is five million mu."

"Great!" The provincial governor immediately signed and stamped the document. "Whatever support you need, just ask. We may not have much else, but we have plenty of land!"

When Zhao Ping'an returned to Shenyang at the end of April, the mechanized land reclamation plan for the three northeastern provinces had been fully launched.

Liaoning Province: 30 mu of wasteland have been planted, mainly with corn and soybeans.

30 mu of land is being sown, and 10 mu of wasteland is being reclaimed.

Kyrgyzstan Province: The first batch of 500,000 mu (approximately 33,333 hectares) is being plowed, and sowing is expected to be completed by mid-May.

Heilongjiang Province: Preliminary exploration and planning have been completed, and large-scale operations will begin in early May.

One hundred thousand people have arrived one after another.

Wounded soldiers, demobilized soldiers, and new recruits were organized into production and construction corps. Five people formed a team, each equipped with an agricultural machine and corresponding farming tools. Each corps was responsible for reclaiming 50,000 to 100,000 mu of wasteland.

Zhao Ping'an stood on the observation platform on the outskirts of Shenyang, looking through binoculars at the distant land reclamation site. Fifty tractors were working simultaneously, turning over the black soil like waves, which gleamed oilily in the sunlight.

Footsteps sounded behind him. Old Xu came over and handed him a telegram.

"It's Engineer Zhou," Old Xu said. "He's here to ask about the progress."

Zhao Ping'an received the telegram, which contained only one line: "How is the land reclamation progressing? How are the personnel being resettled?"

Zhao Ping'an thought for a moment and said, "Old Xu, let's follow the reply in the report: 300,000 mu in Liaoning Province have been sown, and another 300,000 mu are being sown; 500,000 mu in Jilin Province are underway, and 5 million mu in Heilongjiang Province are awaiting planting. All 100,000 personnel have been resettled, and the wounded and disabled soldiers have mastered the operation of machinery. The autumn harvest will be effective."

Old Xu went to send a telegram.

Zhao Ping'an continued to gaze into the distance.

The faint roar of tractors could be heard; it was the sound of steel colliding with the earth, the sound of life and new life.

Those soldiers who shed their blood on the battlefield are now fighting in another way on this black soil.

They are not only cultivating wasteland, but also the future granary of this country.

Zhao Pingan put down his binoculars and watched as many soldiers carried diesel drums and used a fuel dispenser to refuel tractors.

"It's time to move on to the next step!"