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

Sartu, the wasteland in May.

An endless meadow stretches out before you, dotted with scattered lakes in the distance. The wind blows, and the grass ripples like waves, resembling a green sea.

"The geological structure here," Professor Yuan Fuli said, squatting down and grabbing a handful of soil, "belongs to the central depression area of ​​the Songliao Basin. Theoretically speaking, it has the conditions to form a large oil field."

He stood up and pointed into the distance: "But Commander Zhao, why are you so sure there's oil here? We've done some investigations before, and there are no obvious signs of oil or gas in this area."

Zhao Pingan couldn't tell the truth. He could only say, "I've obtained some geological data from abroad, which indicates that this area may be an important oil-bearing region. The exact location... needs to be verified."

Yuan Fuli didn't ask any further questions. He was a scientist and knew that some things shouldn't be investigated too deeply.

Exploration work began. The first step was geological mapping to determine the structural outline. Professors led their students, hiking more than ten kilometers every day to measure the dip angle of the strata and collect rock samples. Zhao Ping'an, on the other hand, led the engineering corps to operate those "advanced" equipment.

A portable ground-penetrating radar emits electromagnetic waves into the ground, displaying a reflection image of the strata on the screen. A soil gas analyzer detects trace amounts of hydrocarbon gases—indirect evidence of underground oil and gas.

"There's something unusual here!" On the afternoon of the third day, a student excitedly ran in to report, "Gravity measurements show a low-density mass underground, which might be an oil reservoir!"

Everyone crowded around. On the measurement data graph, there was a clearly low-value area, covering a large area.

"Location?" Yuan Fuli asked.

「东经124度50分到125度10分，北纬46度30分到46度45分。面积大约一百平方公里。」

Zhao Ping'an was startled. This coordinate almost perfectly matched the main oilfield block in his memory.

"Get the drilling rig up," he said.

The hand-cranked drill was set up. Inch by inch, it began to drill into the ground. The engineering corps worked in three shifts, rotating in eight-hour shifts, day and night.

On the first day, they drilled to a depth of twenty meters. What they extracted was loose Quaternary sediment.

The next day, they drilled to a depth of fifty meters. It was still a sedimentary layer.

On the third day, at a depth of eighty meters, Cretaceous strata began to appear.

Progress was slow. A hand-cranked drill could only drill a maximum of thirty meters a day, and to reach the target layer, it would take at least a thousand meters. But Zhao Ping'an knew that the first discovery well in Daqing Oilfield's history—Songji No. 3 Well—had encountered an oil layer at a depth of 1357 meters.

He couldn't wait that long.

On the seventh day, when they had drilled to a depth of 150 meters, Zhao Ping'an made a decision. He ordered the engineering corps to stop the hand-cranked drill and unload several wooden crates from the truck.

Inside the box was a small diesel drilling rig he had redeemed from the system—a portable piece of equipment used for geological exploration in the 2000s, capable of drilling to a maximum depth of two kilometers. Of course, his explanation to the professors was: "This is the latest equipment I got from abroad."

The diesel engine roared to life. The rotating drill bit drilled into the ground at a speed of two hundred revolutions per minute, ten times faster than a hand-cranked drill.

The professors stood around the drilling rig, dumbfounded.

"That efficiency...can they shoot 300 meters a day?"

"More than that," Zhao Ping'an said. "If the geological conditions are good, it could be as deep as 500 meters."

Drill rods were connected one after another. One hundred meters, two hundred meters, three hundred meters... rock cores were continuously retrieved, and Yuan Fuli led his students to analyze them on site.

"Cretaceous Yaojia Formation...Qingshankou Formation...Quantou Formation..."

As the strata were uncovered one by one, time passed day by day.

Day 11, 3 PM.

Drilling depth: 1,120 meters.

The drilling rig suddenly made an unusual noise—the rotation speed increased and the torque decreased. This is a typical sign of encountering a high-pressure layer.

"Stop drilling!" Zhao Ping'an shouted.

The diesel engine shut down. The scene suddenly fell silent, with only the howling wind breaking the silence.

Everyone stared at the wellhead. A few seconds later, a stream of dark brown liquid gushed out of the well, shooting up more than a meter high before splashing onto the ground.

A pungent odor filled the air.

oil.

Silence. A silence that lasted for ten seconds.

Then, Professor Yuan Fuli was the first to rush over, scoop up a handful of oil with his hands, which were trembling. This old scholar, who had spent his entire life studying geology, burst into tears without warning.

"Oil...it really is oil..."

The students cheered. The engineers pounded each other's shoulders. The guides and security personnel stood there, stunned. They didn't know what it was, but they knew it must be something extraordinary.

Zhao Ping'an walked over, squatted down, and dipped his finger in the crude oil. It was viscous, black, and shiny, gleaming in the sunlight.

This is Daqing. This is the lifeblood of the future of New China.

He stood up: "Take samples and send them for testing. Record all data: depth, pressure, and preliminary yield estimates."

"Commander Zhao," Yuan Fuli wiped away his tears, "how much oil can this well produce each day?"

Zhao Ping'an looked at the still-flowing wellhead and quickly calculated in his mind.

Historically, the initial daily oil production of Songji No. 3 well was around 20 tons. This well is in a better location with superior reservoir conditions.

"A conservative estimate is 30 tons per day," he said. "If it officially starts mining, the daily output of a single well could reach 50 tons, or even 100 tons."

"And this area..." Yuan Fuli looked around at the endless wasteland.

"This area," Zhao Ping'an said, "may contain billions of tons of oil. Enough for us to use for decades, enough for us to build the world's most powerful armored force."

The wind sweeps across the wasteland, rippling the grass like waves. On this nameless land, a black liquid is gushing forth. It will become the lifeblood of this nation's industry, the engine of its army, and the guarantee of its future.

All of this happened a full ten years ahead of the original timeline.

Zhao Ping'an looked up towards the south. There lay Beiping, the planned armored forces academy, and tanks and trucks waiting for fuel.

Now, we have the oil.

I wonder if I've prepared the gift I've made?