This number—two billion US dollars!
In 1977!
For China, which has just emerged from a difficult period and whose foreign exchange reserves have been negative for many years, this is a challenge!
This is much more than just a sum of money!
This is life-saving blood, the confidence that allows the national economy to catch its breath!
This is the dignity of standing tall, the capital that allows Chinese manufacturing to hold its head high in the world!
This is the most solid foundation for an ancient nation to stand up again in the world!
Liao Gong did not join the cheering crowd.
He leaned against the old, weathered wooden table and slowly, very slowly, sat down, as if all his strength had been drained away.
He looked out the window at the factory area awakening in the morning light, the machines still humming, and at the simple yet vibrant factory buildings, his eyes instantly filled with hot tears.
He slowly and wearily closed his eyes.
A single, scalding tear stubbornly broke free from its restraints and quietly slid down the corner of his eye, a face etched with the marks of time and hardship.
He didn't cry out loud, but instead suddenly raised the back of his hand and wiped away the tear with almost angry force.
It was as if what was being wiped away was not tears, but the humiliation and heavy pressure that the Chinese nation had endured for a century.
He opened his eyes again, his gaze now incredibly deep and resolute, filled with hope and strength.
He reached out and steadily picked up the red direct-line telephone to Beijing on the table and dialed the number.
After two beeps, the call connected, and the old man's slightly anxious voice came through.
"Master Liao! How is it?"
This shows that the elderly person was also waiting for the outcome.
"Commander...Commander, it's done...Shekou...it's done."
These few words, though brief, carried immense weight, traveling from Bao'an Shekou to the capital city thousands of miles away in the stillness of the early morning.
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