“Don’t go into the pit…”
The Mercedes was a little out of place, Liu Xin felt. Too conspicuous. A handful of tall buildings had been erected, and hotels and shops had multiplied along the road, but everything at the mine was still shrouded in dismal gray.
When he reached the Mine Bureau, he saw a throng of people in the square outside the main office. He felt even more out of place in his suit and dress shoes as he made his way through the work-issued coveralls and sweat-stained T-shirts. The crowd watched him silently as he passed. He felt himself blushing, and looked at the ground to avoid the gaze of so many eyes on his two-thousand-dollar suit.
Inside, on the stairs, he ran into Li Minsheng, a high school classmate of his who now worked as chief engineer in the geology department. Li Minsheng was still as wiry as he had been two decades before, though he now had worry lines on his face, and the rolls of paper he carried seemed like a huge weight in his hands.
After greeting him, Li Minsheng said, “The mine hasn’t paid salaries in ages. The workers are demonstrating.” As he spoke, he gestured at the crowd, and also looked Liu Xin over curiously.
“There hasn’t been any improvement? Even with the Daqin Railway Company and two years of state coal restrictions?”
“There was for a time, but then things went bad again. I don’t think anyone can do anything about this industry.” Li Minsheng gave a long sigh, looking anxious to move past Liu Xin. He seemed uncomfortable talking to him. But as the engineer turned to go, Liu Xin stopped him.
“Can you do me a favor?”
Li Minsheng forced a smile. “In high school, you were always hungry,” he said, “but you never accepted the ration tickets we snuck into your book bag. You’re the last person who needs help from anyone these days.”
“No, I really do. Can you find me a small coal seam? Just a tiny one. No more than thirty thousand tons. It has to be independent though, that’s key. The fewer connections to other seams, the better.”
“That… should be doable.”
“I need information on the seam and its surrounding geology. The more detailed the better.”
“That’s fine, too.”
“Shall we talk over dinner?” Liu Xin asked. Li Minsheng shook his head and turned to leave, but Liu Xin caught him again. “Don’t you want to know what I’m planning?”
“I’m only interested in surviving, just like the rest,” he said, inclining his head toward the crowd. Then he left.
Taking the weathered stairs, Liu Xin looked at the high walls, the coal dust coated on them appearing for a moment like massive ink wash paintings of dark clouds over dark mountains. A huge painting, Chairman Mao En Route to Anyuan, still hung there, the painting itself free of dust but the frame and surface showing their age. When the solemn gaze of the figure in the painting fell upon him after an absence of more than ten years, Liu Xin finally felt at home.
On the second floor, the director’s office was still where it had been two decades earlier. A leather covering had been applied to the doors, but it had since split. He pushed through and saw the director, graying head facing the door, bent over a large blueprint on the desk, which he realized was a mine-tunneling chart as he drew closer. The director seemed not to have noticed the crowd outside.
“You’re in charge of that project from the ministry?”1 the director asked, looking up only briefly before returning to the chart.
“Yes. It’s a very long-term project.”
“I see. We’ll do our best to cooperate. But you’ve noticed our current situation.” The director looked up and extended a hand. Liu Xin saw the same weariness he’d seen on Li Minsheng’s face, and when he shook the director’s hand, he felt two misshapen fingers, the result of an old mining injury.
“Go look up Deputy Director Zhang, who’s in charge of scientific research, or Chief Engineer Zhao. I have no time. I’m very sorry. We can talk once you’ve got results.” The director returned his attention to the blueprint.
“You knew my father. You were a technician on his team,” Liu Xin said, then gave his father’s name.
The director nodded. “A fine worker. A good team leader.”
“What’s your opinion of the mining industry now?” Liu Xin asked.
“Opinion about what?” the director asked without looking up. The only way to get this man’s attention is to be blunt, Liu Xin thought, then said, “Coal is a traditional, backward, and declining industry. It’s labor-intensive, it has wretched work conditions and low production efficiency, and requires enormous transport capacity…. Coal used to be a backbone industry in the UK, but that country closed all of its mines a decade ago!”
“We can’t shut down,” the director said, head still down.
“That’s right. But we can change! A complete transformation of the industry’s production methods! Otherwise, we’ll never be free of those difficulties,” Liu Xin said, taking quick steps over to the window. He pointed outside. “Mine workers, millions upon millions of them, with no chance of a fundamental change to their way of life. I’ve come today—”
The director cut him off. “Have you been down below?”
“No.” After a moment, he added, “Before he died, my father forbade me.”
“And you achieved that,” the director said. Bent over the chart as he was, his expression was unreadable, but Liu Xin felt color flooding his cheeks again. He felt hot. In this season, his suit and tie were appropriate only in air-conditioned rooms, but here there was no air-conditioning.
“Look. I’ve got a goal, a dream, one my father had before he died. I went to college to realize it, and I did a doctorate overseas…. I want to transform coal mining. Transform the lives of the mine workers.”
“Get to the point. I don’t have time for childhood dreams and flights of fancy.” The director pointed behind him, but Liu Xin wasn’t certain whether he was pointing at the crowd outside or not.
“I’ll be as brief as I can. As it stands, the present state of coal production is: Under extremely poor conditions, coal is transported to its point of use, and then put into coal gas generators to produce coal gas, or into electric plants where it’s pulverized and burnt…”
“I’m well aware of the coal production process.”
“Yes, of course.” Liu Xin faltered momentarily before continuing. “Well, here’s my idea: Turn the mine itself into a massive gas generator. Turn the coal into coal gas underground, in the seam, and then use petroleum or natural gas extraction techniques to extract the combustible gas, and then transport it to its points of use in dedicated pipes. Furnaces in power stations, the largest consumers of coal, can burn coal gas. Mines could disappear, and the coal industry could become a brand-new, totally modern industry, completely different from what it is today!”
“You think your idea is a new one?”
Liu Xin did not think his idea was new. He also knew that the director, who had been a talented student at the Mining Institute in the 1960s and was now one of the country’s leading authorities on coal extraction, did not think it was new either. The director was certainly aware that subterranean gasification of coal had been studied throughout the world for decades, during which time no small number of gasification catalysts had been developed by countless labs and multinational companies. But it had remained a pipe dream for the better part of a century for one simple reason: The cost of the catalysts far outstripped the value of the coal gas they produced.