Chapter 191: I Am A Block Of Ice That Refuses To Melt
“The professor is so domineering; the proposal we worked on for three straight all-nighters is completely scrapped,” Freeman complained.
In a pub in London, Major Freeman had invited Sir Hailey out, with fried fish, french fries, and beer on the table.
In terms of social status and political sensitivity, Hailey was a cut above Freeman.
Though Face to Face was a program renowned across Europe, its influence was mostly within England; The Times’s international news section was genuinely global, its audience truly spanning the world thanks to the remnants of the empire on which the sun never sets.
After sipping some beer, Hailey smiled and said, “Refusing the professor is something neither you nor Edward can do.”
Freeman had just explained the whole story to him, so Hailey was very clear on the relationships between the characters involved.
“Even General Manager Green wouldn’t dare refuse the professor himself; only the Home Office can make that call, but would the Home Office really refuse?
Obviously not. The professor and Korolev choosing London is a testament to London’s political influence, a symbol acceptable to both America and the Soviet Union.
How could they possibly refuse the professor over something so trivial.”
The BBC is not a private institution; it is a corporation directly controlled by the English government.
The board of directors is appointed by the government, and administrative approvals come from the government.
Hailey knew exactly what was bothering Freeman: missing out on a chance to appear before the global public and gain worldwide renown.
Anyone in his shoes would feel indignant.
He would too.
After hearing this, Freeman shook his head with a wry smile: “You’re right.
Edward didn’t object on the spot; after returning to the office, he reported it up the chain.
Bapti couldn’t make the call, Carlton Green couldn’t either, and in the end, Sir Norman Brook called to ask Downing Street’s opinion, and Downing Street said everything would be up to the professor.”
Bapti is the director of television programmes, responsible for all broadcasting and television programs; Carlton Green is the general manager, the top administrative head responsible for daily operations and major decisions; Sir Norman Brook is the BBC’s chairman of the board, appointed by Downing Street.
Hailey nodded: “Americans have always been like this; Roosevelt’s opening line at many White House social occasions was ‘I murdered my grandmother this morning.’
By traditional etiquette and moral standards, Roosevelt’s words were obviously quite rude.
Simply because he was tired of ritualistic chit-chat at White House social occasions and felt the guests were distracted, he started the conversation with such an absurd opener.
That’s what big shots are like; big shots can afford to be capricious.
Though there’s still a gap between the professor and Roosevelt in status, he certainly has the right to a little caprice like this.”
Freeman thought to himself, Isn’t the professor European? When did he become American?
Freeman was slightly worried: “But letting the professor freestyle completely—to think that tomorrow’s BBC live Face to Face studio will have so many big shots in attendance.
What if the professor makes a mistake?”
The Soviet side was led by Mikoyan, and America by Humphrey.
Besides those two sides, politicians and celebrities from across Europe would gather in the BBC studio.
London’s newspapers were unprecedentedly excited, reporting daily on which politicians had arrived in London and would attend tomorrow’s event.
London had raised security to an unprecedented level of importance.
If there were an accident, the face of the British Empire would be rubbed into the dirt.
Hailey waved it off: “That’s even less something for you to worry about.
The professor can more than handle a small scene like this.
Besides, just like the Roosevelt anecdote I mentioned, even if he really says something wrong, it’ll only draw polite laughter, taken as a joke.
The same mistake: if the professor makes it, it becomes an amusing anecdote, a symbol of wit; if you make it, it’s a blunder.”
Major Freeman rubbed his forehead: “Sir, you’re too right.”
Hailey patted his shoulder: “When you become prime minister someday, it’ll be your turn to be capricious; then you can call the professor to sit with you by the fireplace at 10 Downing Street for a late-night chat.”
Freeman shook his head: “That’s too hard; better to wait for the professor to come to the BBC for another interview—I think that’s more likely.”
Inside the BBC Broadcasting House studio, the hall was filled with prominent celebrities from across Europe.
In the center of the crowd, Lin Ran shone like a star.
All the celebrities wanted to chat with Lin Ran, hoping to hear details of the moon landing mission from him, even though those details had been reported by the media many times.
But hearing the same content from Lin Ran’s mouth versus reading it in the newspaper was a completely different concept. Just being able to casually say at a future social occasion, “The professor told me how the moon landing went like this…”
That alone would prove one’s wide network, being able to converse with the professor.
Lin Ran smiled as usual, holding not champagne but a notebook and pen; he had made some preparations for the interview.
He was surrounded by admirers from Europe.
Even though he was Chinese, his achievements were enough for the European nobility present to overlook his skin color.
He was just telling the young Queen Elizabeth about the thrilling moments of the mission.
“Your Majesty, returning to Earth was actually not easy,” Lin Ran paused. “Just the distance between the fuel tank and the lunar module had to be kept within two thousand meters, or Gagarin would have a hard time completing the fuel transfer.”
Jenny stood beside Lin Ran, scanning the surroundings; she felt the women’s gazes sweeping over Lin Ran from time to time.
English nobility, French diplomats, German congressmen gathered here. Their conversations switched between English, French, and German, like an international symphony.
Lin Ran knew German and English; his five senses allowed him to precisely capture everyone’s speech, and his brain handled the memory and processing.
For some reason, Lin Ran looked around, and as he had guessed, he was the only yellow-skinned Chinese there; Japan wasn’t even at the main table.
At that moment, Lin Ran inexplicably recalled a poem by Yu Guangzhong:
“Here, in the international cocktail,
I am still a block of ice that refuses to melt—
Always keeping sub-zero cold
And solid temperature.
I was originally quite liquid,
Very fond of flowing, easily boiling,
Very fond of sliding down rainbows.
But China’s sun is too far from me,
I crystallized, transparent and hard,
And unable to restore itself.”
The young queen’s exclamation interrupted Lin Ran’s thoughts: “What a miracle! Professor, your calculations are simply art!”
The French diplomat’s wife, dressed in a Chanel gown, interjected: “Professor, you must come to Paris! I think Paris’s mathematicians have been eager to exchange ideas with you.
If you don’t mind, I would be delighted to host you at my estate.”
Jenny was rolling her eyes to the heavens; if not for the celebrities gathered, she would have grabbed a mic—internally she snarked, “I bet it’s you who wants to exchange with the professor.”
Lin Ran turned to her; the large opening at the chest of her gown was indeed eye-catching: “Madam, I will remember your kind invitation. I will certainly consider coming to Paris.”
His gaze swept over the crowd, enjoying the tide of praise.
He glanced at a corner of the hall: Sergei Korolev, the soul of the Soviet space program, sitting there quietly, waiting for the interview to begin.
Korolev wore a dark gray Soviet-style suit, with a plain tie, standing beside several Soviet officials.
His face was resolute, his gaze sharp as an eagle, hands clasped behind his back, quietly observing the noisy crowd.
Mikoyan and the other representatives wore similar dark uniforms, talking softly in Russian.
The area around Korolev was empty, as if an invisible barrier separated them from the European celebrities.
The contrast was very stark.
Lin Ran was like a fish in water, chatting animatedly, surrounded by nobility, scholars, and diplomats, their laughter and applause rising and falling.
Korolev was like an isolated statue.
Moments later, BBC host Major Freeman took the stage, the microphone emitting a slight hum: “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats; the program is about to begin.”
The studio lights were soft; on the central stage, two dark leather chairs faced each other, with water cups and the two men’s notebooks on the small round table between them.
The background was a huge moon map, with the Sea of Tranquility landing site prominently marked.
Cameras moved slowly; technician Tom Harris was tensely adjusting the signal at the console, ensuring the global live broadcast went smoothly.
The crowd gradually dispersed, celebrities heading to their seats with expectant expressions. Randolph was escorted to the front row, Korolev took his seat low-key.
Lights focused on the stage, where Randolph and Korolev sat facing each other.
That earlier scene lingered in Lin Ran’s mind: himself surrounded by the crowd, Korolev ignored by all.
If he was a block of ice refusing to melt, Korolev was even more so.
If his refusal was due to his own inner resolve, no one here had even tried to melt Korolev.
Even the Soviet officials—only American diplomats and Humphrey had gone over to say hello.
This was the reality of international society, as it was now and seemingly sixty years later too.
Lin Ran shook his head, refocusing on the scene; with a gesture from technician Tom Harris on the right, Lin Ran knew the global television live broadcast had officially begun:
“Ladies and gentlemen, and viewers at home, good evening. Welcome to BBC Face to Face’s moon landing special program on December 31, 1964.
I am today’s substitute host and guest, Randolph Lin. Sitting across from me is Mr. Sergei Korolev, head of the Soviet space program.”
Polite applause rose from the audience.
In front of televisions worldwide, audiences held their breath in anticipation.
Screens in Times Square, New York, in front of Technology Ark broadcast the program live; Moscow families gathered around black-and-white TVs, children wide-eyed; in Paris cafes, people paused their conversations, staring intently at the television.
Though limited by technology, it wasn’t a fully real-time synchronized broadcast, but at this moment, most of the public was tuned in to the interview.
After the applause died down, Lin Ran continued: “Mr. Korolev, first, thank you for coming all this way to join tonight’s program. Our audience can’t wait to hear the behind-the-scenes story of this joint American-Soviet moon landing mission.
Today, the two of us will share it.”
Lin Ran switched to Russian; the uninformed European celebrities in the audience murmured in discussion.
Hearing this, Lin Ran was speechless inwardly: in London, speaking Russian sounded like parseltongue.
Simultaneous interpretation translators hurriedly began real-time translation with pen and paper, ensuring the live audience and TV viewers could accurately understand the two men’s expressions.
Korolev leaned forward slightly, his tone calm with a heavy Russian accent: “Thank you, Randolph. Glad to see you again.”
Lin Ran continued: “This American-Soviet moon landing was a cooperation built on full mutual trust between the two sides, a model of international cooperation for mutual benefit. I believe it will also be a landmark event of the Cold War, a warm moment in the healthy competition between human nations.”
In the audience, Humphrey turned green upon hearing this; he had come specifically to remind Lin Ran not to mention peace and to watch his wording.
Lin Ran indeed hadn’t mentioned peace, but “healthy competition” and “warm moment”?
After today it would be 1965; we were about to ignite a hot war—this wasn’t giving the Soviet media a slap in the face?
Lin Ran went on: “After learning the Soviet Union planned a moon landing by year’s end, through professional assessment, we realized their mission carried enormous risks.
The biggest challenge of the moon landing was the design of the lunar module.
Lunar gravity is only one-sixth of Earth’s; the lunar module had to remain stable during landing and takeoff, while controlling weight to match the rocket’s payload capacity.
The Soviets had only tested rockets and lunar soft landing; the manned lunar module was unproven.
From the known information, we judged that cooperation between our sides could increase the moon landing’s success rate.
On that basis, the White House and the Kremlin communicated directly, confirming our cooperation on the moon landing.
Space is vast, humanity is small.
Our cooperation turned humanity’s moon landing from impossible to possible.”
Applause erupted from the audience; everyone felt it deeply—seeing Gagarin land on the moon and return to Earth had genuinely moved them.
In the audience, an English lord clapped, murmuring: “The professor is spot on; space belongs to all humanity.”
Beside him, a well-made-up woman said softly: “I hope this brings peace.”
“Because the moon landing takes a toll on the astronaut’s body, Gagarin should still be in rest and recuperation now.
I believe once Gagarin recovers, he’ll go on a global speaking tour, just like after his last spaceflight.
Today, we two technical personnel will tell everyone the behind-the-scenes story of the moon landing.
Mr. Korolev, what was the calculated success rate for the Soviet moon landing before it happened?”
Korolev replied: “Fifty percent for the moon landing, ten percent for returning to Earth.”
Gasps rose from the audience.
Lin Ran followed up: “With risks that high, why do it?”
