Chapter 740 - 466: Technology 2

Chapter 740: Chapter 466: Technology 2

...to give Feng Shan a clearer picture of what he was describing.

Just then, Sam pointed to a nearby excavator that was hoisting a bundle of white foam boards.

"See? That’s polystyrene foam board. Its thermal conductivity is less than 0.03 W/(m·K), making it an excellent insulation material. When we’re building the foundation, we first lay down a layer of gravel, then put the polystyrene foam board on top. This creates a dual barrier for both insulation and drainage, effectively preventing the permafrost from melting due to the heat from construction."

"What if you run into a river?"

Feng Shan listened intently, nodding as he asked the question with genuine curiosity.

The terrain of the Far North Tundra is extremely complex.

It’s manageable in the winter, but when the snow melts in the summer, the entire tundra transforms into a network of countless rivers and wetlands.

Sam heard the question.

He immediately perked up, continuing his enthusiastic explanation.

"If we need to build a bridge, we use a combination of bored piles and thermosyphon refrigeration technology. We bury thermosyphons around the piles. The thermosyphons are filled with ammonia, and they use the principle of evaporation and condensation to draw heat away from the piles. This ensures the permafrost around the pile foundations doesn’t melt, preventing frost heave from causing the piles to shift."

"This technology is great for handling special terrain like rivers, guaranteeing the bridge’s stability and safety. It provides a reliable solution for building highways across all sorts of complex landscapes."

Old Li, who was standing nearby, couldn’t take the cold any longer.

He urged them impatiently.

"Are we done looking yet? What’s so great about this godforsaken place? It’s freezing! A man could freeze to death out here. Let’s go, let’s go. Time to head back and eat. I wonder what delicious food Old Zhang made today."

As Old Li spoke, he stomped his feet and rubbed his hands together across his chest, trying to ward off the chill.

Feng Shan couldn’t help but smile when he heard this.

’To be honest, the road construction site isn’t particularly interesting to me.’

It was just a lot of construction machinery moving back and forth, with workers bustling about.

’But since I can’t return to the Crown Territory, I’m incredibly bored just sitting around. Finding something to do is a way to pass the tedious time.’

"Alright, let’s head back then," Feng Shan replied.

The group turned and walked back to the camp along the safety pathway, through the swirling wind and snow.

Back at the construction camp.

They headed straight for the mess hall, a temporary structure built from foam boards.

The moment they pushed the door open, the rich aroma of food washed over them, instantly chasing away the cold that had been nipping at their noses.

Inside, the mess hall was filled with neat rows of tables and benches that had a distinctly Chinese character.

The blue tabletops and long benches made one feel as if they were in a company cafeteria back in China.

At this time, many workers were eating, some sitting and others standing, all enjoying their meals with gusto.

Other workers stood with trays at the serving counter, waiting for the cooks to dish out food. The stainless steel containers on the counter were filled with a bountiful spread of meat and vegetable dishes.

"I smell braised pork." Old Li’s head shot up excitedly. He took a deep breath of the fragrant air in the mess hall, then turned to Feng Shan and said, "Come on, it’s not often you visit. Let’s have Old Zhang whip up a few hot dishes for us. Usually, if I ask him to cook something separate, the old coot isn’t willing."

"No, no! A regular meal is perfectly fine."

Feng Shan quickly reached out and grabbed Old Li’s arm, not wanting to cause trouble for everyone just because he was there.

With that, he walked over to the utensil counter and picked up a tray.

Then he dutifully got in line, ready to wait for his food just like the other workers.

But when he looked up, he saw that Sam was already standing in front of him with a tray.

"Buddy, this is the Chinese mess hall. Doesn’t the camp have a Western one?"

Feng Shan asked curiously.

’In my mind, foreigners like Sam are usually more accustomed to Western food.’

A look of utter astonishment appeared on Sam’s face, as if Feng Shan had asked the most absurd question. He retorted in confusion.

"My God, why couldn’t I eat Chinese food? After tasting the Chinese food here, I finally understand what the phrase ’so bad a dog wouldn’t eat it’ means. The so-called Chinese food I had before was worse than dog food. Believe me, Old Zhang’s braised pork has firmly secured the top spot on my list of Chinese dishes. The taste is just... out of this world!"

Well, then!

After hearing Sam’s speech, Feng Shan was at a loss for words and could only chuckle.

’I never thought Old Zhang would cross oceans and travel thousands of miles to Alaska, only to find a new group of connoisseurs.’

The group slowly moved forward with the line and finally reached the serving counter.

A young Chinese chef holding a metal ladle was shouting loudly in a thick, authentic Henan dialect.

"Stop pushing, stop pushing! There’s enough for everyone! What’s all the pushing for? Get in line."

Finally, it was Sam’s turn.

The guy immediately switched to a broken Henan dialect, saying, "My friend, gimme some extra lean meat, and two big scoops of that oily broth."

Sam suddenly spouting Henan dialect.

It left Feng Shan completely dumbfounded; he almost thought he’d misheard.

When the young chef heard him, he broke into a grin so wide he couldn’t close his mouth.

He plunged the large ladle to the bottom of the braised pork container, then gave it a mighty scoop, bringing up a heaping spoonful of meat.

WHOOSH! He dumped it all onto Sam’s tray, filling it so full the meat almost spilled over.

Next, the young chef picked up a bowl of rice, ladled two spoonfuls of the glistening, soy-red sauce over it, and handed it to Sam with another dialect phrase, "Eat up, there’s plenty more."

Sam placed the rice bowl on his tray, gave the young chef a thumbs-up, and said in the dialect he had just learned:

"Real good! Solid!"

The young chef chuckled and turned his head.

He saw Feng Shan, dressed in a fur coat. If it weren’t for the reflective vest and hard hat, he would have mistaken him for one of the local Indigenous People who’d snuck into the Chinese mess hall to freeload a meal.

But then he glanced at the man with a face full of tattoos behind him, Nash, who didn’t look like a good guy no matter how you sliced it.

The young chef froze for a second, but still asked politely in Chinese.

"What can I get for you, brother? Want some braised pork like them?"

As he spoke, he gestured with the metal ladle in his hand, a professional smile on his face.

Feng Shan smiled faintly, placed his tray gently on the counter, and said in Chinese, "Just a normal portion is fine."

Old Li, who was blocked by Nash’s broad frame, heard Feng Shan and quickly sidestepped out. He raised his voice and said, "Xiaoluozi! This is the project’s investor, the boss! Why haven’t you run and told Old Zhang to get his butt out here and make a couple of hot dishes for the boss?"

’The project’s investor.’

’The client, the big boss.’

The moment the young chef heard that, his hand trembled so violently he almost dropped the ladle.

A nervous expression flashed across his face. He quickly put the ladle down, spun around, and ran for the kitchen like a gust of wind.

His sudden departure did not sit well with the workers, and a torrent of curses immediately erupted.

Everyone was lined up waiting to eat; how could the server just up and run off like that?

The once orderly line instantly erupted into chaos, with curses flying from all directions.

A few of the foreign workers in line joined the shouting. Though their regular Chinese was clumsy, their pronunciation of the curse "son of a bitch" was perfectly clear.

In an instant, the mess hall was in an uproar, filled with a cacophony of complaints and shouts.

Seeing this, Feng Shan.

He quickly walked behind the serving counter, picked up the metal ladle, and shouted, "Stop cursing! Line up and get your food."

As he spoke, he took Old Li’s tray and, with a few quick motions—CLANG, CLANG—scooped food from the containers.

He filled the tray to the brim.

He then deftly grabbed a bowl of rice and placed it on the tray, all in one smooth motion.

"Next," Feng Shan called out.

Old Li looked at the food on his tray, about to say something.

But before he could get a word out, Feng Shan had already taken Nash’s tray and was skillfully serving him.

Under Feng Shan’s direction.

The line quickly returned to order.

Seeing someone step up to serve the food, the workers’ dissatisfaction gradually faded, and they began to move forward in an orderly fashion.

Just then, Old Zhang, dressed in his chef’s uniform, hurried out of the kitchen.

He scanned the room anxiously as he walked, muttering.

"Xiaofengzi, when did you get here? Where’s my apprentice? I made her favorite reindeer jerky."

"Jenny didn’t come. It’s just me."

Feng Shan said, as he handed the ladle back to the young chef.

...