Tech Giants: Starting from Bankrupt Companies

400: Chapter 400 Lunar Factory: 3D PrintingThe dawn over Oceanus Procellarum on the Moon arrived with unusual slowness. Earth hung in the sky, fourteen times larger than a full moon; the blue-and-white sphere rotated slowly against the black canopy, casting light that made the gray wasteland shine like a bronze mirror. On this land that had slept for billions of years, a white building stood silently. It was not large—five hundred square meters, equivalent to a basketball court—but in the endless gray, it looked like a star that had fallen to the ground.

Three months ago, there was nothing here. Only lunar regolith—gray, dust-fine lunar regolith—covered the entire plain, several meters thick. Three ”Jade Rabbit” 3D printing robots drove down from the lander, their six wheels touching the ground, mechanical arms raised high, beginning the most remote construction project in the history of human civilization. They scooped up the lunar regolith, sifting, mixing, and heating it, adding a small amount of resin brought from Earth—ten percent, nothing more. The remaining ninety percent was entirely lunar soil.

The mechanical arms extruded the mixed ”ink” layer by layer, like a patient potter. With each extruded layer, the laser sintering head followed closely behind, melting and solidifying the material. Walls grew from the ground, centimeter by centimeter, meter by meter. The roof closed up, pipes were laid, and cables were threaded through. Three months later, a white factory building stood on the wasteland of Oceanus Procellarum, with two Chinese characters printed on the roof: ”Guanghan.”

Astronaut Zhang Tian stood at the factory entrance, looking at the building through his visor. He was thirty-eight years old, a former Air Force pilot, and part of the first batch of astronauts at the lunar base. His white extravehicular suit was covered in gray lunar dust, and his visor reflected the blue light of Earth. His voice was transmitted back to Earth through the communication system, carrying a hint of tremor: ”The last wall is complete.”

Four hundred kilometers away at the Wenchang Command Center, the large screen displayed real-time footage of the lunar factory. The white building was striking against the gray wasteland, like the only touch of brightness in a black-and-white photograph. Chu Tianming stood before the main console, his hands gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. He took a deep breath, his voice calm but every word carrying the weight of a thousand jin: ”Guanghan Palace Base, the first 3D printing factory, is officially completed.”

The large screen lit up with parameters: Lunar Factory (Phase I). Building Area: 500 square meters. Construction Materials: 90% Lunar Regolith + 10% Resin. Construction Time: 3 months. Production Capacity: Satellite parts, robot spare parts, construction materials. Design Life: 10 years.

He paused, his voice trembling slightly: ”This means that for the first time, humanity possesses manufacturing capabilities on another planet. From today on, parts on the Moon do not need to be shipped from Earth. The Moon will manufacture them itself.”

Inside the factory. Gray walls, white lights—everything was as clean as an operating room. The 3D printing equipment was working. In the raw material bin, lunar regolith was being sifted, mixed, heated, and sent to the print head. The mechanical arm moved slowly, extruding, stacking, and shaping material layer by layer. A satellite bracket was growing, starting from the base and spiraling upward, like a tree growing upside down.

Astronaut Li Wei stood nearby, holding a data pad, recording every parameter. She was thirty-five years old, a materials scientist, and part of the first batch of astronauts at the lunar base. Her voice was transmitted back to Earth through the communication system, calm but unable to hide her excitement: ”The first product—a satellite bracket—is expected to be completed in two hours.” She paused and said to the camera, ”This is the first part ever made on the Moon. It doesn’t use aluminum from Earth; it uses the Moon’s soil.”

In the Wenchang Command Center, applause thundered. Liu Peiqiang stood in a corner, taking off his glasses and wiping them over and over. The sixty-seven-year-old scientist had been involved since yinghuo-1 and had waited far too long for this moment.

At Xingchen Headquarters in Shenzhen. The massive holographic projection equipment activated, lasers interweaving in the air until a figure gradually became clear. Su Chen stood in front of the lunar factory, with the gray wasteland and the blue light of Earth behind him. His physical body was in Shenzhen, but his image was on the Moon, crossing 380,000 kilometers at the speed of light, casting humanity’s gaze upon the lunar dust.

The six astronauts at the lunar base stood in a line at the factory entrance. Zhang Tian was on the left, Li Wei on the right, and in the middle were the Russian astronaut Sergei, the European astronaut Thomas, and two construction engineers who had arrived in the second batch. They looked at this ”General Manager Su from Earth,” with smiles and tears behind their visors.

Su Chen’s voice was transmitted back to the Moon via laser communication, with almost no delay. ”Zhang Tian, Li Wei, thank you for your hard work.”

Zhang Tian saluted, his movement looking somewhat ethereal in the low gravity: ”General Manager Su, the lunar factory is completed. We are ready.”

Su Chen looked at the white building behind him and was silent for a few seconds. In those few seconds, he remembered a lot—the bated breath during the launch of yinghuo-1 three years ago, the excitement when ”Guanghan Palace” began construction a year ago. Then he spoke, his voice as calm as if he were talking about the most ordinary thing, yet every word nailed itself into history.

”It took humanity one million years to stand up on the savannas of Africa. It took fifty years to leave Earth. It took three years to build a factory on the Moon.” He paused. ”This is the first step for humanity to leave its cradle.”

On the Moon, the astronauts listened quietly. On Earth, in the Command Center, some were moved to tears. Liu Peiqiang stood before the large screen, hands behind his back, his lips trembling slightly. He remembered 1970, when the Dongfanghong-1 was launched; he was still a child, standing in front of the radio listening to the song ”The East is Red.” Fifty years later, he had personally participated in building a factory on the Moon.

The official Xingchen Aerospace account live-streamed Su Chen’s holographic speech, watched by over a billion people worldwide. The CNN anchor’s voice trembled: ”Su Chen says this is the first step for humanity to leave its cradle.” The BBC anchor added: ”Lunar Factory, a new era of extraterrestrial manufacturing.” The Twitter trending topic ”#LunarFactory” surged to number one in global trends.

Netizen comments flooded in like a tide. ”Using lunar soil to build houses on the Moon. This is a real lunar base.” ”Su Chen’s holographic projection is so sci-fi. He’s in Shenzhen, but his image is on the Moon.” ”’The first step for humanity to leave its cradle’—this sentence will go down in history.” ”From now on, parts on the Moon don’t need to be shipped from Earth; the Moon will make them itself. This is a true interstellar civilization.”

That evening, on Oceanus Procellarum on the Moon. The sunset lingered on the horizon; because a day on the Moon lasts twenty-eight Earth days, the sun set very, very slowly. Zhang Tian and Li Wei stood at the factory entrance, looking at the distant lander—the machine that had brought them here, its exterior now covered in lunar dust. Further away were the tracks left by the ”Jade Rabbit” robots, crisscrossing like a giant web.

Li Wei asked: ”Do you think people a hundred years from now will look at this factory?”

Zhang Tian thought for a moment, his voice slightly distorted over the communication channel: ”They will say that this is the first factory building humans ever built on the Moon. Just like how we look at Watt’s steam engine now.”

Li Wei smiled, a thin mist forming on her visor: ”The steam engine changed the way humanity produced things. This factory will change the way humanity survives.”

Zhang Tian nodded, looking toward the Earth in the sky; the blue-and-white planet was rising. ”General Manager Su said this is the first step to leaving the cradle. He’s right. Earth is the cradle, but humanity cannot stay in the cradle forever.”

In the distance, the three ”Jade Rabbit” robots were still working. They didn’t need rest, didn’t need to breathe, only needed electricity and instructions. They were expanding the factory for Phase II, with the goal of building another thousand square meters. Mechanical arms waved in the setting sun, extruding lunar regolith layer by layer, centimeter by centimeter, meter by meter. When the next dawn for humanity arrived, there would be an additional warehouse, a laboratory, and a living module here.

Zhang Tian turned and walked into the factory. Li Wei followed behind. The lights turned on, and the 3D printing equipment was still working; the satellite bracket was more than half finished, its silver-white structure gleaming coldly under the lights. Zhang Tian reached out and touched it; the surface was rough but hard, lighter than aluminum alloy from Earth but with higher strength. This was the Moon’s own material, the Moon’s own craftsmanship, the Moon’s own manufacturing.

”The first product,” Zhang Tian said, ”should be sent back to Earth.”

Li Wei nodded: ”Put it in a museum. Place it next to the Wright brothers’ airplane.”

Late that night, in Shenzhen. Su Chen stood in front of his office window, looking at the night view of Shenzhen Bay. The holographic projection had been turned off, but the image of the lunar factory remained in his mind. The white building, the gray wasteland, the six astronauts standing in a line. Lin Wan pushed the door open, holding a cup of hot tea.

”General Manager Su, what are you thinking about?”

Su Chen took the tea and took a sip: ”Thinking about the next step.”

Lin Wan stood beside him and also looked out the window: ”What is the next step?”

Su Chen’s gaze crossed Shenzhen Bay, crossed Hong Kong, crossed the South China Sea, and looked toward a more distant place. That factory 380,000 kilometers away was just a beginning.

”Mars factory,” he said. ”Asteroid belt factory. Jupiter moon factory. One step at a time.”

Outside the window, the moon was hanging above the sea. It looked no different than it had thousands of years ago, but Su Chen knew it was already different. Up there, there were white buildings, working robots, and living, breathing people. Humanity had built the first factory on the Moon, using three years of time and ten percent resin. The next one might only need five percent resin. The one after that, perhaps zero percent.

Su Chen said softly: ”When the lunar factory can build its own robots, repair itself, and expand itself—only then will it be truly independent.”

Lin Wan looked at him: ”How long will that take?”

Su Chen smiled: ”It won’t take too long.”