Chapter 209 Chen Jianguo's Determination
The car drove into Zhangjiang High-Tech Park.
At this time, Zhangjiang was far from the bustling metropolis it would become in later years. Large swaths of farmland still hid between bamboo groves and trees, but the wide concrete roads clearly proclaimed its destined future.
At the factory gate, the four gilded Chinese characters "Xinde International" gleamed in the sun—the name of the joint venture factory, taking one character each from Yuanxin and Texas Instruments.
Zhang Rujin led Sheng Guangfeng, the Italian Alcide, and Chen Jianguo—who had come to scout the site—to greet them.
Since returning to Yuanxin to work on copper interconnect processes, Chen Jianguo had been traveling all over the country, visiting various labs capable of chemical vapor deposition. He had even traveled abroad with Professor Su Xinghe. In his own words, "Sharpening the axe doesn't delay chopping firewood"—better to fully understand the theory before getting hands-on.
But in the end, process technology had to be validated through experiments. Yuanxin had set up a rudimentary chip production line, but limited by outdated equipment and technology, it was only a stopgap measure.
Now that the wafer fab was becoming a reality, Chen Jianguo naturally had to move his experimental work here.
"Dr. Zhang," Su Yuanshan said warmly as he stepped out of the car and grasped Zhang Rujin's hand tightly. "You've worked hard."
"Not at all," Zhang Rujin said, standing half a head shorter than Su Yuanshan. He looked at the young man's earnest expression and couldn't help but feel the genuine respect emanating from him—a respect that had puzzled him for a long time.
Only after coming to Shanghai, getting to know Yuanxin's staff, attending the annual meeting, and becoming familiar with people like Li Mingliu and Jiang Tao did he begin to truly understand Su Yuanshan.
And with the arrival of Chen Jianguo, Su Yuanshan's personally trained senior brother, Zhang Rujin's understanding deepened further.
He could now guess why Su Yuanshan was so "respectful."
After exchanging handshakes and introductions all around, Zhang Rujin took the lead. "Come, let's go take a look at the photomask factory."
Photomasks, or "light masks," are motherboards made from quartz material, used in semiconductor lithography processes. They belong to the early stages of chip production.
The process of transferring patterns from the photomask to the wafer is much like a printing press printing banknotes—except the lithography machine prints chip circuits onto silicon wafers.
It takes hundreds of process steps to manufacture a single chip, requiring multiple photomasks. Generally, the more advanced the process technology, the more photomasks are needed.
For example, in later generations: at the 14nm node, about 60 photomasks were required; at 7nm, it could take 80 or even more.
Of course, the quality requirements also vary. For critical processes like transistor layers, photomasks must be extremely precise. Less critical layers, like those for bonding pads (wiring holes), allow for slightly lower standards—and cheaper masks.
As the process nodes advanced, photomask precision requirements skyrocketed, and inspecting the masks for defects became critically important.
(Note: The above explanation on photomasks is excerpted and slightly adapted from an answer by Han Ming, BD Director at Allchip Manufacturing Technologies, on Zhihu—special thanks for his clear and detailed explanation.)
Because photomask production involves complex processes and extremely high precision demands, building an in-house mask shop is not mandatory for a fab—outsourcing is a common practice. Plus, photomasks can be sold to other industries beyond semiconductors.
The reason Zhang Rujin insisted on building a photomask factory first was precisely because of this insight.
At present, China lacked any professional photomask foundries. By bringing Texas Instruments' mask technology with him, Zhang Rujin realized they could not only serve their own fab but also make some money by offering external services.
—Of course, he didn't know that Su Yuanshan's real plan was to lose twenty billion US dollars first with the wafer fab...
"The key photomask equipment is still controlled by Japan, including the critical mask writers. Fortunately, we didn't encounter major obstacles during procurement. Nuflare, the Japanese company, has already packed the machines and they'll be shipped soon," Zhang Rujin said as he led the group down the fresh concrete road toward the workshop.
Su Yuanshan looked up and saw a tech park rapidly rising—a busy, sprawling construction site buzzing with activity.
"At this rate, the photomask factory could be operational within six months."
"Good," Su Yuanshan said. "Once it's running, let's poach Huajing's clients and shut down their mask shop."
He was half-joking: "The cost of making masks during a chip tape-out is way too high. Huajing's poor technology makes it even worse."
"The main issue is always technology," Zhang Rujin smiled, then turned to Chen Jianguo. "Dr. Chen, I heard you have a patent related to masks?"
Chen Jianguo nodded shyly. "When collaborating with UMC on masks back then, I had a small flash of insight. It's nothing groundbreaking."
"Heh, even a small step forward is valuable," Zhang Rujin said kindly. "Even if a patent saves only one dollar per wafer, that's still a competitive edge."
"Exactly," Su Yuanshan chimed in for his senior brother. "Especially when you consider time costs. In semiconductors, time is an enormous cost factor."
By the time they finished touring the site, it was close to six o'clock. Perhaps because Yuanxin employees had mentioned that Su Yuanshan always ate in the staff cafeteria, Zhang Rujin didn't make any special arrangements. He simply treated them to a meal at the factory cafeteria.
Granted, he didn't serve boxed meals—they had a proper table set up, though the dishes were still basic cafeteria fare.
Of course, Su Yuanshan wasn't picky—though he found the local cooking a bit hard to get used to.
After dinner, Zhang Rujin personally saw them out of the park and scheduled another meeting for 10:00 AM the next day in his office.
...
Li Mingliu drove Su Yuanshan and Zhou Xiaohui to the hotel entrance. He didn't even bother getting out—just rolled down the window and said, "Tomorrow I won't come. I'll arrange for a car to pick you up here at 8:30."
"Alright, go," Su Yuanshan said. "I'll be at the factory all day tomorrow, and I'll come to your place the day after."
"OK~!"
Standing at the hotel entrance, they watched Li Mingliu slowly pull out, then floor it and zoom into the street.
"He drives that fast?" Zhou Xiaohui blinked.
"That's not speeding yet," Su Yuanshan laughed. "If he really dares to speed, he's asking for trouble. And with that old Santana of his—flooring it still won't get him far."
"...Wasn't that a brand-new car last year? It looks well-maintained."
"...I'm talking about its performance."
Dragging their suitcases inside, they checked into the hotel. Su Yuanshan, as usual, booked a suite for himself and a standard room for Zhou Xiaohui across the hall.
After settling in, Zhou Xiaohui brought over her folder and phone battery and joined Su Yuanshan in the suite's living room.
They sat on the sofa, using the coffee table as their desk, and began handling the day's calls and paperwork.
An hour later, Su Yuanshan hung up the call with Gao Xiaodi and let out a long breath.
"It's a bit frustrating. Technically, research should all be handled by Senior Brother Xi, but he's like an old grandpa now... dumping everything onto me," Su Yuanshan said as he stretched lazily, looking rather annoyed. "Even on business trips, I'm swamped."
Zhou Xiaohui stood up and straightened her skirt—Su Yuanshan had told her to dress casually, but she insisted that dressing formally made her look more like a proper secretary. Smiling, she said, "You're just reluctant to pressure him."
"It's not about reluctance... Alright, maybe a little. Expertise matters. He's not necessarily better at handling this stuff than I am. It's fine for him to stay the team's mascot," Su Yuanshan said, shrugging.
And he wasn't wrong. Among all the small teams at Yuanxin's tech park, if you had to find someone who knew a little about everything, it would indeed be Su Yuanshan.
As for Xi Xiaoding, it was better to let him focus on developing mathematical software, deep learning, and artificial intelligence—that was where his team's math expertise could truly shine.
Su Yuanshan's phone hadn't been idle for long when it rang again. He picked it up and heard his father's voice.
"Xiaoshan, are you free now?"
"Not too busy. What's up, Dad?" Su Yuanshan shifted into a more relaxed posture. He figured it wouldn't be about the supercomputer motherboard project—it had reached a critical phase, but Su Yuanshan knew he couldn't really help much with it. Even if his father asked, all he could do was stare blankly.
"Nothing urgent, just wanted to tell you: the technical paper about the 91 series microcontroller has been accepted by ISSCC. It'll be published around the end of the month."
"Really?!" Su Yuanshan jumped to his feet. "Congratulations, Dad!"
"Haha, it's just a paper," Professor Su Xinghe replied calmly.
Despite being influenced by his son over the years, Professor Su still carried the marks of an old-school scholar. He believed that since he had already written books—several, in fact—there wasn't much point in chasing paper publications anymore. Real contributions mattered more than appearances.
For example, during the development of the 16-bit microcontroller, Professor Su innovatively implemented a three-stage pipeline architecture, dramatically improving execution efficiency and stability—perfect for industrial control applications.
China's scientific pioneers hadn't cared much about publishing in international journals back then. Their priority was creating results, not seeking fame abroad.
But Su Yuanshan thought differently. He had persistently pushed his father to submit papers—and not just his father; he also constantly encouraged his senior brothers to publish internationally, even if the journals weren't the most prestigious.
It wasn't about "seeking Western recognition"—it was about influence.
And so, Professor Su finally submitted his work. After one revision and after sending in samples of the 16-bit microcontroller, it was accepted on the first try.
"Dad, you have no idea... This is a huge step forward for China's semiconductor research, even for the entire scientific community," Su Yuanshan said, deeply moved.
The ISSCC (International Solid-State Circuits Conference) was known as the "Olympics of chip design," showcasing the world's top achievements in integrated circuits.
Alongside it was the JSSC (IEEE Journal of Solid-State Circuits)—the two had equivalent influence and prestige.
The selection criteria were straightforward: either be the best or be the first.
The best and/or the first.
It's worth noting that it wasn't until 2005 that the Chinese mainland produced its first ISSCC paper.
Even later, submissions averaged barely one paper per year.
Su Yuanshan, who had experienced academia firsthand, knew how things used to be: before the mid-90s, Chinese researchers mainly focused on grinding out results quietly. When they attended international conferences, it was with a mindset of "observing" and "learning."
It wasn't until a wave of overseas-educated scholars returned in the late '90s that horizons broadened, and active participation in international academia and journals became normalized, eventually laying the foundations for today's research culture.
Moreover, this particular ISSCC paper had even greater significance: it showed that mainland China had progressed from being a "sanctioned blind spot" in microcontrollers to reaching internationally advanced levels.
...
After chatting casually with his father for a while longer, Su Yuanshan hung up and sat on the sofa, laughing uncontrollably.
"You look even happier than if you'd published a paper yourself," Zhou Xiaohui teased, smiling beside him.
"Of course. How old is my dad already? And he's still achieving new milestones!" Su Yuanshan said proudly. "Heh, and I helped push him to do it, too."
Zhou Xiaohui didn't know how to respond—she just smiled.
Su Yuanshan glanced at the time on his phone and instructed, "Let's call it a day. Tomorrow, we get up at 8 AM and leave by 9 sharp."
"Got it," Zhou Xiaohui replied, gathering up the documents.
The next morning, the two were driven back to the tech park by Yuanxin's assigned driver.
In the morning, Su Yuanshan had a one-on-one meeting with Zhang Rujin that lasted nearly two hours. After lunch, he met separately with Sheng Guangfeng, Alcide from Italy, and a few others.
It wasn't exactly "encouragement"—but as the true boss of Yuanxin, Su Yuanshan needed to personally show enough sincerity and respect to those who had traveled so far to work in Shanghai.
In the afternoon, Su Yuanshan declined Zhang Rujin's offer to personally see him off. Instead, only Chen Jianguo accompanied him out of the factory.
...
"Xiaoshan, I'm not lying to you—switching from aluminum to copper is unbelievably hard," Chen Jianguo said, hands stuffed in his pockets, kicking small stones on the ground, his brow furrowed into a deep crease.
He looked up at Su Yuanshan. "Copper interconnect processes involve both chemical and physical vapor deposition... I feel like I don't know nearly enough."
"No rush. Take your time," Su Yuanshan said soothingly, clapping him on the shoulder. "Nobody's born knowing everything."
"...Feels like you were," Chen Jianguo muttered.
Su Yuanshan: "..."
"Senior Brother, really, don't rush it," Su Yuanshan said, his voice soft but firm. "Where you don't understand, learn. I'm not even asking you to produce results yet, so what are you stressing about?"
Chen Jianguo looked him straight in the eye. "Learn everything where I don't understand? Wouldn't that just make me a jack-of-all-trades, master of none?"
"Well... not exactly," Su Yuanshan said. "The idea is, once you grasp the fundamental principles, you'll be able to oversee the whole system. You don't have to specialize in every tiny step. You need to know the direction, set the goals, and then push your team toward them."
"That's easy to say. But every time I see experiments fail again and again, and watch money burn away... it's frustrating," Chen Jianguo grumbled.
"Heh... You think we're burning a lot now?" Su Yuanshan clapped him again, hard. "Try seven years and five hundred million dollars—would that be enough?"
"...Holy shit."
"Seriously, Senior Brother. I'm not joking. This isn't about technology—it's about direction."
Chen Jianguo sucked in a deep breath.
He knew that if Su Yuanshan pointed out a direction, it was the right direction. No matter how bloody and painful it got, you had to break through.
He clenched his fist and growled, "Alright! Seven years! Worst case, I'll go get a PhD!"
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