Centennial Sky: Blade into the Clouds

In 1950, at the old aviation school in Northeast China, Yan Tieshan heated the oil pipes of an airplane with his mouth: "I repair airplanes because I want my son to know that his father's job is to make people fly." In 1978, before he died, he said: "My grandson, named Yan Feng, is in heaven." Yan Feng, the captain of Air China's 747 aircraft, is nicknamed "King of Yama". Seven major special situations rewrote the history of civil aviation seven times - four-engine stop, control of the deck, and blind landing in thunderstorms. Each time, he brought hundreds of people home alive. The last page of the Civil Aviation Administration's investigation report reads: "This person is determined to die. The Lord of Hell will not accept him and recommends that he continue to be employed." From my grandfather using his body temperature to heat oil pipes, to my father's sacrifice in the blue sky, to his own brush with death at an altitude of 10,000 meters, for a century, the sky has witnessed the passion and tenderness of Chinese aviation people. Later, the child stood in front of the retired 747-400 and asked: "Did he drive well?" The commentator smiled: "It was so good that even the King of Hell did not dare to accept him."