Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

With a screech of brakes, the green train puffed out a thick cloud of white smoke and slowly came to a stop at the Luohu Bridge.

This is the throat connecting two worlds.

Behind them lay the old world, a world of dazzling lights and revelry, yet wantonly trampled upon by colonizers; before them, separated by a barbed wire fence and a narrow river, a bright five-star red flag fluttered in the humid south wind.

"arrive."

Shen Jinghong stood at the car door, carrying a simple suitcase. Looking at that splash of red, his breathing quickened involuntarily, his heart pounding as if it would leap out of his chest and shatter the thin layer of flesh.

Along this journey, from the skyscrapers of New York to the neon lights of Victoria Harbour, and now to these simple brick houses and the People's Liberation Army soldiers standing with their guns, he has traversed half the globe and crossed the boundary between life and death.

"What are you daydreaming about? Let's go."

Lin Qinghan gave him a push. Although her voice remained cold, the slight tremor at the end betrayed her turbulent emotions. She clutched the leather case containing the F-86 blueprints tightly, her knuckles turning pale from the force.

"Let's go home."

Shen Jinghong took a deep breath, took a step, and stepped onto the not-so-long Luohu Bridge.

The wooden planks creaked underfoot, each step feeling both heavy and solid.

The moment my feet crossed the white dividing line and stepped onto the land on the other side of the Shenzhen River, the system in my mind, which had been dormant for a long time, suddenly emitted a crisp notification sound:

[Ding! Host has successfully crossed the border of the People's Republic of China.]

Main quest one, "The Journey Home," has been successfully completed.

[Reward: Maximum mental strength increased by 100%. New feature unlocked: Intermediate Industrial Analysis (can analyze precision electronic equipment).]

Shen Jinghong had no interest in the system rewards at all.

He abruptly threw his suitcase aside, squatted down without any regard for appearances, and reached out to grab a handful of dirt from under his feet.

It was damp, rough, and smelled of withered grass roots and muddy odor.

This is the land of our motherland.

In his past life, he died on a cold street in a foreign land, his soul wandering for decades, dreaming of smelling this earthy scent. Now, this earth is in his hands, heavy, with real weight.

"It smells so good..."

Shen Jinghong buried his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling slightly. No one knew that this tough guy, who had stirred up trouble in New York and outmaneuvered American agents, now had eyes that were red and bloodshot.

"Aren't you dirty?"

Lin Qinghan stood beside him, feigning disdain, but pulled a clean white handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him. She didn't urge him, but simply watched the sentry in the distance, her eyes slightly moist.

"You don't understand, this is fragrance."

Shen Jinghong stood up, refusing the handkerchief, and casually wiped her hands on her trench coat. Her carefree smile returned, but now it carried an unprecedented air of confidence.

"Alright, enough with the sentimentality. The backup is here."

Not far away, several cadres in khaki military uniforms strode over. The middle-aged man at the head of the group, though weathered, was still very spirited and stretched out his hands from a distance:

"Are you Comrade Shen Jinghong and Comrade Lin Qinghan? You've worked hard! The motherland welcomes you home!"

A simple handshake, yet burning with warmth.

No flowers, no red carpet, just this simple sentence, yet it warms the heart more than anything else.

The rest of the process went quickly: identity verification and a simple check-in.

Because Lin Qinghan possessed the top-secret F-86 blueprints, and given that she was a cryptography expert, she needed to be immediately escorted by a special person and flown directly to Beijing by special train (at that time, military special planes or express trains were used).

On the platform, the train whistle sounded again.

"I'm leaving."

Lin Qinghan stood at the carriage door, looking at Shen Jinghong who was still on the platform. She had changed into a gray Lenin suit and cut her hair short, making her look more capable, but her eyes were gentler than ever before.

"That thing... I will personally hand it over to Marshal Nie."

She patted her briefcase, which was her lifeline.

"Don't worry about entrusting it to us."

Shen Jinghong, hands in his pockets, leaned against a cement pillar, laughing carefree, "When you get to Beijing, remember to eat two extra bowls of noodles with soybean paste for me."

All you ever think about is eating.

Lin Qinghan rolled her eyes at him. As the train slowly started moving, she suddenly leaned forward, her voice clearly reaching Shen Jinghong's ears through the noisy steam:

"Shen Jinghong".

"Um?"

"I'll be waiting for you at the Academy of Sciences. Don't keep me waiting too long."

The train sped up, taking away that aloof figure, leaving only a faint jasmine fragrance, which was quickly dissipated by the smell of coal smoke.

"Tsk, is this considered a confession?"

Shen Jinghong touched her nose, watched the departing train, and a gentle smile appeared on her lips. "Okay, Lin the genius, I'll come and meet you after I've cleaned up the mess at home."

After seeing Lin Qinghan off, Shen Jinghong did not linger.

The Huo family's supplies were still being transported slowly behind; he needed to return to Beijing first. There, not only was Marshal Nie waiting for him, but also a whole bunch of "good relatives" waiting to leech off him.

As I boarded the northbound train, the scenery outside the window began to appear desolate.

From the paddy fields of the south to the loess plains of the north, the further north you go, the stronger the sandstorms and the more dilapidated the houses become. This newly established country is indeed too poor, so poor it's heartbreaking.

But beneath this barren land lies the blood and bones of a dragon.

Shen Jinghong leaned back in her hard seat, closing her eyes to rest. But the faces of the Shen family members involuntarily floated into her mind.

The father, Shen Dayong, was ignorant and irritable, with his mind filled with the authority of a feudal patriarch.

The mother, Liu Cuihua, was extremely biased, wishing she could squeeze every last drop of her eldest son's marrow out of him and feed it to her younger son.

There's also the spoiled younger brother Shen Yaozu, and the sister-in-law who started scheming for the family fortune even before she entered the family.

In his past life, it was this group of people who used so-called family ties to blackmail him and used filial piety to crush him, making him give up all the hard-earned US dollars, the housing allocated by the state, and even his job to that good-for-nothing younger brother.

Finally?

He was beaten to death abroad, and no one even came to claim his body. Meanwhile, that family, who had taken his hard-earned money, were still cursing him as a heartless ingrate.

"hehe."

A cold laugh escaped Shen Jinghong's throat, startling the old man next to her who was about to grab a kettle, causing his hand to tremble.

"Young man, what's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" the old man asked with concern.

"No, sir."

Shen Jinghong opened her eyes, her dark pupils flashing with a cold light, colder than the north wind outside the window. "I'm so happy because I'm about to see my family. I'm so happy I want to laugh."

The train roared along, traveling day and night.

Finally, as the iconic spire of Qianmen Railway Station came into view, the train attendant's announcement, delivered in a Beijing accent, rang out over the loudspeaker:

"Passengers, we have arrived at Beijing Station."

Shen Jinghong carried the tattered leather suitcase that was just for show and walked out of the station with the flow of people.

The familiar smell of sand and dust hit me, along with the deafening cries of vendors in Beijing dialect.

"Candied hawthorn berries!"

"Sharpening scissors—sharpening kitchen knives—"

This is Beijing.

This is the hometown he longs for.

Shen Jinghong stood in the square, watching the bustling crowd and the distant, dusty city walls. He didn't rush to report to that place with its red walls and yellow tiles; instead, he hailed a rickshaw and gave the address etched into his very being:

"Nanluoguxiang, No. 95 Courtyard".

With a shout of "Yo-ho!", the driver started pedaling, and the bell rang crisply and melodiously.

Shen Jinghong sat in the back of the truck, looking at the familiar scenes on both sides of the street. He gently patted off non-existent dust, and the smile on his lips grew colder and colder, like a knife that had just been drawn from its sheath.

"Shen Dayong, Liu Cuihua, and my dear younger brother..."

"Your creditor has returned."