Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

"Click".

Shen Jinghong casually tossed the red secure phone back onto the landline, making a crisp clinking sound.

He leaned back in his large leather chair, picked up the cup of warm tea on the table, and slowly took a sip. His deep eyes held no trace of relief at surviving such a close call; instead, they churned with a ruthless intent to devour the people across the ocean alive.

"Jinghong, the Americans must be working on a press release overnight."

Lin Qinghan sat in front of the computer, her fingers flying across the keyboard. She pushed up her black-rimmed glasses, her cool voice carrying a hint of mockery:

"In keeping with the CIA's usual practices, they will definitely package this operation as an 'accidental bombing.' I've already come up with excuses for them: either they used outdated maps, or the navigation system experienced a temporary malfunction."

"Old map? Accidental bombing?"

Shen Jinghong let out a cold laugh and slammed the teacup heavily on the table.

"They want to be prostitutes but also want to maintain a virtuous image; there's no such thing as a free lunch!"

He stood up, strode behind Lin Qinghan, placed his hands on the back of her chair, and stared intently at the US military tactical data links on the screen that had been completely intercepted by the "Skynet" system.

"Qinghan, spill everything we've intercepted!"

Shen Jinghong's voice carried an absolute domineering air, like a force of nature:

"The B-2 bomber's takeoff log, Captain William's cockpit recordings, and precise coordinate instructions directly from the Pentagon to the front lines!"

"I'll show the whole world what these hypocritical Anssa bandits, spouting platitudes about morality and justice, are really up to behind the scenes!"

Lin Qinghan's lips curled into a cold, elegant smile.

"Understood. I have already packaged and sent this data to major media outlets around the world through our secret servers overseas. This includes The New York Times, the BBC, AFP, and even Al Jazeera in the Middle East."

Her slender fingers slammed down the Enter key.

"Sent. Now, let the bullets fly for a while."

Just ten minutes later.

The entire Western world was in an uproar.

People in Europe and America who were still asleep were forcibly awakened by emergency news broadcasts on major television stations.

On the television screen, there was no carefully fabricated "accidental bombing" statement from the US government. Instead, there was a clear recording of an internal US military communication with a strong static tone.

"Ghost One is calling the nest. It has entered the attack path. Target locked: Chinese Embassy in Yugoslavia."

"Execute orders, soldier. The politicians in the White House have long been prepared with old maps as an excuse."

This recording is like a resounding slap in the face of the United States of America!

The proof is like a mountain!

What old map? What navigation malfunction?

This was clearly a premeditated, state-sponsored terrorist attack, directly ordered by the highest levels of the United States!

"Liars! Washington is full of liars!"

"They actually attempted to bomb the embassy of a nuclear-armed superpower? Are they trying to drag us all into World War III?!"

The angry American public completely went berserk.

Hundreds of thousands of protesters, holding signs, surrounded the White House overnight. They stormed the iron fence, demanding the immediate resignation of the lying president.

Europe's allies were terrified.

The French president delivered a televised address overnight, strongly condemning this irresponsible military adventure and swiftly severing ties with the United States. The British prime minister, meanwhile, hid in 10 Downing Street, refusing to even answer the phone.

The United States' national credibility was completely bankrupt overnight.

The White House, the Oval Office.

President Clinton slumped behind the Resolute Desk, watching the frenzied protesters on television and listening to the deafening roars outside the window, as if he had aged ten years in an instant.

"Mr. President, we're finished..."

The CIA director stood to the side, his face ashen, his voice hoarse as if he were swallowing sand. "The Chinese have stripped us bare. Now the whole world is accusing us of being terrorists."

"Shut up!"

Clinton, like a desperate beast, grabbed the ashtray on the table and smashed it.

"If it weren't for your terrible idea, how could we have ended up like this?!"

He clutched his hair in anguish, knowing full well that this was no longer a matter of saving face. If the anger of the Chinese people wasn't quelled immediately, that madman named Shen Jinghong might actually dare to launch a Dongfeng missile onto the roof of the Pentagon!

"A dedicated line connecting to Beijing."

Clinton took a deep breath, tears of humiliation welling in his eyes. He knew he was about to face one of the most shameful bowings in American history.

"I want to apologize to Shen Jinghong in person."

Beijing, China Central Bureau.

Shen Jinghong leaned back on the sofa, looking at Clinton's pale and haggard face on the big screen.

This is the highest level of encrypted video call between China and the United States.

"Director Shen, on behalf of the United States of America, I would like to express my deepest apologies to you and the Chinese people for the unpleasant incident that occurred last night."

Clinton lowered his noble head on the other side of the screen, his voice hoarse and humble.

"Apologize?"

Shen Jinghong sneered, picked up a nail clipper from the table, and casually began trimming her nails.

"Mr. Clinton, although your bombs were dropped into the sea, the piercing air raid sirens really gave our embassy staff quite a fright."

He raised his head, his eyes instantly turning sharp as knives, revealing a ruthless, bone-sucking cruelty:

"I have a problem: when I'm frightened, I suffer a great deal of psychological damage. The psychological damage to the 1.4 billion Chinese people is even greater."

"You think just saying sorry to me is enough to make this all right?"

Clinton swallowed hard; his back was already soaked with cold sweat.

"Director Shen, what kind of compensation do you want? As long as it's within our capabilities, we will do our best to meet your needs."

"happy."

Shen Jinghong threw down the nail clippers, leaned forward slightly, like a demon king counting his spoils.

"First, I want you to publicly bow and apologize to the Chinese people during tomorrow morning's global live television broadcast! Remember, a 90-degree bow!"

Clinton's facial muscles twitched violently, but he gritted his teeth and nodded: "I agree."

"second."

Shen Jinghong held up two fingers, his eyes gleaming with a fervent ambition for the future:

"I want NASA's most valuable deep space exploration technology. This includes the chassis design blueprints for the Mars rover and the underlying communication protocol code for the Deep Space Exploration Network (DSN)."

"That's impossible!"

Clinton jerked his head up, exclaiming in shock, "That's an absolute core secret of our aerospace industry! If we hand it over to you, we'll have no secrets left in the space domain!"

"impossible?"

Shen Jinghong snorted coldly, leaning back in his chair, his tone radiating absolute dominance:

"Then we have nothing to talk about. Weiguo, go and notify the Second Artillery Corps to reopen the launch silos of the Dongfeng-41 missiles."

"No! Don't open it!"

Clinton was terrified, waving his hands frantically, his voice trembling with fear.

Faced with the death threat of nuclear annihilation, all talk of space secrets and great power dignity is utter bullshit!

"I'll give it all! I'll give it all!"

Clinton slumped into his chair, as if all his last bit of strength had been drained away.

The next morning.

Billions of people around the world watched this breathtaking moment, a moment that will be recorded in human history, on television.

The once-arrogant US President Clinton stood in the White House press briefing room, his face ashen.

Under the watchful eyes of countless flashing lights, he bent deeply over towards the camera.

A standard 90-degree bow.

"On behalf of the U.S. government, I extend my sincerest apologies to the Chinese people."

Cheers erupted in the canteen of the Shenzhou Bureau, as if the roof had been blown off.

Overwhelmed with emotion, Chen Weiguo slammed his hand down on the solid wood dining table in front of him, shattering it, tears streaming down his face.

"That feels great! That's fucking great! The president of the US actually bowed and apologized to us!"

Shen Jinghong stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in her office, looking at the jubilant crowd outside, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.

He knew that from this moment on, the Western world would no longer be able to raise its proud head in front of China.

Time, amidst the turbulent waves of great power rivalry, quietly stepped into the end of 1999.

As the new millennium draws ever closer, the Western world is not basking in the joy of welcoming the new century.

Instead, an unprecedented and extreme panic, like a thick haze, hung heavily over New York, London, and Paris.

It wasn't because of war, nor because of the nuclear threat.

Rather, it is because of an invisible and intangible specter that is powerful enough to destroy the entire modern civilization.

"Y2K bug".

Shenzhou Bureau Underground Information Center.

Holding a newly compiled global network surveillance report, Shen Min'an strode up to Shen Jinghong.

She pushed up her black-rimmed glasses, a hint of schadenfreude flashing in her cool eyes.

"Dad, things are completely out of control on Wall Street."

Shen Min'an placed the report on the table and pointed to the shocking data on it:

"Early Western computer systems used only two digits to represent the year in order to save memory. When it was midnight on January 1, 2000, their system would have recognized '00' as 1900."

"At that time, their bank settlement system will be wiped out, their air traffic control system will be paralyzed, and even the control procedures of nuclear power plants will malfunction."

Shen Jinghong picked up her teacup, took a slow sip, and her eyes revealed a sense of smug enjoyment, as if watching a show.

"They dug their own grave, and now they're scared?"

"Yes, I'm as anxious as an ant on a hot pan."

Shen Min'an's lips curled slightly. "The US government has offered a reward of over 10 billion US dollars and gathered programmers from all over the world to fix this vulnerability. But the underlying code is too large, and there simply isn't enough time."

She turned her head and looked at Shen Jinghong, her eyes filled with admiration:

"Dad, you were right. When we built Skynet, you insisted on using Chinese character encoding and a completely new timestamp logic, so our system was completely immune to the Y2K bug."

Shen Jinghong put down his teacup, stood up, and walked to the huge global network topology map.

He looked at the red alerts flashing wildly on the Western map, a cold smile that was both extremely dangerous and full of cunning.

"Since they can't fix it, let's be merciful and lend them a hand."

Shen Jinghong turned her head, looked at her daughter, and said, word by word:

"Min'an, get our 'fix patch' ready."

"Wait until the clock strikes midnight, until they are completely plunged into despair."

"Let's go to Wall Street and collect a hefty 'protection fee' that will last for centuries!"