Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

"Ouch... hiss..."

Early the next morning, a painful groan came from the Shenzhou Bureau's office building.

Shen Jinghong's face was deathly pale, her forehead was covered in a fine layer of cold sweat, one hand was tightly clutching her chest, and she slumped in her office chair as if her spine had been removed.

"Chief! What's wrong?"

Chen Weiguo, who had just entered the room, was startled and dropped the documents in his hand on the floor. He rushed over to help him.

"I...I don't know..."

Shen Jinghong was breathing rapidly, her lips were purple—typical symptoms of oxygen deprivation—and her voice was so weak it sounded like a mosquito's buzz.

"Chest tightness...can't breathe...heart feels like it's being pricked with needles..."

"Quick! Get the car ready! To the hospital! To Peking Union Medical College Hospital!"

Chen Weiguo, his eyes bloodshot with urgency, roared down the corridor, "Medic! Stretcher! Quickly!"

The entire office building instantly descended into chaos.

The guards rushed in like madmen and hurriedly lifted Shen Jinghong onto a stretcher.

Lin Qinghan followed behind, her usually icy face now filled with panic, her eyes red, and she was still tightly clutching the teacup that Shen Jinghong had used yesterday.

"How could this happen? Everything was fine last night..."

Her voice trembled, choked with sobs, "Is it...is it that...?"

"Shut up!"

Shen Jinghong, lying on the stretcher, suddenly opened her eyes. Although she looked weak, her eyes were unusually clear, and she quickly gave Lin Qinghan a wink.

Lin Qinghan was stunned for a moment, then immediately covered her mouth, but her tears fell even more fiercely.

That acting was absolutely superb.

If Shen Jinghong hadn't gone over the script with her beforehand last night, she probably would have really thought this person was going to die.

"Waaah—waaah—"

The piercing siren of the ambulance shattered the early morning in Beijing.

The convoy roared out of the compound and headed straight for Union Hospital.

Along the way, they ran every red light, with police cars clearing the way, making a huge commotion, as if they wanted the whole of Beijing to know: the young director of the Shenzhou Bureau was about to die.

……

Wenyuange Antique Shop, in the southern part of Beijing.

The curtains in the back room were still drawn low, and the air was filled with the scent of old paper and sandalwood.

"Shopkeeper, the information is accurate."

A young man who looked like a shop assistant hurried in, his voice low and filled with barely concealed excitement:

"That Hongqi car drove straight into the emergency room of Peking Union Medical College Hospital. I heard that the person was already in shock when they were carried in. The doctor said it was toxic myocarditis and they are currently trying to save them."

"Toxic myocarditis?"

The "Viper" sitting in the armchair slowly opened his eyes, the pair of walnuts in his hand spinning rapidly, making a crisp "crackling" sound.

A sinister smile curled at the corner of his mouth, and his seemingly honest old face finally revealed its hideous true nature.

"It seems that people who have studied too much foreign culture are indeed not in good health."

"Viper" snorted smugly.

He had absolute confidence in his poison. It was a "death warrant" specially made by the Secret Service, with a short incubation period and a rapid onset; once the poison attacked the heart, even a god couldn't save him.

Yesterday, that kid acted like nothing happened, and he really thought he had messed up, so he was worried sick all night.

It turned out to be a last gasp before death; he was just putting on a brave face.

"Boss, then we..." The waiter made a throat-slitting gesture.

"No rush."

"Viper" waved his hand, his eyes narrowing with a shrewd calculation. "This kid has a special identity; if he dies, it'll be big news. Right now, we're just trying to save him. What if... those quacks manage to bring him back to life?"

Although the chances are slim, he is a cautious person.

In this line of work, you can't feel at ease unless you see a corpse.

"Books and texts".

He called out.

From the shadows emerged a man in a white lab coat and gold-rimmed glasses. He had the appearance of a refined scoundrel, and at first glance, he really did look like a scholar who had returned from overseas.

This is Lin Shuwen, the top henchman of "Viper" and a trump card in the Beijing undercover network.

"Teacher," Lin Shuwen bowed slightly.

"Go to the hospital."

"Viper" pulled a small paper packet from his pocket and handed it over, saying, "You've been cultivating this persona (doctor's identity) for so many years, it's time to put it to good use."

"Go check if that kid is dead or not."

"If you die, take a picture of yourself and send it back to me. I need to report it to my superiors."

"If I hadn't died..."

The "Viper's" eyes suddenly turned cold, and he made a cutting gesture:

"Then send him on his way. Remember, do it cleanly, don't let anyone notice anything amiss. Just say... he couldn't be saved."

Lin Shuwen took the paper package, adjusted his glasses, and revealed a confident yet cruel smile:

"Don't worry, teacher. I'm good at sending people on their way."

……

Outside the intensive care unit at Peking Union Medical College Hospital.

The corridor has been sealed off by heavily armed soldiers, and no unauthorized personnel are allowed to approach.

The atmosphere was so oppressive that it was hard to breathe.

Lin Qinghan sat on the bench, covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking violently, crying so hard that it was heartbreaking to hear and see.

"Doctor...please...you must save him..."

"He's only twenty-four years old... He's a national hero..."

Her voice choked with sobs, broken and intermittent, perfectly conveying the despair of about to lose her lover.

Chen Weiguo stood to the side, looking anxious, pacing back and forth in the corridor, occasionally punching the wall hard and cursing.

"Those spies! I'll skin them alive!"

At the corner of the corridor, a cleaner who was sweeping the floor glanced over very discreetly, then pulled his hat down low and quietly slipped away.

The intelligence was quickly disseminated.

The prey is dying, and its defenses are in disarray.

This is an excellent opportunity to finish off the enemy.

In the ward.

The curtains were drawn tightly shut, with only a dim bedside lamp left on.

The electrocardiogram monitor emitted a regular "beep-beep" sound, indicating that the vital signs of the person on the hospital bed were constantly weakening.

But if someone were to lift the covers, they would find that the person lying on the bed was not Shen Jinghong at all, but two pillows.

The real Shen Jinghong was hiding in the shadows behind the door.

He held an apple in his hand, took a bite, and found it crisp and crunchy.

"It's a real shame that Qinghan, with her acting skills, doesn't go into film."

While chewing on an apple, Shen Jinghong complained to the air beside her, "Listen to that crying, I almost thought I was really dead."

Chen Weiguo, who was hiding behind the curtain on the other side (that was a stand-in acting outside), grinned and cocked the pistol in his hand.

"Director, your 'empty city strategy' was brilliant."

"This is called 'luring the enemy into a trap'."

Shen Jinghong swallowed the apple, her eyes gradually sharpening. "Those spies love to kick a man when he's down. Once they find out I'm dying, they'll definitely come to check on me, and maybe even send me on my way themselves."

"If they dare to reach out, we'll chop them up."

Time passed by, second by second.

The night grew deeper and deeper.

The noise in the hospital gradually subsided, with only the occasional sound of nurses making their rounds at the end of the corridor.

Two o'clock in the morning.

This is when people are sleeping the most soundly, and it's also the time that assassins like the most.

"They're here."

Shen Jinghong's ears twitched, she threw the apple core in her hand into the trash can, and held her breath.

A very faint sound of footsteps came from the corridor outside the door.

The pace was unhurried and rhythmic, sounding like a doctor on duty making rounds.

"Squeak—"

The door lock to the ward made a soft click, clearly indicating that something had been pried open.

Immediately afterwards, the door was pushed open a crack.

A figure wearing a white coat, mask, and glasses slipped in like a ghost.

He moved very quietly. After entering the room, he did not act immediately, but leaned against the door and cautiously observed the situation inside the ward.

Dim lighting, a steady heartbeat, and a bulging human shape on the bed.

everything is normal.

The person who arrived was none other than Lin Shuwen.

He looked at "Shen Jinghong" on the bed, a hint of contempt and ecstasy flashing in his eyes.

What genius? What national treasure?

In the face of cyanide, all beings are equal.

"In your next life, remember not to be too flashy."

Lin Shuwen sneered inwardly and pulled a pre-prepared syringe from his pocket. The syringe contained a clear liquid—a high concentration of potassium chloride.

With just one injection, the illusion of cardiac arrest can be simulated, and even a forensic doctor would not be able to find any flaws.

He tiptoed and walked step by step toward the hospital bed.

Five steps.

Three steps.

step.

He stood by the bed and held up the syringe in his hand.

The needle tip gleamed with the light of death.

"Goodbye, Director."

Lin Shuwen grinned maliciously and suddenly swung his arm, stabbing the needle hard into the "heart" under the blanket.

"puff!"

A muffled thud.

The needle went in.

But the feel is off.

There was no resistance as it pierced the skin; instead, it felt like being stuck in a soft, fluffy ball of cotton.

"Um?"

Lin Shuwen was taken aback and subconsciously pulled back the covers.

The two pillows lay there quietly, with his IV drip still attached to them.

empty? !

"Oh no! We've fallen for their trap!"

Lin Shuwen's hair stood on end instantly. His intuition as a top agent made him turn around and rush towards the door without even having time to think.

however.

"Click."

A crisp click of a gun being cocked rang out behind him.

Immediately following, a familiar voice, tinged with both mockery and coldness, drifted through the darkness like a ghost:

"Dr. Lin, are you giving me an injection so late? Thank you for your hard work."

"However, I think your needling technique isn't very accurate. Is it because... you haven't studied anatomy?"