Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

Beijing Qianmen Railway Station.

The night was deep and the wind was biting.

But at this moment, the platform was as hot as a boiler about to boil.

Countless high-powered searchlights pierced the night sky, their white beams sweeping across the train, illuminating the boxcar military train parked on the tracks.

"Waaah—"

The massive locomotive spewed out a thick plume of white smoke, carrying a pungent smell of coal ash, which instantly filled the entire platform.

Within that white smoke was a sea of ​​red.

red flag.

Countless bright red flags fluttered in the cold wind, like dancing flames, igniting the bleak autumn night.

Beneath the red flag stood rows of soldiers, already fully equipped and ready to go.

They wore brand-new khaki cotton military uniforms with big red flowers on their chests. Their young faces, so innocent yet heartbreaking, were filled with a sense of unwavering resolve.

"With heads held high and chests puffed out, we crossed the Yalu River..."

The resounding military songs echoed in the night sky, shaking people's hearts.

Shen Jinghong stood in the shadows in the corner of the platform, wearing that old trench coat, with Lin Qinghan carrying a briefcase beside her.

He did not go forward to accept the cheers, nor did he try to steal the spotlight from the leaders.

He just watched quietly.

Looking at this magnificent yet tragic scene before my eyes.

"Is this the Seventh Infiltration Company?"

Lin Qinghan pushed up his glasses and looked at the team closest to them.

The atmosphere there was somewhat special.

A wild child who looked only sixteen or seventeen years old was holding a brand-new Type 56 assault rifle, touching it with great affection, as if he wanted to press his face against the cold barrel.

"Brother! This gun is amazing! It's a million times better than Dad's old homemade gun!"

The wild child shouted excitedly, his naiveté revealing the purest joy.

Beside him stood a sturdy company commander with a steady gaze.

He was straightening the wild child's collar, and although he had a stern face, the doting look in his eyes was impossible to hide.

"Wu Wanli! Lower your gun! Don't point it at anyone!"

The company commander gave a low reprimand, then couldn't help but reach out to straighten his younger brother's cotton hat. "When we get there, don't wander off. Stay close to me."

Five thousand miles.

Wu Wanli.

Shen Jinghong's eyes instantly welled up with tears.

In his past life, he had seen the story of these two brothers countless times in movies.

At that time, they wore thin cotton-padded clothes, ate frozen potatoes, and carried outdated rifles. At Chosin Reservoir, where the temperature was minus forty degrees Celsius, they used their flesh and blood to block American tanks.

That thunder god frozen into an ice sculpture.

Yang Gensi, who charged into the enemy ranks carrying a satchel charge.

Those children who gave their young lives forever in a foreign land for the sake of their country.

"This life is different."

Shen Jinghong took a deep breath and forcibly suppressed the surging soreness in her chest.

He strode over.

"Is this gun easy to use?"

Shen Jinghong's voice was gentle, yet it carried a convincing power.

Wu Qianli, who was scolding his younger brother, was taken aback. He turned around and saw this young man who was dressed in casual clothes but had an extraordinary demeanor.

He instinctively wanted to salute, but Shen Jinghong held his hand down.

"Don't mention it, I'm just here to see you all off."

Shen Jinghong pointed to the gun in Wu Wanli's arms:

"This is called the Type 56 assault rifle. It has a 30-round magazine, fires in bursts, and doesn't jam. As long as you hold down the trigger, it can spray bullets out like water."

"Splash water?"

Wu Wanli's eyes shone like two small light bulbs. "Wouldn't that turn the American devils into sieves?"

"Yes, sieve it."

Shen Jinghong laughed, a rather fierce laugh.

He reached out and patted Wu Wanli's bulging vest.

It's rock hard.

Those were bulletproof vests made overnight.

"This garment is a bit heavy, but it could be a lifesaver in a critical moment."

Shen Jinghong helped the green recruit tighten the straps of his bulletproof vest, his tone as solemn as if he were giving his last instructions:

"Remember, if you're under artillery fire, don't run like an idiot, lie down. There are ceramic plates in this suit that can stop shrapnel."

"And this too."

He pointed to the dark monocular night vision goggles hanging around Wu Qianli's neck:

"This is night vision. At night, Americans are blind, and you're a night owl. Don't skimp on batteries, there are plenty."

"And that silver bag, that's for self-heating meals. Don't eat raw snow or frozen potatoes, they're bad for your stomach. Just tear open this bag, pour in some water, and you can have hot braised pork."

Shen Jinghong kept talking incessantly.

Like an old father sending his son off on a long journey, afraid of missing a single word of advice.

Wu Qianli looked at the unfamiliar young man in front of him.

He didn't know who he was.

But he could sense that the man's gaze, filled with heartache, reluctance, and an eagerness to shield them from bullets, was genuine.

"Comrade."

Wu Qianli suddenly stood up straight and adjusted his new, heavily armed gear, which he had never worn before.

His eyes also reddened.

"Although I don't know who you are."

"But I, Wu Qianli, on behalf of all the soldiers of the Seventh Company, thank you!"

"In the past, when we fought, we risked our lives. Today..."

He patted the submachine gun in his arms, his voice choked with emotion yet brimming with heroic spirit:

"With these formidable weapons, if we still can't win, we'll have no face to return to our hometown!"

"salute!"

"Whoosh!"

The soldiers who had been making a ruckus on the platform seemed to sense something.

Rows and columns.

There were countless arms raised in unison.

Countless young, clear, yet resolute eyes were fixed on Shen Jinghong, on the man who had given them armor and sword.

Shen Jinghong stood there.

The cold wind blew the hem of his clothes.

He is not a soldier.

He doesn't salute.

But he still slowly raised his right hand and placed it next to his brow bone.

This is a military salute that is not standard, yet more solemn than any standard salute.

"Go on, brothers."

Shen Jinghong silently called out in his heart.

"Go and fight back our lost dignity, shot by shot!"

"Go tell the whole world, this sleeping lion has awakened!"

"I, Shen Jinghong, swear..."

Looking at Wu Wanli's innocent, smiling face, he finally couldn't hold back his tears.

"In this life, I will never let you shed even a single drop of innocent blood because of outdated equipment!"

"I will protect you, I will take you...home!"

"Ugh—!!!"

A mournful and long whistle suddenly pierced the night sky.

That was the bugle call to set off.

"Board the vehicle!"

"Board the vehicle!"

Commands were issued one after another.

The soldiers, carrying heavy packs, surged towards the boxcars like rivers flowing into the sea.

The car door closed.

The giant steel ship began to turn slowly, emitting a dull "ch-ch-ch" sound.

The train started moving.

It carried the finest sons and daughters of the Chinese nation, carrying the hopes and future of this country, rushing into the vast night, heading towards that icy battlefield, towards that moment destined to be recorded in history.

Shen Jinghong remained standing in the same spot.

Until the red taillights completely disappeared from sight, until the rumbling of the wheels could no longer be heard.

He remained in that salute posture, like a statue.

"I'm gone."

Lin Qinghan walked to his side and gently draped a coat over his shoulders.

Her hands were warm, and her voice was soft.

"They will return. With victory."

Shen Jinghong slowly lowered her hand.

He wiped his face and turned around.

The moisture in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a determination colder than the night and harder than steel.

That was the domineering aura of an industrial powerhouse after its awakening.

"Yes, they went to fight."

Shen Jinghong glanced at Lin Qinghan, then at the brightly lit capital city behind her.

"Our battle has only just begun."

He reached out and grasped Lin Qinghan's hand, then strode towards the Hongqi sedan parked by the roadside.

"Let's go! Back to base!"

Shen Jinghong's voice echoed in the night wind, carrying a power that stirred the blood:

"This is just the first batch."

"Don't the Americans have planes, tanks, and aircraft carriers?"

"Go back and tell Mr. Qian and the others that nobody's sleeping tonight!"

He opened the car door, glanced back at the railway line leading north, and a wildly arrogant smile curled at the corner of his lips:

"There are many more big machines waiting for us to build!"

"Next time, I'll send them... the true 'truth'!"

(Volume 1: The Foundation of Industry - End)

(Next volume preview: The Korean Peninsula in turmoil, the dragon roars! When the modified Chinese People's Volunteer Army meets the heavily armed US military, who is truly suffering from a fear of insufficient firepower? Stay tuned!)