Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

The winter of 1950 was exceptionally cold in Beijing.

The northwest wind, whipping up snowflakes, raged across Chang'an Street, stinging people's faces.

But on Tiananmen Square, it was as hot as boiling water.

Several huge loudspeakers were tirelessly broadcasting the news that was enough to make the entire nation boil over in all directions.

"China National Radio! China National Radio!"

The announcer's voice trembled slightly from extreme excitement, yet it remained clear, articulate, and extremely penetrating.

"Now reporting good news from the front!"

"The Chinese People's Volunteer Army launched two large-scale campaigns in succession on the Korean battlefield, severely damaging the elite US forces!"

"Recapture Pyongyang! Drive the invaders back south of the 38th parallel!"

"More than 36,000 enemy troops were annihilated! Among them, more than 24,000 were American soldiers! This is the first time in modern warfare history that the Chinese army has annihilated a Western power's army as a whole!"

"boom--!"

As the broadcast ended, the entire square erupted in chaos.

The sounds of firecrackers, drums, and cheers merged into a massive wave of sound that soared into the sky, as if to shatter the gloom that blanketed the heavens.

Countless ordinary people flooded the streets.

Some of them were wearing worn-out cotton-padded coats, while others were still wearing aprons. They waved the People's Daily extra edition they had just bought, and their faces were beaming with smiles even brighter than during the Spring Festival.

"We won! We won!"

An elderly man was so moved that he threw down his cane, hugged the young man he didn't know, and burst into tears.

"It's been a hundred years! From the Opium Wars until now, when have we ever been this proud and confident?"

"Those were Americans! They were the world's leading superpower! And we actually drove them away!"

"Well done! That was satisfying!"

A group of students walked across the Jinshui Bridge, carrying red flags and chanting slogans.

Their faces were filled with pride.

That sense of pride—that they "had not been defeated by the great powers," and even that they "could crush the great powers"—was deeply imprinted in the bones and blood of every Chinese person at that moment.

This battle demonstrated national power and military might.

It also demonstrated the backbone of a nation standing up!

……

Suburbs of Beijing, Shenzhou Bureau.

Although it wasn't as noisy as the square, the festive atmosphere was just as strong.

The head chef in the canteen used his best skills to slaughter pigs and sheep.

Braised pork belly, large meat buns, and cabbage stew with glass noodles were steaming hot and displayed in the window.

The workers and technicians gathered together, their faces glowing, holding their rice bowls, excitedly discussing the battle reports from the front lines.

"Have you heard? Those Type 56 assault rifles we built made the Americans unable to even raise their heads!"

"Absolutely! And those night vision goggles, I heard they scared the American soldiers so much they were afraid to pee at night!"

"Hehe, we deserve some credit for this too! I screwed those screws on myself!"

Everyone ate meat heartily, laughing and talking loudly. The sense of participation and accomplishment was more satisfying than any prize money.

however.

He stood out somewhat out of place at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria.

Shen Jinghong sat there alone.

A tempting plate of braised pork was placed in front of him, but he didn't touch it.

He held half a cold steamed bun in one hand, mechanically putting it into his mouth, while his other hand gripped a pen tightly, quickly sketching on a thick stack of battle report data.

"The F-86 has a 78% operational readiness rate; microcracks have appeared in the engine blades due to extreme cold conditions..."

"The 155mm gun barrel's lifespan is 200 rounds shorter than expected, and the steel's impurity levels are still too high..."

"The night vision device's battery life is insufficient, and its performance degrades significantly at low temperatures..."

His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were focused and calm.

While the outside world celebrated their victory, he was reviewing their mistakes.

There was cheering outside, but he was looking for trouble.

Because he knew this was just the beginning. The Americans wouldn't give up easily; an even more brutal war of attrition was yet to come. Any tiny technical flaw could become a bleeding wound on the battlefield.

"Director Shen."

A soft voice sounded above my head.

Shen Jinghong was taken aback, and the tip of her pen stopped in her hand.

He raised his head.

Lin Qinghan stood quietly in front of him, holding a bowl of steaming egg drop soup.

She wasn't wearing her work uniform today; instead, she wore a beige turtleneck sweater with the military overcoat he had given her draped over it, making her look gentle and intellectual.

"Have a sip of soup."

Lin Qinghan placed the soup beside him and casually took the data sheet that he had drawn on densely.

"Stop looking."

Her voice was soft, yet carried an undeniable firmness:

"Marshal Nie said tonight is a victory celebration banquet, and overtime is prohibited. If you, as the bureau chief, lead the way in violating discipline, I'll dock your pay."

Shen Jinghong looked at her, his tightly furrowed brows finally relaxed, and a helpless smile appeared on his lips.

"Assistant Lin, you're getting more and more nosy."

"It's my duty."

Lin Qinghan sat down opposite him, resting her chin on her hands, her eyes, hidden behind her glasses, fixed on him.

The coldness in his eyes was gone.

There was only an intense, overwhelming affection and an undisguised adoration.

She looked at the man.

Looking at the bloodshot eyes, his slightly haggard face, and his old shirt stained with ink.

Outsiders only know that the front line has won a battle, and they only know that the Chinese People's Volunteer Army is brave and fearless.

But only she knew.

The real driving force behind this victory was sitting right in front of her, eating a cold steamed bun.

It was him who brought those machine tools from the "future".

It was him who worked day and night drawing blueprints and developing formulas.

It was he who, single-handedly, raised the country's industrial level by fifty years!

"Shen Jinghong".

Lin Qinghan suddenly spoke, her voice a little hoarse, "Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?" Shen Jinghong picked up the soup and took a sip, the warmth sliding down her throat.

"Thank you……"

Lin Qinghan reached out and gently covered the back of his hand that was holding the pen, her fingertips trembling slightly:

"Thank you for letting us win."

"Thank you for letting so many soldiers who shouldn't have been able to come back... go home."

Shen Jinghong's hand froze.

He took Lin Qinghan's hand in his own, their fingers intertwined, and his gaze became incredibly tender.

"This is nothing."

He chuckled softly, his tone exuding a calm yet domineering air:

"This is just an appetizer. Once we build that real behemoth, I'll have the whole world thank us."

"Bang!"

The cafeteria door was suddenly kicked open.

Chen Weiguo rushed in like a gust of wind, waving a brightly colored magazine in his hand, his expression extremely strange, as if he were both excited and worried.

"Chief! Chief! Something terrible has happened!"

Chen Weiguo's loud voice instantly attracted everyone's attention.

He rushed to Shen Jinghong's table and slammed the magazine on it:

"Look! This is what our intelligence agents just brought back from Hong Kong! The latest issue of Time magazine!"

"Time Magazine?"

Shen Jinghong raised an eyebrow and put down the steamed bun.

He picked up the magazine.

The cover doesn't feature any politician or celebrity.

It was a sketch.

Although the lines are simple, the gold-rimmed glasses, the slightly upturned corners of the mouth, and the air of a refined scoundrel are all drawn with remarkable realism.

It was none other than him, Shen Jinghong!

Below that sketched portrait was a striking, even chilling, English title:

**【The World's Most Dangerous Scientist】**

**(The world's most dangerous scientist)**

"Whoa!"

Shen Jinghong looked at the title and couldn't help but whistle, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes.

"Most dangerous?"

He handed the magazine to Lin Qinghan, who had come over to look, pointed to the line of text, and grinned like a fox who had stolen a chicken:

"Qinghan, look."

"The US has good taste; they actually gave me such a high evaluation."

Lin Qinghan took the magazine, looked at the title, and her expression became somewhat serious.

Being recognized by Americans as "the most dangerous" is an unparalleled honor.

It's also a...

A deadly death warrant.