After being separated from my family, I became a darling of the military region thanks to my medical

The north wind, carrying large snowflakes, lashed against the two rusty iron doors of the logistics warehouse at the North City Military Region General Hospital like a knife. A sharp, piercing whistle whistled through the cracks in the doors, but it couldn't drown out the bustling activity inside.

"Bang!"

The warehouse door was pushed open from the outside, slamming against the cement walls on both sides and knocking off several pieces of yellowed plaster. A biting cold current mixed with snowflakes rushed in through the open door, heading straight for the two honeycomb briquette stoves that were burning brightly inside.

Vice Minister of Education Sun Mingyuan, his face dark, strode across the threshold. Although the collar of his wool coat was buttoned up tightly, it couldn't hide the chilling aura of someone about to launch an attack. Behind him followed several university presidents, each with a grave expression and heavy steps. Bringing up the rear was a middle-aged man with a camera slung over his shoulder and wearing black-rimmed glasses—Old Zhao, a senior reporter for the Guangming Daily.

Old Zhao clutched a small notebook, his gaze sweeping over the dilapidated warehouse. Three different headlines already formed in his mind: "A Chaotic Charity Scene," "Out-of-Control Student Groups," or, to be even more scathing, "Charity or Money-Making?" Topics involving universities, money, and independent kingdoms—any of these published would cause an earthquake in Beijing.

The noise in the warehouse paused slightly due to the sudden gust of cold wind, but only for a moment.

"Stop! Stop everything you're doing!"

Seeing that no one was paying attention, Sun Mingyuan's secretary, Xiao Chen, became impatient and stepped forward, shouting at the top of her lungs, "Vice Minister Sun of the Ministry of Education has brought a joint investigation team to inspect the financial matters! Where are the school leaders? Come out!"

That scream was as sharp as fingernails scratching a blackboard.

The students, who had been engrossed in their work, suddenly realized what was happening. Several girls in the front row, who were rapidly calculating on their abacuses, looked up abruptly. One of the girls lost her grip on the abacus, and it fell to the ground with a thud.

"That's... Vice Minister Sun?" A boy wearing thick-rimmed glasses recognized the newcomer, his face turning pale instantly. He poke a ink dot on the ledger with his pen. "Principal Chen? That's our Principal Chen!"

"This looks like...we've gotten ourselves into trouble?"

"Oh no, they said they're here to audit the accounts, are they trying to make an example of someone?"

Panic spread like a plague among the young students. The previously orderly groups began to stir; some wanted to stand up and salute, while others instinctively tried to hide their ledgers behind their backs, fearing they might be accused of some crime. Sun Mingyuan watched the scene turn chaotic in an instant, snorted coldly, and his face darkened further.

"Da, da."

Two crisp tapping sounds, not loud, but extremely penetrating.

It wasn't the kind of frantic table-slamming sound, but rather the sound of a hard wooden pointer tapping against the edge of the blackboard, with an alarmingly steady rhythm.

"Finance Team Two, who told you to stop?"

A clear, cold female voice came from the deepest part of the warehouse. The voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable calmness, like a bucket of ice water in the dead of winter, instantly extinguishing the nascent disturbance. "Today's settlement shows there's still two cents discrepancy in the public accounts. I don't care if it's the Heavenly King himself or the Jade Emperor himself, if this account isn't balanced, no one is allowed to stop! Continue the investigation!"

Two cents?

Sun Mingyuan, who was originally holding back his anger and preparing to give a stern lecture, was so choked by this sentence that he almost couldn't breathe. His prepared opening remarks about "big picture" and "discipline" were stuck in his throat.

Old Zhao, who was preparing to dig deeper into the inside story, was also stunned. He adjusted his glasses and wondered if he had misheard.

Is this still the same illegal fundraising den described in the whistleblower letter as having "a private slush fund, chaotic and unclear accounts, and huge sums of money"? For just two cents, they won't even give the vice minister face?

Everyone instinctively looked toward the source of the sound.

Only then did everyone truly see what this "independent kingdom," which had been the subject of much speculation, was really like.

The large warehouse, spanning several hundred square meters, was divided into five distinct functional areas by several horizontal and vertical cordon lines: a material receiving area, a cash counting area, a document verification area, an archive filing area, and a central control console at the very back.

A dozen or so broken desks, salvaged from a former hospital warehouse, were pieced together to form several long tables, which weren't as dirty and messy as I'd imagined. Red and blue ink bottles were neatly arranged, and abacuses, ledgers, and ticket holders—everything was in its proper place. There was no noise in the air, only the rustling of paper turning and the crisp, rhythmic clinking of abacus beads; it sounded even more orderly than the main hospital's finance department.

Ye Zhen stood with her back to the door in front of the blackboard at the very front of the warehouse.

She was wearing a faded dark blue jumpsuit, the cuffs rolled up twice, revealing her slender but strong wrists. She didn't turn around; the pointer in her hand was still pointing at the densely packed numbers on the blackboard, and she was whispering something to a girl next to her who was keeping accounts. The girl listened while rapidly working out calculations on a scrap paper.

Ye Zhen nodded only after the girl gave another number, casually placed the pointer on the podium, and turned around.

She brushed the white chalk dust off her hands, her movements slow and deliberate. Her clear, bright eyes swept over the group of imposing figures at the door, her gaze as calm as if she were looking at a few patients registering for an appointment.

"You've come at the perfect time, leaders," Ye Zhen said calmly, without any panic at being caught or any obsequiousness. "It saves me the trouble of preparing materials to report to the ministry. The roads are cold and slippery, so I appreciate your efforts in making the trip."

As she spoke, she didn't go up to shake hands and exchange pleasantries, but instead stepped aside, revealing the huge blackboard behind her.

Sun Mingyuan squinted and looked over.

There were no rousing slogans or messy graffiti on the blackboard. In the center, drawn in white chalk, was a huge flowchart, a complete diagram of the "Heart of China's" cash flow.

Every donation goes through five stages, from the initial donation box to the final bank account. Under each stage, the name of the person responsible is marked in red chalk. Even the details of which donation was in coins, which in banknotes, and which was converted from ration coupons are clearly listed.

"The person handling the transaction, the witness, and the reviewer." Ye Zhen picked up her pointer and tapped it three times on the chart, making a clicking sound. "Vice Minister Sun, you're in charge of education, so you should know a thing or two about managing a household. At 'Heart of China,' every penny that's going to be spent or deposited has to go through these three people. The person who collects the money doesn't have the ledger, the person who keeps the accounts doesn't have the money, and the person in charge of the review doesn't touch the money or the accounts."

She paused, looking directly at Sun Mingyuan: "We have a rule here: the accounts are closed at sunset. Even if a single penny is missing, you have to use a flashlight to search the ground, and if you can't find it, nobody can go home to sleep."