The Overlord Flower's Guide to Intercepting a Woman's Wife's Death and the Male Lead&

The jeep braked suddenly on the street north of the textile factory in Tang City.

Zhou Bingheng pushed open the car door and stepped out.

A wave of sweltering heat hit us, mixed with the noise of the crowd.

Several military Liberation trucks were parked on the side of the road, their engines churning, but the truck beds were empty.

The young soldiers sent by Lei Lifeng were covered in sweat and were pacing anxiously, but dared not take a single step forward.

In the center of the crowd, at the entrance to the first-floor stairwell.

An elderly woman in her seventies, with bound feet and a full head of silver hair, was sitting on a low wooden stool.

Her hands gripped the mottled paint on the door frame tightly, her body leaning forward as if she would smash her head against the door frame if anyone dared to pull her.

"I'm not leaving!"

The old lady had a very loud voice, which echoed through the sweltering air.

"Comrades of the People's Liberation Army, I've survived the war and lived in this place my whole life. You can do whatever you want, I'd rather die in this house."

The platoon leader in charge was covered in sweat, and his lips were almost worn out from talking so much.

"Auntie, this is no joke, it's an air raid drill. This is a strict order from above, you..."

"No amount of field training works."

The old lady interrupted her abruptly.

"My husband's memorial tablet is still enshrined in the inner room. What if he can't find me when he comes back tonight after I leave?"

Thousands of female workers and their families in the surrounding area joined in the commotion.

"Exactly! The factory has such a tight production schedule, why are they making things difficult for us?"

"We have several children in the family who need to go to school. We just leave the pots and pans at home like this. If some scoundrel steals them, are you soldiers going to pay for them?"

"No way, I'd rather die than go out into the middle of nowhere and feed mosquitoes."

The situation was on the verge of spiraling out of control.

Zhou Bingheng stopped at the edge of the crowd and did not immediately step forward.

In the lower left corner of the field of view, several lines of light blue, semi-transparent data instantly appeared.

[Target area for testing: Dormitories 1 through 6 of the Chengbei Textile Factory.]

Building type: Brick-concrete precast slab structure and simple bungalow.

Seismic resistance rating: 6 degrees.

Damage assessment based on a simulated magnitude 7.8 earthquake: collapse rate 92.5%.

Whenever a major earthquake strikes, this factory area will instantly turn into a living hell.

But he couldn't reveal even a single word.

If he were to shout through a tin megaphone now, and a major earthquake were to occur in twenty days, the city would be completely paralyzed.

Nobody will believe it.

Even if some people believed it, the stampedes, traffic accidents, and collapse of order caused by the mass exodus of millions of people without any organization would be no less than a small disaster.

He reached out and pushed through the crowd, striding to the door.

Zhao Jianjun followed closely behind, half a step behind.

The noise around us subsided a bit.

The families of these textile factory workers deal with factory officials year-round, so they have a good eye for things.

The newcomer was dressed in a neat military uniform. Although he wasn't wearing collar insignia, his aura immediately suppressed the restlessness in the room.

Zhou Bingheng stopped in front of the old lady.

He crouched down, his military trousers forming a straight crease.

This posture allowed him to look directly at the old lady sitting on the small stool.

"aunt."

He spoke, his voice very gentle.

The old lady looked him up and down suspiciously.

"And who are you, official? Are you here to kick me out?"

Zhou Bingheng reached out and gently placed his hand on the old lady's withered hand.

"My surname is Zhou. Please don't be nervous."

"Auntie, it's just an exercise. Our People's Liberation Army must never abandon or give up anyone. If we leave you behind, we can't explain it to our superiors, and we can't explain it to the uniform we wear."

The old lady loosened her grip slightly, but remained vigilant.

Zhou Bingheng continued.

"Is this alright? It's not like you're moving, it's just that you can stay away for a few days. Consider it a chance to get some fresh air."

He smiled, his eyebrows and eyes relaxing, revealing a gentle and humble demeanor.

"Once this period is over, I will personally send a car to pick you up and take you back to this house."

The old lady stared at him for a long time.

The young man in front of me was unusually handsome, with very bright eyes.

He didn't have the bureaucratic airs often associated with factory leaders, nor did he have the impatience of a platoon leader.

"Do you keep your word?"

"A soldier's word is his bond," Zhou Bingheng nodded.

The old lady pursed her lips, finally letting go of the door frame, patted her trouser leg, and stood up.

"Alright, let's go."

The old lady muttered to herself.

"If it weren't for the fact that you're a handsome young man with a pleasant voice and a nice smile—definitely better than those military leaders—I wouldn't bother with all this trouble."

The soldiers next to him, drenched in sweat from exhaustion, looked aggrieved.

They talked about policies all morning without even having a sip of water, so how did they become an unreasonable "military leader"?

The old lady turned around and pulled a gray cloth package out of the house.

She had just stepped out the door when she turned back and grabbed Zhou Bingheng's sleeve.

"You, an official, seem easy to talk to."

The old lady pointed to a corner of the crowd.

There stood a woman wearing a patched blue cloth shirt, leading a thin boy who looked about eight or nine years old.

"See that? That's a widow. Her husband died in a factory accident years ago, and she's raising her son alone. She calls me 'Grandma' every day when she sees me."

The old lady sighed.

"That kid's had diarrhea these past few days because of the changing seasons. You've been taking him in big trucks and setting up tents in the middle of nowhere. Couldn't you at least find my grandson a bowl of hot noodles when we get there?"

Zhou Bingheng looked in the direction the old lady was pointing.

The little boy had a sallow complexion and was holding his mother's hand tightly. When he saw the boy looking over, he simply hid behind the adult's legs.

He stood up, turned around, and gestured with his chin towards Zhao Jianjun.

"Go and notify logistics."

"The first batch of relocated residents in the textile factory dormitory area will have an extra 100 bowls of hot soup noodles served tonight."

Zhou Bingheng raised his voice a few decibels, enough for the crowd on the outside to hear clearly.

"Those who bring children, are sick, or are over seventy years old should be given a hot meal as soon as they arrive. If they miss a bite, you will be held responsible."

Zhao Jianjun put his legs together and said, "Yes!"

The crowd fell silent for a few seconds.

Then, one of the female workers in the workshop took the lead and shouted.

"This commander is a man of action. Let's listen to him. It's just a few days in a tent outside the city, we'll treat it as summer camp. Let's go."

"Yes, we'll listen to Political Commissar Zhou."

"Go home and grab a few changes of clothes, then hurry up and get on the bus."

The protests and complaints vanished instantly.

With the gates wide open, thousands of female workers and their families, who had initially been at odds with each other, began to return to their respective buildings in an orderly fashion to pack their belongings.

The soldiers responsible for maintaining order breathed a sigh of relief.

Zhao Jianjun followed Zhou Bingheng toward the jeep, muttering to himself.

No wonder his family's political commissar was able to hold the position of a full division commander at such a young age.

He was good-looking and eloquent; with just a few words and a bowl of hot soup noodles, he quelled the anger of thousands of people.

This is far more effective than the style of Commander Lei Lifeng, who only knows how to bang on the table and yell at people.

This is the true essence of the mass line.

Those who do political work are just doing political work.

Late that night, at the temporary command post of the Tangshi Military Sub-district.

The jeep drove into the compound.

Zhou Bingheng got out of the car, his steps slightly heavy.

After running through the three large factory and mining residential areas in the north of the city, he didn't even have time to drink a sip of water.

The clothes got wet and dried repeatedly, and a layer of white salt frost formed on the back.

He lifted the tent flap and walked into the brightly lit command room.

The communications officer immediately stood up and saluted.

"Political Commissar Zhou!"

Zhou Bingheng waved his hand, took off his belt and tossed it casually on the table, then walked to his desk.

I was just about to pick up the enamel mug to pour water when my gaze suddenly stopped.

In the center of the messy pile of documents, there was an unopened manila envelope.

The seal was covered with three large characters in red paint: "Top Secret".

"Where did it come from?"

The communications officer lowered his voice.

"This was sent from Beijing via a confidential line half an hour ago. It was specifically instructed that only you are allowed to open it personally."

Zhou Bingheng pulled out a chair and sat down.

He tore open the sealed envelope and pulled out a few pages of letter paper.

This is a copy of a handwritten report.

His movements stopped the moment his gaze fell upon the person looking up.

Emergency report regarding the possible strong earthquake in the Tang City area in the near future.

Submitted by: Ma Xirong, engineer at the seismic station of Majiagou Mine, Kailuan Coal Mine.

Submission date: July 6, 1976.

Submitted by: China Earthquake Administration, Hebei Provincial Earthquake Administration, Tangshan Municipal Science and Technology Commission.

Zhou Bingheng's fingers clenched the letter.

He was scanning downwards rapidly.

On the last page of the document, there is a line of annotations written in a 2B pencil.

The brushstrokes are extremely sharp; it is Fang Mingyuan's handwriting.

"The National Seismological Bureau has received the report. It has not yet adopted it, classifying it as 'data interference, pending further verification.'"

"I've received a copy of the original. I'll use it tomorrow."

Zhou Bingheng closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

This is the terrifying aspect of the immense inertia of history.

Even if some clear-headed individuals issue warnings.

Faced with a complex bureaucratic system and so-called "scientific rigor" rules and regulations.

It was also sentenced to death with a casual "to be verified".

But this time, it's different.

It is no longer a warning that no one pays attention to.