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

In mid-August, a media storm swept across the country.

From the grand compounds of the capital city to the entrances of supply and marketing cooperatives in remote towns.

The day's newspapers were snatched up within five minutes of being hung on the metal clips.

Inside the tent of the temporary command post, the commander of the North China Military Region slammed a stack of newspapers onto the field table in front of Zhou Bingheng.

"Bingheng, you've really messed things up this time."

The front page of the People's Daily at the very top has a bold headline in black on a white background that almost jumps off the page.

The Massive Migration of One Million People! A Life-or-Death Gamble Twenty-Three Days in Advance!

Zero casualties! A city, and a miracle!

In the newspaper, the old lady who refused to leave smiled broadly at the camera, her wrinkled face beaming.

"I was being stupid back then! That handsome political commissar squatted down in front of me, took my hand, and coaxed me into the car with a smile as sweet as a flower. Without him, my old bones would have turned to ashes long ago."

Li Shouyi, the general manager of Kailuan Coal Mine, had a cigarette between his fingers, and the bloodshot in his eyes had not yet faded.

"I've never seen such a ruthless officer in my life. He banged on my door in the middle of the night, forcing me to seal the well and evacuate the men. I cursed his warlord ways at the time, but if I had signed the document half a minute later, those 1,200-plus brothers below would really be minced meat underground. I, Li Shouyi, don't respect gods or Buddhas in my life, but I admire him the most."

A female worker at the machine factory gestured to the reporter.

"It was chaos. The main streets were packed with people, you could trample someone to death. But she just stood on top of that jeep, and with a loudspeaker, something strange happened. The whole city smelled of locust blossoms, and everyone's hearts miraculously calmed down. These millions of people were saved by that couple."

For the first time, Zhou Bingheng and Su Xingmian's names appeared in a national newspaper in such an overwhelming manner.

Zhou Bingheng raised his hand and pressed hard on his throbbing temples, his expression unreadable.

He pushed a thick stack of blueprints and plans, more than two hundred pages long, onto the commander's desk.

"Commander, this is the reconstruction standard."

This is a set of "Tangshi Post-Disaster Reconstruction Earthquake-Resistant Building Standard Plan" that he created after staying up for three consecutive nights and pushing all the computing power of his brain system to the limit.

The commander turned a few pages, and the more he read, the more alarmed he became.

The core content is extremely domineering, with only two bottom lines.

Precast slab structures will be completely phased out, and cast-in-place reinforced concrete frames will be mandatory.

All reconstructed buildings must meet the earthquake resistance standard of magnitude 8.

Without saying a word, the commander grabbed the plan and immediately requested a special plane from the military region to fly to Beijing.

Liu Xiaomai from Helan Mountain has an extremely loud voice; her excitement can be heard even from more than 2,000 kilometers away.

"Political Commissar! Mianmian! You're on the front page of the newspaper! Sister Cuihua and the others are organizing a donation of supplies. This batch of goods must be loaded onto the truck and sent to North China before dark."

The news couldn't be kept secret and soon crossed the border.

International public opinion was in an uproar.

Kyodo News published a lengthy report on its front page:

The Chinese military has created a miracle by completing the largest preventative urban evacuation in human history.

The commentary in the French newspaper Le Figaro was directly reprinted by the Chinese newspaper Reference News:

"If this was a high-stakes gamble, with the stakes being an industrial city of a million people, and the odds of winning being merely a few unrecognized reports, they won God's amazement."

Behind this nationally sensational miracle, the name Ma Xirong was unearthed from a dusty archive.

The conference room on the second floor of the National Earthquake Administration was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The copy of the report that had been criticized as "data interference, further verification required" was placed back in the center of the conference table.

It was like a resounding slap across the face of every bureaucrat who had signed the document.

A transfer order was issued swiftly.

Ma Xirong was promoted from a junior engineer to the deputy chief engineer of the Hebei Provincial Earthquake Bureau.

To take the lead in establishing a nationwide earthquake early warning and monitoring network.

A few days later, the stubborn technician gave an exclusive interview and said only one sentence to the camera.

"Data never lies."

He paused for two seconds, his voice hoarse.

"But people selectively ignore data."

……

In Beijing, a special meeting of the Ministry of Construction approved the resolution unanimously.

Zhou Bingheng's plan was based on mature experience from decades later.

Its core provisions were written verbatim into the new version of the "Code for Seismic Design of Buildings" in the form of an official document.

This marks the first time in China's architectural history that seismic design has been mandated through legislation.

Zhou Bingheng's name was printed on the first page of the list of the national-level standard drafting committee.

He single-handedly pushed the country's building safety standards forward by a full thirty years.

The Gong Family Compound in Beijing.

The Red Lantern brand radio in the study was broadcasting the new regulations.

Old Gong leaned back in his armchair, with the day's internal reference newspaper spread out in front of him.

The front page featured a photo of Zhou Bingheng standing in front of the ruins, his posture as straight as a drawn steel knife.

Behind him were bulldozers roaring to life and hundreds of workers returning to the city to participate in reconstruction.

He stared at the photo for a full ten minutes.

Finally, he reached out and turned off the radio.

The study was deathly silent.

"That Pan Dehai line," he began, "has it been completely cleaned up?"

The secretary quickly stepped forward, head bowed.

"It's all cleaned up."

Old Gong closed his eyes and said nothing more.

……

September 6th, early morning.

A thin mist still clung to the treetops of the temporary camp.

A military sidecar motorcycle sped up and stopped outside the command post compound.

A clerk from the Confidential Affairs Department, carrying a briefcase and sweating profusely, knocked on the door of Zhou Bingheng's office.

He placed the two documents on the table, saluted, and turned to leave.

Zhou Bingheng picked up the first document.

The award certificate had a thick, hard cover, with a bright red stamp in the center.

Due to his outstanding command during the Tangshan earthquake, he was approved by the Central Military Commission.

Zhou Bingheng was awarded a Special Merit Citation.

He was promoted to the position of deputy military-level director of the political department of the North China Military Region, a promotion that was made exceptionally.

At the age of 34, he holds the rank of deputy army commander—a unique achievement in the entire army.

On the second page, Su Xingmian was awarded a special merit for his outstanding contributions to logistical coordination, on-site rescue, and calming the public.

Zhou Bingheng showed no emotion on his face. He pushed the heavy commendation order aside and focused his gaze on the second document.

The envelope was made of very thin kraft paper, with three large, almost black, red characters stamped in the upper right corner.

"Top Secret Document".

There was no postmark, no sender's name, and not even a sealing wax stamp.

Zhou Bingheng tore open the seal, and a thin strip of paper the size of a palm slid out.

Handwritten style.

The handwriting, though powerful enough to penetrate the paper, trembled noticeably.

The strokes ended so softly that they lacked strength, and the ink bleed into a small black blotch on the paper.

"Bingheng and Xingmian, return to the capital. Quickly."

Zhou Bingheng gripped the note tightly, his knuckles clenching, and he instantly lost all color in his face.

The office door was pushed open.

Su Xingmian walked in carrying two aluminum lunch boxes and closed the door with her foot.

"I was delayed while queuing for food, and today they only have cornmeal porridge and steamed buns..."

She placed the lunchbox on the table, but then stopped talking.

She saw Zhou Bingheng's stiff back and the pen he had accidentally dropped, which rolled to the corner of the table.

Her heart sank.

My gaze followed his clenched hand downwards, finally settling on that thin strip of paper.

The room was eerily quiet.

Su Xingmian looked up at Zhou Bingheng.

Their eyes met in mid-air, but neither of them asked a single question.

The old leader... his time has come.