With three superpowers at his fingertips, he could dominate the 1970s.

After putting her things away, Jiang Zhiyu teleported back to the courtyard.

I was indeed tired today—not physically, as moving things around in the space wasn't difficult, but the prolonged use of my mental energy to perceive the environment, plus the two long-distance teleportations, had taken a toll.

She returned to her room, changed her clothes, lay down, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Meanwhile, for the four of them, the night was destined to be agonizing.

Just after midnight, Vice President Liu couldn't wait any longer.

He put on his coat and jogged to Director Zhao's dormitory. The light on Director Zhao's door was still on. The two met face to face, and neither of them said a word, understanding each other perfectly.

Then the two went straight to Commander Qian's dormitory.

As soon as the door was pushed open, Commander Qian was found fast asleep, wrapped in a blanket, snoring loudly.

Without saying a word, Vice President Liu went up and pulled off the blanket.

Commander Qian sat bolt upright, groggily staring at the two uninvited guests before him: "What time is it?"

"12:15." Director Zhao glanced at his watch.

Commander Qian: "...Then what are you doing here? The agreed time is four in the morning, there are still almost four hours to go!"

Vice Dean Liu waved his hand dismissively: "Waiting in the past was always better than waiting here."

Commander Qian looked at the two faces filled with anxiety and expectation, sighed helplessly, and got up to put on his clothes.

"Alright, alright, let's go."

﹉

And so, the two jeeps sped along the highway into the suburbs late at night.

The headlights pierced the thick darkness of the night; the mountain road wound its way through the shadows, the dark figures on either side resembling silent giants.

When we reached the warning line at the foot of the mountain, there were still more than two hours left before the agreed time.

The three of them got out of the car, found a sheltered spot by the roadside, squatted down, and chatted idly.

He smoked one cigarette after another, leaving cigarette butts scattered all over the ground.

Vice President Liu checked his watch every five minutes.

Director Zhao would walk around in circles every ten minutes.

Commander Qian leaned against a tree trunk, closing his eyes to rest. He looked the most composed, but his fingers kept unconsciously tapping his knees.

Finally—at four in the morning.

"Walk."

Commander Qian stood up, patted the dirt off his backside, and waved his hand.

---

He left everyone else and vehicles at the cordon ten kilometers away, and only took Vice President Liu, Director Zhao, and a few bodyguards with him as he walked in.

The mountain path was difficult to walk, and even more so at night. But the group walked quickly and reached the large iron gate in less than half an hour.

The iron gate was still slightly ajar.

Commander Qian, a former soldier, walked briskly at the front. The beam of his flashlight flickered in the crack of the door before he squeezed in sideways.

The others quickly followed, but they couldn't keep up with his pace.

However, when Commander Qian pushed open the door and the first glimpse of his flashlight beam—

He stopped walking.

It was as if I was nailed to the spot.

The beam of the flashlight remained frozen, illuminating a mountain that gleamed with a metallic sheen.

He didn't say a word, but his steps slowed and his breathing became heavier.

Although he was a roughneck and couldn't name any of those precision instruments, he recognized the foreign language labels on the boxes and the format of the serial numbers—things that only top-of-the-line equipment imported from abroad had.

He was shaking all over.

As more people arrived, they found Commander Qian standing at the door, not moving, and they all stopped.

Director Zhao lowered his voice and asked, "Old Qian, what's wrong?"

Commander Qian's flashlight was still trembling, and his voice trembled as well: "You...see for yourselves."

Everyone filed in.

The beams of the flashlight swept across the vast underground space, one after another, like searchlights streaking across the night sky.

Then—everyone fell silent.

Vice President Liu practically lunged at the equipment.

He crouched down, approached the first box, shone his flashlight on the nameplate on it, and his lips moved slightly:

X-ray photoelectron spectroscopy…

He rushed to the next box:

"High-resolution transmission electron microscope..."

Next one:

Fourier transform infrared spectrometer…

He announced the names of the equipment, speaking faster and faster, his voice rising higher and higher, like someone who had been groping in the dark for too long suddenly seeing the light, too excited to control himself.

Sudden--

He stopped.

It stopped right in front of a piece of equipment, as if someone had pressed the pause button.

That was a high-precision imported mass spectrometer.

He squatted down in front of the device, gently touching the nameplate on the box, unable to utter a single word.

He submitted eight reports and applied for this instrument over eight years, but each time it was rejected—either because of insufficient funding, blocked channels, or because it was on the Western embargo list.

Eight years.

Eight years.

His eyes reddened.

Director Zhao, who was standing next to him, didn't have time to comfort him, because he himself wasn't doing much better.

He was like a walking abacus, muttering to himself as he walked:

"This one, market price is three hundred thousand US dollars... This one, black market price is at least five hundred thousand... This one, even if you have money, you can't buy it, it's on the embargo list..."

His hands were frantically calculating, gesturing, and counting.

As he was calculating—he suddenly stopped.

Because he discovered that he simply couldn't calculate it.

It's not that the numbers are too large, but rather that some of these items simply have no price. With equipment on the embargo list, it's not a matter of how much money you offer; it's that they simply won't sell it to you.

He finally understood how his former boss felt.

He really wanted to treat that little girl like a goddess—no, even treating her like a goddess wouldn't be enough.

Is this the God of Wealth? No, the God of Wealth only deals with money. Some of these devices are for problems that money can't solve.

This girl is more effective than the God of Wealth.

The group reluctantly walked through the equipment area and went inside.

The flashlight beam shone into the deeper compartments.

Then—the beam of light shone on the grain.

The three of them stopped at the same time.

That wasn't a pile of grain.

Those were three mountains of grain.

Golden corn, plump rice, round soybeans, and wheat—piled up in three entire compartments, stretching from the ground to nearly the dome, about three stories high.

When the flashlight swept across the field, no end could be seen; only an endless expanse of grain gleamed with a warm luster under the light.

Commander Qian remained silent for a while before slowly walking forward.

He stuck his hand into the grain pile.

The grains flowed through their fingers, the rustling sound echoing loudly in the empty cave.

He grabbed a handful and examined it closely in his palm.

The grains were plump and uniform in color, each one better than the best grain he had ever seen.

"The quality of this grain is even better than the special supply we have," he said, his voice slightly hoarse. "We can distribute it as seed for trial planting."

He paused, then said in a low voice:

"This much grain... is enough to feed an entire division for a year."

The three of them stood in front of the grain mountain in silence for a long time.

Then—they realized it almost simultaneously.

What did that young girl whisper in the old leader's ear?

She was referring to these grains.

Why did the former leader give her that pen?

Because what she told the old leader at that moment was not just a few pieces of equipment—but also enough food to feed tens of thousands of people.

Vice President Liu sniffed; at that moment, no words could describe his feelings.

---

The three of them lingered in the air-raid shelter for two hours, reluctant to leave.

I walked back and forth between the equipment area and the grain warehouse several times, as if I could never get enough of looking at it.

Vice President Liu would personally touch the nameplate of each piece of equipment before he felt at ease.

It wasn't until the sky began to lighten and light seeped in through the high windows of the air-raid shelter that the three reluctantly emerged.

Standing outside the cave, the morning breeze blew in, and the three of them exchanged a glance.

Their eyes were bloodshot, but they were incredibly excited.

Commander Qian was the first to speak, his voice regaining the crispness and decisiveness characteristic of a soldier:

"Everyone—Level One Combat Readiness! Do not leave your post, await orders at any moment!"

The team following behind responded in unison:

"Yes!"

Commander Qian then turned to Vice President Liu and Director Zhao: "Let's go back to the sanatorium."

On the way back, the three of them fell silent again.

The shock they experienced was so great that no one knew what to say at that moment.

After the car had been driving for a while, Commander Qian suddenly reached out and pinched Director Zhao.

Director Zhao turned around, stunned: "Old Qian, why did you pinch me?"

Commander Qian chuckled sheepishly, "Let me double-check if I'm dreaming."

Director Zhao rolled her eyes at him, annoyed: "Why don't you pinch yourself?"

Commander Qian scratched his head and fell silent again.

Outside the car window, the sky gradually brightened, and the distant mountains slowly revealed their outlines in the morning light.

The three people leaned back in their seats, and none of them spoke again.

The retired leader, who was waiting at the sanatorium, kept glancing out the window.