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

Jiang Zhiyu walked out of the command post and strolled slowly along the street alone.

Before setting off, she pulled out a camera from her storage space—a camera she'd bought on a whim when the port city was stockpiling supplies. The heavy, old-fashioned camera hung around her neck; she couldn't explain why, but she simply wanted to preserve the last glimpses of ordinary life in this city.

In the evening of June, before the sun had completely set, a vast expanse of orange-red sunset glowed on the horizon, bathing the low, flat rooftops in a warm light.

A vendor was selling watermelons by the roadside, a small table set up. He sliced ​​one open, revealing red flesh and black seeds, juice dripping down the blade. Several children stood around, their eyes fixed on the slice, before being dragged away by the back of their collars by their parents, looking back every few steps. Jiang Zhiyu raised her camera, and with a click—the watermelon, the children, the splattered juice—were all captured in that small viewfinder.

Smoke from cooking fires and the aroma of food wafted from the cracks in the windows of every household, mingling together to create the most ordinary scent of dusk.

Jiang Zhiyu walked very slowly.

A very fast young man almost bumped into Jiang Zhiyu. His face was full of excitement as he ran, apologizing to her as he went, and then he shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Folks! Hurry up and go to the river to collect fish!"

"I don't know what happened, all the fish have come ashore today! So many! Look—" He slammed the bucket on the ground; the white fish were jumping around inside, their scales shimmering in the setting sun. "Aunt Wang! They're incredibly fresh! Come and see!"

A plump middle-aged woman peeked out from the roadside, glanced into the bucket, and her eyes immediately lit up.

"Wow! These fish are so fresh! And there are so many!" She turned and shouted into the yard, "Honey! Quick, grab the bucket! Fish have been caught in the river!"

"Really?" A man in a vest ran out in slippers.

"Look at what's in that bucket!" Wang Ma pointed at the young man. "Come on, come on! Hurry up and get it!"

The moment he finished speaking, the entire alley erupted in excitement.

"The fish have come ashore?"

"Let's go! Get the bucket!"

"Mom! I'll go call Uncle Zhang next door!"

A group of people rushed to the riverbank, some carrying buckets, some with nets, and some running barehanded, all with the excited look of having gotten a bargain on their faces.

Jiang Zhiyu raised her camera and captured the scene—under the setting sun, a group of people carrying buckets ran laughing towards the riverbank, their shadows stretched long and overlapping crookedly.

There were indeed many fish in the river. The word spread quickly, and soon the riverbank was crowded with people. Laughter, shouts, and splashing water mingled together, making it as lively as a New Year's celebration.

A little boy bent down and scooped a big fish out of the water, held it above his head, and shouted to his mother on the shore, "Mom! Look! I caught it!" His face was covered in water and filled with pride.

"Click" is the sound of a camera shutter being pressed.

But the common people didn't know that. They just felt that God had opened his eyes today and they had gotten a good fish for free.

An old man carrying a bucket full of fish walked past her, cheerfully calling out, "Young lady! Come and catch some too! These fish are plump!"

Jiang Zhiyu twitched the corners of her mouth, shook her head, raised her camera, and took a picture of the old man's beaming face.

The old man didn't mind, humming a little tune as he walked away, the fish in the bucket still jumping, splashing water all over his trousers.

Jiang Zhiyu continued walking forward, her camera hanging around her neck. She would take a picture every few steps, as if afraid of missing something.

As Jiang Zhiyu patted the camera, her eyes suddenly reddened.

The viewfinder was filled with smiling faces, fireworks, and vibrant, bustling daily life. She wondered how many of those faces would be sitting on the same doorstep, fanning themselves with the same palm-leaf fan, just three days later.

"Host, don't be too sad. There are some things you can't control. Like the apocalypse, you can't do anything about it. You should be used to life and death, so why are you..."

"I don't know either. Maybe these people are warm and alive now. Unlike the people in the apocalypse who live like zombies, like emotionless machines." He wiped his eyes as he spoke and silently walked forward.

These are all natural disasters, unavoidable. Because of you, perhaps more lives could be saved.

"Yes, there's still a lot I can do."

As she passed a house, the kitchen window was open, and she could hear the sizzling of cooking and a woman calling her child to eat. She glanced over instinctively—the tap next to the stove was running, and the housewife was filling it with water to wash vegetables.

But the water was murky.

It wasn't the rusty color of silt; it was an indescribable grayish-white, like mud and sand that had been stirred up. The housewife frowned, filled the container with water, and set it aside to settle, muttering, "Why is the water murky again..."

Then, as usual, he poured the settled water into the pot and continued cooking.

Jiang Zhiyu sighed and put down her camera.

There are some scenes she doesn't want to remember.

She turned around and kept walking.

A dog barked.

The homeowner poked his head out of the house and cursed, "What are you yelling about! What are you wailing about!"

The dog stopped barking, but its tail was tucked tightly between its legs, and it huddled in the corner, trembling all over.

-

Jiang Zhiyu couldn't go on.

She stood on the street, looking at everything before her.

The laughter of people fishing by the river hadn't even faded when the aroma of fried fish wafted through the alley, mingling with the fumes of stir-frying vegetables, filling the whole street with the lively atmosphere of cooking.

In less than 72 hours, the city will be torn apart from underground at 3 a.m.

She dared not think any further.

In the distance, a train let out a long whistle, as if bidding goodnight to the city before it went to sleep.

But she will hold on to as much as she can.

She glanced down at the camera in her hand. She didn't know who would eventually see these photos, but she felt they shouldn't be forgotten.

Jiang Zhiyu took a deep breath, turned around, and walked back. Her pace was a few seconds faster than when she came.

Now that she's here, she shouldn't be here to wallow in sorrow. What she should be doing is minimizing the losses and saving as many people as possible.