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

The golden rescue time is slipping away second by second.

The decreasing number of aftershocks is not necessarily good news—it means that the chances of those still holding on under the rubble receiving rescue are also shrinking.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at those young faces and felt a pang of sadness.

They were all young children. Although they had joined the army, they were all quite old. In later years, wouldn't they all be pampered by their parents? But at this moment, their spines were straight, their eyes were firm, and no one uttered a sound no matter how hard or tiring it was.

They are indeed the generation that can endure the most hardship.

A soldier ran over: "Comrade Jiang, Director Zhuge is looking for you."

Jiang Zhiyu returned to the command center.

Zhuge Yunhe, holding a telegram, saw her enter and immediately said, "Communications are established. The Southern Theater Command's advance earthquake relief force has arrived—medical teams, post-disaster reconstruction teams, and a group of specialized technical personnel—all at the North Suburb Airport. You and Ji Buzhi will take a convoy of vehicles there, with all the carriages empty, to bring the technical personnel back first. You'll handle the transport of supplies from the warehouse. I've already explained the procedures to them."

He paused, glanced at her, and said, "You're not getting any sleep tonight. Get to work."

Jiang Zhiyu took the telegram, glanced at it, and turned to leave.

Behind him, Zhuge Yunhe muttered to the person next to him, "Did we exploit this girl too much?"

The man didn't reply.

Zhuge Yunhe added, his tone carrying a subtle undertone: "However... it wasn't a wasted trip."

The man smiled but didn't reply.

Jiang Zhiyu and Ji Buzhi each drove a military truck, followed by a large convoy of vehicles, all arranged in advance by Ji Buzhi.

Ji Buzhi was full of energy, humming an off-key tune while sitting in the driver's seat. Jiang Zhiyu ignored him and drove forward without paying attention to him.

Upon arriving at the North Suburb Airport, a large crowd indeed gathered. The majority were medical teams, their white coats and military uniforms mixed together, lining up to board vehicles; there were also some young people who looked like old scholars, probably the technical talents that Zhuge Liang had mentioned.

Ji Buzhi jumped out of the car and immediately started making arrangements, his voice was very loud, and he arranged for people to get on the car in an orderly manner.

Jiang Zhiyu didn't get involved.

She leaned against the car door, arms crossed, calmly observing everything before her. Her military boots, work clothes, dust, and the night wind mingled together; her face was expressionless, only a hint of weariness in her eyes was barely concealed.

Then she sensed something.

She turned her head away.

As Song Yanzhou stepped off the helicopter, their eyes met from a distance of several dozen meters.

He wasn't wearing a military uniform, but his posture was still upright as he strode towards her. In the darkness, his features remained clear, but his jaw was taut and there was a thin layer of bloodshot in his eyes—clearly, he hadn't rested at all.

Jiang Zhiyu got out of the car and took two steps toward him.

The two stopped about an arm's length apart.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was flat, as if she were asking a routine question.

"I applied to come here," Song Yanzhou said. "I knew I was worried about you being here. Besides—" He paused, "we really need people here."

There were no extra pleasantries, no hugs.

On the edge of this city filled with ruins, amidst the roar of engines and the cacophony of voices, two sentences summed up everything.

Song Yanzhou took a step closer, his gaze slowly shifting from her face to her hands.

There was an unhealed wound on her finger joint, covered with a dark red scab; there was also an abrasion on the outside of her left forearm, and the exposed skin was covered in dust when her military uniform sleeve was rolled up.

He didn't speak, but just stared at the wound for two seconds.

"You're injured."

"I bumped into it during the first day of rescue operations, it's not serious." Jiang Zhiyu tucked her hand into her sleeve. "It's nothing major."

Song Yanzhou didn't ask any further questions. But his gaze lingered on her for a moment—from her dusty hair to her frayed cuffs, to her hands, which were rough from days of hard work.

He didn't say anything that showed he felt sorry for him.

He simply looked away, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly.

Behind us, the convoy honked its horns – the passengers had mostly boarded the vehicles.

Song Yanzhou took a half step back: "Senior Zhuge told me to report to headquarters first. Do you have another mission?"

"Okay, I'll go back right away."

"Then I'll be going now."

He turned and took a few steps, then stopped. Without looking back, he simply said, "Be careful."

The sound wasn't loud, carried by the wind, but Jiang Zhiyu heard it clearly.

She didn't reply, only watched his back as he got into the car, the door closed, and the engine started. From the rows of car windows, someone was winking and glancing in their direction, but Jiang Zhiyu ignored them.

The convoy roared away, kicking up a trail of dust.

-

The airport quieted down.

A dozen or so helicopters stood alone on the runway, their rotors still slowly coming to a stop.

Jiang Zhiyu stood on the empty tarmac, confirming that no one was around. She closed her eyes and spread her mental energy—within a radius of 300 meters, apart from the sentries on the distant outposts, there was no other living person.

"Seventeen, scan all aircraft cargo holds."

"Scan complete. A total of seventeen helicopters. Cargo contents include: thirty-two boxes of medical equipment, seventeen boxes of engineering equipment, nine boxes of communication equipment, and a quantity of compressed food and drinking water—"

An invisible wave swept by.

In the cargo hold of the first helicopter, all the supplies vanished into thin air.

She walked past each plane one by one, her pace neither fast nor slow, as if it were a routine. Each time she reached a plane, the supplies inside were silently transferred to her personal storage space.

All seventeen aircraft were cleared.

After doing all this, she got back into the military truck she had driven, stepped on the gas, and headed towards the command center.

The night wind blew in through the car window, carrying dust from the ruins and the smell of disinfectant wafting from somewhere in the distance.

Jiang Zhiyu placed one hand on the steering wheel, while unconsciously touching the scratch under her sleeve with the other.

He jokingly scolded, "That old fox Zhuge, he really foresaw everything!"

He then floored the accelerator and drove towards the city.