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

As dawn approached, the southern railway bridge was completed.

When Jiang Zhiyu parked the car in front of the command center, the walkie-talkie was buzzing with activity—Deputy Commander Rao Xu's voice came from across the bridge. The signal was intermittent, but the word "connect" was deafening.

"North bank—North bank closure surface—the last steel beam—in place! Our engineering company has completed the welding—"

The command center was in an uproar.

Ji burst in from outside, his military boots and face covered in mud, only his eyes shining: "It's open! It's really open! Old Zhuge, the bridge is open!"

Zhuge Yunhe stood in front of the map, holding the pencil in his hand, the tip of which was pressed against the location of the South Line Bridge, without moving.

He remained silent for about three seconds.

Then he took a deep breath, placed his pencil on the table, and said in a low voice, enough to drown out the commotion in the room: "Notify all units that the southern route has been cleared. The supply convoy will depart immediately, the medical team will follow, and the reconstruction team will proceed to their designated areas as planned."

He paused for a moment: "Also—notify the railway system that Dachengshan South Station has regained dispatch authority."

Everyone present understood the weight of those words.

The bridge's completion means supplies can no longer be limited to drop-offs from helicopters. Trains can now enter, large equipment can be transported, and thousands of tons of steel, cement, food, and medicine can all be brought in.

Post-disaster reconstruction is no longer just a slogan, starting today.

When Jiang Zhiyu handed the supplies list to the logistics team, the sky was already beginning to lighten.

Seventeen helped her count—the cargo holds of seventeen helicopters, filling an entire corner of the space.

Old Zhou from the logistics team stared at the list, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets: "These... were all just brought back from the airport?"

"Um."

"Wasn't that convoy carrying people? Where did they get the vehicles to carry all this stuff—"

"It was arranged by Old Zhuge, and they came following behind. It's in Warehouse No. 2 in the suburbs." Jiang Zhiyu said without changing his expression.

When Lao Zhou heard that it was the old Zhuge Liang, he didn't ask any further questions.

-

After daybreak, the rhythm of the entire disaster area changed abruptly.

With the bridge open, it was like a blood vessel being reconnected. On the south bank, the first batch of military trucks rumbled across the bridge in a long line, their trailers filled with tents, folding beds, blankets, and medicine. The scene was even more spectacular on the other side of the railway—the first freight train arrived at Dachengshan South Station at noon, its whistle echoing throughout half the city. Many civilians heard it and ran out of their tents, standing by the ruins and weeping.

Supplies poured in like a tidal wave.

Standing at the second-floor window of the command center, Jiang Zhiyu looked at the convoy of cars stretching endlessly across the bridge in the distance, her brows furrowing even more deeply.

With more supplies, manpower became even more scarce. Distribution, registration, warehousing, and dispatch—every link was short-staffed, and any problem in any link would be a major incident. Not to mention reconstruction planning, sanitation and epidemic prevention, transfer of the wounded, and registration of missing persons—a myriad of tasks, a tangled mess like an unresolved knot.

Zhuge Yunhe walked in and stood next to her for a while.

"Are you done with your work?"

"No," Jiang Zhiyu said, "but I'd like to go out for a bit first."

Where to?

"Tent area."

Zhuge Yunhe glanced at her, but didn't ask what she was going to do; he simply nodded.

-

The medical tent area has expanded three times compared to a few days ago.

Jiang Zhiyu slowed her pace as she entered the third row of tents.

Tent number seven in the third row.

Jiang Feng was squatting at the tent entrance, helping his younger brother trim tree branches.

Jiang Yu sat next to him, swinging his legs back and forth, clutching a crookedly whittled twig in his hand, seemingly unsure of what he was up to. The bandage on his right leg was still on, and the wound wasn't hurting much anymore, but he wasn't allowed to run around, and he was currently itching to get back to work.

Inside the tent, Xiao Jiangmian was fast asleep, wrapped in an old military blanket. Her little face was rosy, her fists were clenched, and her mouth was slightly open, occasionally smacking her lips.

When Jiang Zhiyu arrived, Jiang Yu was the first to see her, her eyes lighting up: "Sister Zhiyu!"

Jiang Feng looked up at her, his mouth moved but he didn't call out to anyone. Instead, he shifted his position to make room for her.

Jiang Zhiyu sat down beside him and first glanced at little Jiang Mian inside—her breathing was steady, her complexion was normal, and she showed no signs of crying. This baby, only a few months old, was pulled from under the rubble on the day of the earthquake; her body was ice-cold, and she almost didn't survive. Fortunately, the spiritual spring water pulled her back from the brink of death.

"How's your leg?" Jiang Zhiyu asked, looking at Jiang Yu's right leg.

"Alright!" Jiang Yu jumped up and was about to stand up when Jiang Feng pressed her back down.

"Don't jump around until you're fully recovered." Jiang Feng's voice was harsh, with a tone that didn't sound like that of a nine-year-old child.

Jiang Zhiyu glanced at Jiang Feng.

Nine years old. His parents are gone, his home is gone, and he has a seven-year-old and a few months old under him. This older brother has forced himself to become a little adult.

"Sister Zhiyu," Jiang Yu leaned closer and whispered, "Is that bridge outside finished? I heard a lot of noise."

"It's fixed."

"Once it's fixed, will lots of things be shipped over? Will Mianmian's milk powder arrive too?"

Jiang Zhiyu paused for a moment.

She had a lot of baby formula stored in her storage space, but those were her own supplies. Baby formula was indeed on the military's supply list, but it wasn't a high priority, and it would take two days for a large quantity to arrive.

"Yes," Jiang Zhiyu said. "I'll bring it to you later."

Jiang Yu's eyes curved into two crescent moons.

Jiang Feng didn't laugh; he just kept his head down and continued whittling the branch. After a while, he suddenly spoke up: "Sister Jiang, Jiang Yu and I would like to stay and help."

"you?"

"Jiang Yu's leg is almost healed, she can lift light things. I'm strong, I can lift heavy things too. Mianmian..." He glanced at his sleeping little sister in the tent, his voice lowering, "Someone is looking after her, Aunt Zhang said she'll help watch over her."

Jiang Zhiyu did not reply immediately.

The nine-year-old child, having lost his home and parents, wasn't waiting to be taken care of; instead, he was thinking of helping. He spoke of "helping" very seriously, not like a child playing house, but with the tone of someone genuinely wanting to take on some responsibility.

"Okay," Jiang Zhiyu said, "but there are conditions—Jiang Yu can only do heavy work when her leg is completely healed, and she's not allowed to overexert herself in between. Jiang Feng, you must come back for dinner every day after work; you can't go hungry. Aunt Zhang is watching over Mianmian; you need to check on her every four hours. Can you do that?"

Jiang Feng paused for a moment, then nodded vigorously.

"It's possible."

Jiang Yu, standing nearby, grew anxious: "What about me? I have conditions too!"

"Your condition is—no jumping."

Jiang Yu pouted and reluctantly said "Oh".

Before Jiang Zhiyu came out of the tent, she glanced at Xiao Jiangmian one last time. The little guy had his face buried in the blanket and was sleeping soundly.

She lowered the curtain, stood outside the tent, and took a deep breath.

The air was filled with the smell of disinfectant and dirt, and in the distance, there were the roars of machinery, shouts of people, children crying, and adults yelling—it was chaotic and very noisy.

But the three children inside the tent were quiet.

The little one is sleeping, the big one is waiting for his leg to heal, and the oldest one is already thinking about how to take on responsibilities.

The land is still there.

Then we really can rebuild the house!