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

Jiang Zhiyu was squatting outside the tent checking the supplies list, holding a pencil in her hand, marking up the crumpled paper again and again.

She was struggling with a discrepancy in a number, her brow furrowed in frustration, when she suddenly caught a glimpse of a familiar figure walking towards her from the other end of the passageway.

He wore a military uniform, walked with a steady gait, and had straight shoulders.

Jiang Zhiyu's pencil stopped on the paper.

Song Yanzhou walked slowly, not as if he were in a hurry, but as if he had deliberately slowed down. His gaze locked onto her from afar, but he stopped a few steps away from her.

What are you doing here?

Jiang Zhiyu stood up, patted the dust off her trousers, and said in a tone that was not surprised.

Song Yanzhou looked at her and smiled slightly.

"I came to check on things while I was resting."

He spoke casually, as if he had just taken a short stroll from his post. But Jiang Zhiyu noticed the thin layer of sweat on his forehead and the small patch of dried sweat on the collar of his uniform. He had traveled a long way, and not a slow one at that.

She didn't expose it.

"The bridge's open, now you have some free time." Jiang Zhiyu stuffed the list into her pocket, tilted her head, and asked, "Have you eaten?"

"I ate something on the way."

"Then come with me."

She turned and walked towards the command tent, her steps a beat slower than usual. Song Yanzhou followed behind her, his gaze unconsciously falling on her back—she had lost weight. He had noticed her thinness at a quick glance at the airport that day, but it was even more obvious today; her military uniform looked loose, and a fist could fit into her waistline.

That fleeting glance was too short. They barely exchanged a few words.

So he came today.

There was no one in the tent.

Ji Buzhi's things were still spread out on the table. Jiang Zhiyu casually moved the things aside and rummaged through the corner to find a pot of water and two cans of food.

"It's a little better than compressed biscuits," she said, putting the can on the table. "It'll do."

Song Yanzhou didn't go to get the canned food.

He sat down opposite her, remained silent for a few seconds, and then reached out and took her hand.

The movement was very natural. When his palm covered her hand, his thumb unconsciously caressed the few scratches on the back of her hand that had not yet healed, with very light force.

Jiang Zhiyu's fingers curled slightly, but she didn't pull them away.

The things I didn't have time to say at the airport last time were all condensed into this gesture.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked in a low voice.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." Jiang Zhiyu looked down at her hand that he was holding. Some of the wounds had scabbed over, while others were just faint pink marks, which were particularly noticeable on her fair skin.

Song Yanzhou did not let up.

He held it like that, his thumb gently rubbing against the bruises on his knuckles, which had mostly faded.

"Last time at the airport," Song Yanzhou suddenly spoke, his tone flat, as if stating a fact, "we didn't exchange more than a few words."

Jiang Zhiyu looked up at him.

He didn't look at her; his head was down, his gaze fixed on their clasped hands, his eyelashes casting a small shadow under his eyes.

"Seeing the bandage on your wrist, I knew you were the kind of girl who, when you're risking your life, don't care about yourself."

Just that one sentence, spoken so plainly, yet Jiang Zhiyu sensed something different in it.

"With so many people around," Jiang Zhiyu looked away, her voice muffled, "it wasn't appropriate to say much."

"I know."

Song Yanzhou finally raised his head, looked at her, his gaze calm as still water, only a faint curve appearing at the corner of his mouth: "So I came today."

I want to hold her hand where no one can see me, to see with my own eyes that the wounds are healing, instead of just glancing at them and imagining ten worst-case scenarios.

Jiang Zhiyu looked at him, and felt as if something was gently rubbing her chest.

She pulled her hand away, picked up a can of food, clumsily pried it open with a can opener, and pushed it in front of him: "Eat. Don't just hold my hand without eating."

Looking at the can of food that had been pried open and was now crooked, Song Yanzhou finally couldn't help but chuckle softly.

"Your can-opening skills," he said, picking up a spoon and taking a sip, "are rather disproportionate to your fighting prowess."

"Say one more word?"

"……tasty."

Jiang Zhiyu snorted and started eating too. The two of them sat facing each other, eating canned food with cold water, occasionally exchanging a few words. When it was quiet, they didn't feel awkward. Outside the tent, there was chaos, but inside it was like another world.

Halfway through the meal, Jiang Zhiyu suddenly put down her spoon, wiped her mouth, and asked, "When are you going back?"

Song Yanzhou glanced at his watch: "Two more hours."

"Then what are you dawdling for?" Jiang Zhiyu picked up her spoon again and urged, "Hurry up and eat."

Song Yanzhou did not move.

He put down his spoon, looked at her, paused for a moment, and then asked, "Do you have anything else to do?"

Jiang Zhiyu paused for a moment.

She knew he wasn't asking about disaster relief and reconstruction.

"I have to go on a long trip in a couple of days," she said briefly without elaborating, "There are some things to take care of."

Song Yanzhou looked at her, his gaze deep and intense.

He didn't press her for details about where they were going, what they were doing, or whether it was dangerous. He knew her too well; she wouldn't hide from him what she needed to know, and he shouldn't pry into things he shouldn't ask. But his fingers tightened around the spoon, his knuckles turning slightly white.

"How long?" He asked only that one word.

"It's hard to say."

"When I came back..."

"I'll tell you." Jiang Zhiyu spoke before he could, her tone crisp, as if blocking any further instructions he might follow.

Song Yanzhou looked at her for a long time before finally humming in response.

He finished the last bite of his canned food, stood up, and straightened the collar of his uniform. His movements were slow, as if he were deliberately delaying something.

Jiang Zhiyu also stood up, put her hands in her pockets, and leaned against the edge of the table, looking at him.

"Alright, hurry back." Her tone sounded like she was telling him to leave, but her gaze remained fixed on him.

Song Yanzhou walked up to her and glanced down at her.

She was very close. Close enough that she could see a tiny speck of dust clinging to his eyelashes, and smell the mixture of sweat and soap on him—he must have just washed up before setting off and was covered in sweat again.

He reached out and gently touched a stray lock of hair on her forehead that had been ruffled by the wind. He didn't brush it away, but just touched it briefly before pulling his hand back.

"be safe."

Just three words, spoken in a very low voice.

Jiang Zhiyu's eyes suddenly welled up with tears, but she simply nodded, her voice unusually calm: "You too."

Song Yanzhou turned and lifted the curtain, letting in a sudden burst of sunlight that made him squint. He took two steps, then stopped, turned halfway to the side, and without turning back, simply said:

"I've always been waiting for you behind you."

Jiang Zhiyu was stunned.

By the time she understood the meaning of those words, the tent flap had already been drawn. She stood there, staring blankly at the corner of the flap lifted by the wind for a while, before letting out a soft laugh, unsure whether she was laughing at his foolishness or at her own even greater foolishness.

But she couldn't say for how long she would be gone.

Jiang Zhiyu took a deep breath, suppressing the sour feeling that seemed to come from nowhere, and bent down to tidy up the canned food and water bottle on the table, her movements as swift as if nothing had happened.