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

Jiang Zhiyu returned to the hotel, washed her face, and went straight to sleep.

Organizing and summarizing? That's something Seventeen should be doing.

Sure enough, as soon as she closed her eyes, Seventeen started getting busy.

Ever since I found information about the bronze tripod in the port city, from that moment on...

She started bouncing around at seventeen.

The urge to "praise me, praise me" was so intense it felt like it was practically shoving into her face, even through the distance.

Jiang Zhiyu closed her eyes, her lips curved slightly, and she didn't say anything.

She watched as the little system busied itself in the space, its efficiency was truly remarkable, it didn't hesitate at all, and it was in a state of high excitement the whole time.

She slept soundly, feeling completely at ease.

Around 4 PM, a knock on the door woke Jiang Zhiyu up.

She sleepily opened the door and saw Yin Panqing standing there, her face showing a hint of anxiety as if she wanted to say something but couldn't.

"Miss,"

Yin Panqing lowered her voice:

"Here's the thing—something happened in Dongjin today, they're checking things extra strictly. I went out for a walk this morning, and there were patrols everywhere, several times more than yesterday."

Her brows were furrowed:

"They check us outsiders very carefully, especially. I was stopped twice just three blocks away. They wanted to see my ID, asked my purpose, and searched my bag. Luckily, I came by ship and had all the necessary paperwork."

She paused, a hint of worry in her voice: "If you go out today, please be careful. Besides, you... don't speak much Japanese, I'm worried you won't be able to handle their questioning."

Jiang Zhiyu nodded: "Okay, thank you. I'll be careful when I go out."

"I'll head back now. Please feel free to call me if you need anything."

Yin Panqing is gone.

Jiang Zhiyu closed the door and leaned against it for a moment.

It seems the Fukuda family reacted faster than she expected. Martial law was declared throughout the city, patrols were increased, and outsiders were checked.

This is a stress response from an entire family after their hideout was raided, indicating that they have confirmed the theft.

However, this also means that Seiichi Fukuda panicked.

It's good that you're panicking.

People who panic make mistakes.

At this moment, Seiichi Fukuda was not just panicked.

He's going crazy.

When he discovered the secret room in his study had been emptied in the early morning, he initially thought the problem was limited to the study itself. Although angry, he felt it was still within his control—the items in the study, while important, were not everything; he also had a storeroom in the east.

At 10 a.m., the warehouse staff reported that the branch warehouse was also empty.

It wasn't ransacked; it was empty. The method was exactly the same as in a locked room—no signs of damage, no signs of intrusion, the chains were intact, but everything inside was gone.

Seiichi Fukuda's expression immediately changed.

He forced himself not to have an outburst and sent people to check the remaining distribution points.

Things shouldn't happen more than three times.

Around noon, all three distribution points reported the same message—the data had vanished, but the site remained intact.

Seiichi Fukuda stood in the center of the study, looking as if his soul had been ripped out.

That's not just a matter of one or two documents. It's the culmination of decades of his work—the list of spies planted in China, their contact information, and the flow of funds; his operations in Europe and his reach in the United States; all the raw data and transfer plans from his bacterial experiments; and those things that must never be made public.

All of these things combined are comparable to the strategic reserves of a small country.

And now, it's all gone.

He gripped the edge of the table, his fingers slowly tightening on the surface, his knuckles cracking.

"Who is it..." His voice seemed to be squeezed from deep in his throat, hoarse and dry.

"Who exactly is it...?"

He racked his brains but couldn't figure out who he had offended.

It can't be China—that's impossible. If China truly had such capable people, it wouldn't have been bullied by them for so many years. How could a country whose own citizens are barely able to feed themselves possibly have such high-level figures or advanced technology?

Who else could it be?

Europe? Country M? What kind of high-tech methods have they developed? Or is it some kind of... special force from the West?

Seiichi Fukuda was racking his brains until his head ached.

What terrified him even more was not that the item was lost, but who took it.

The unknown is more terrifying.

If China takes it, he still has room to maneuver. Those undercover agents can be evacuated in advance, and funds can be transferred; the worst outcome is merely the loss of one supply line.

But what if the US takes it?

The profits from the projects he manufactured for the military in Country M were one of the most important sources of income for the Fukuda family.

If the US knew what he was doing behind the scenes—bacterial experiments, gene theft, double espionage—it would be a different story.

The contract for outsourcing will be voided immediately, the partner will turn against you, and the political network will collapse instantly.

So how does he support the Fukuda family?

What if it falls into the hands of European powers? The consequences would be equally unimaginable.

Seiichi Fukuda's hands were trembling. Not from anger, but from fear.

This time, the other party wasn't just trying to bite him or cause him any minor losses; they were going to cut off his lifeline. They uprooted him, revealed all their cards, and left him with absolutely nothing.

He didn't even know who the other person was.

This is the most terrible.

In the main hall of the Fukuda residence, the clan elders sat in a row.

Everyone looked as if they had swallowed a fly.

No one speaks.

After a long silence, the oldest elder finally spoke, his voice hoarse:

"I can't figure it out no matter how hard I try. How could something just... vanish without a trace? It's not just a small amount; it represents over thirty years of our family's wealth and resources."

Another elder, gripping his cane, his knuckles white, said, "A reserve comparable to that of a small country... just vanished like that. Not even a trace."

"Should we consider... suppressing the news?" someone tentatively suggested.

"Press? How do you press?"

Seiichi Fukuda's voice suddenly rose, his eyes bloodshot:

"I called the police this morning! The Metropolitan Police Department has already been here! You think this is the end of it just because the police left? The stuff is gone. Even if you sew everyone's mouths shut, what good will it do?"

The hall fell silent again.

Everyone knows he's telling the truth.

The information is gone; it can't be hidden any longer. Even more frightening is that they can't even determine whether the other party will release the data publicly or hand it over to a force detrimental to them. If that information is exposed, the Fukuda family's decades-long foundation in the political, business, and military spheres will collapse overnight.

"Could it be... that Heaven is going to destroy my Fukuda family?" an elderly clan elder murmured, his voice aged and weak.

No one responded.

Because everyone feels that this possibility is not nonexistent.

The news can't be kept secret.

The Fukuda family members can remain silent.

But they cannot remain still.

The entire city was placed under martial law, patrols were increased, and outsiders were checked. These actions themselves were a signal.

By evening, various versions of the story had spread throughout the streets and alleys.

"Have you heard? The Fukuda family has been cursed by heaven."

The word originated from an old man selling oden, and then spread like wildfire throughout most of the East.

Divine retribution.

People who live simple lives believe in this.

This nation has a deep-seated reverence for gods and supernatural forces—shrines are everywhere, and people visit them during festivals.

The concepts of demonic possession and divine punishment have been deeply rooted in the culture of this country for thousands of years, more so than any modern science.

"It's definitely divine retribution. Think about it, who doesn't know what their family did during the war?"

"Bacterial warfare, human experimentation... how could the vengeful spirits of those they killed not come knocking on their door?"

"Pshaw—that's superstition."

"They might be foreign spies, given how advanced technology is these days—"

"Can spies really disappear without a trace? Can they leave not a hair behind?"

A customer at another table chimed in, "How many people does the Fukuda family employ? Ninjas, you know? They couldn't even detect those, so what kind of spy do you think they are?"

The debate intensified, but strangely, both sides shared a common premise—acknowledging that this matter defied common sense.

The "divine retribution faction" believes it is the vengeful spirits seeking revenge, a karmic retribution.

The "spy faction" believed it was some kind of technological means beyond their comprehension, or a supernatural force from abroad.

After nightfall, the number of worshippers at several shrines in Tokyo tripled compared to usual.

There were fewer pedestrians on the street than yesterday. Some shops didn't open the next day, with signs on their doors saying "Closed due to family matters."

The sound of the wind is roaring.

Jiang Zhiyu was unaware of all this.

Jiang Zhiyu drew the curtains, changed into her night clothes, and tucked the jade pendant engraved with the character "Xu" into her inner pocket.

Tonight, she's going to see someone she's waited for for thirty years.