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

The rumors circulating in the compound hadn't even died down for a few days when a phone call interrupted Jiang Zhiyu's plans.

A young soldier from the military region's communications room, covered in sweat, ran all the way into Commander Song's courtyard.

"It's Commander Song's family! A call from Beijing... they specifically asked for you to answer the phone!"

Jiang Zhiyu paused, her hand holding the book still. Without asking any questions, she put the book down and followed the young soldier toward the communications room.

Along the way, the women in the compound were enjoying the cool air in twos and threes at the entrance. When they saw the young soldier running and leading Commander Song's family to the communications room, they all understood. Some of them even stopped their palm-leaf fans in mid-air.

"Ouch."

"The phone number above."

"Should we just call on the military region and go find her?"

"This, this is truly extraordinary."

The jokes circulating in the compound these past few days about "Commander Song praising his wife too much" have suddenly gone silent.

In the communications room, the black telephone receiver was handed to Jiang Zhiyu with both hands by the clerk, and she took it.

"Feed."

There was a half-second silence on the other end before Zhuge Yunhe's voice came through, much hoarseer than usual, carrying an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

"Xiao Jiang, you need to come to Beijing right away; your old boss wants to see you."

Jiang Zhiyu's heart skipped a beat. She opened her mouth, but couldn't say a word.

There was a pause on the other end, and a slight tremor in the voice.

"Zhiyu, this might be... the last time I see you."

Jiang Zhiyu's hand gripping the receiver tightened little by little.

She hummed in response, her voice hoarse.

"I'll be there right away."

"The helicopter is already on its way. Don't come by your own means; it's a helicopter from Kyoto. It should arrive at the military area in about half an hour. Get ready."

As Jiang Zhiyu hung up the phone and came out of the communications room, the clerk, seeing her staggering figure, was about to help her up...

Jiang Zhiyu waved her hand.

She walked that short distance for a long time, feeling as if she were walking on cotton. During this time, she had become a little carried away and almost forgot that his time was up.

As they walked back to the compound, the sour, calculating look in his eyes towards the new bride was completely gone.

Seeing that her expression was off, no one dared to investigate further.

A bolder woman stepped forward to meet them.

"Is Commander Song's family alright?"

Jiang Zhiyu nodded to her.

"It's nothing, something came up at home, I have to go back to Beijing."

The woman was sensible and didn't ask any more questions. She just took half a step back to let her pass.

As Jiang Zhiyu walked past, a group of people behind her began to whisper among themselves, but she had no interest in listening.

Back in the courtyard, Jiang Zhiyu glanced at her watch. Less than half an hour had passed since Song Yanzhou returned. She looked around.

The house was empty, and she couldn't really say what she needed to tidy up, since all the daily necessities were already in the yard.

She turned and went into the room, taking out two sets of casual clothes she had bought for Song Yanzhou from her spatial storage and placing them on the bedside table. Jiang Zhiyu picked up a cup, dripped a few drops of spiritual spring water into it from her spatial storage, and then began to wait.

Song Yanzhou jogged back from the gate of the compound. As soon as he entered, the lunchbox jingled in his hand.

"Honey! I heard, was it the Second Administration Bureau that called?"

Jiang Zhiyu looked up at him, but didn't get up; she simply nodded slightly.

"Well, I need to see my former boss, so maybe..."

She paused for a moment. She couldn't say those words on the phone earlier, and she couldn't say them now. Jiang Zhiyu bit her lip and finished speaking with her eyes lowered.

"This might be the last time we see each other."

Song Yanzhou stood at the door. The military green lunchbox he was carrying slipped from his hand with a thud and hit the cement floor. The lid popped open, and the white rice and braised pork inside spilled all over the floor. The soup splashed onto the cuffs of his military trousers, leaving a small dark stain.

Song Yanzhou didn't move. He just stood there, stunned, his eyes instantly reddening. After a long while, he managed to squeeze out a sound.

"Are you... sure?"

Jiang Zhiyu nodded, "That's what Old Zhuge said himself."

Song Yanzhou hummed again, a very low hum. He slowly bent down, squatted on the ground, and began to pick up the pieces of food, meat, rice, and the deformed lunchbox lids one by one.

He carefully placed each item into the broken box, his movements slow and shaky. Without looking up, he said in a hoarse voice:

"Go ahead! I'll take care of things here."

Jiang Zhiyu stood up, walked up to him, and looked down at the man squatting on the ground.

She actually saw it all: his taut neck, the slight tremor in his hand holding the box, and the tiny, glistening drop of water that landed on the lunchbox.

She reached out, raised her hand, and gently patted his shoulder twice. After patting him, she paused for a moment, then withdrew her hand, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible.

"Yanzhou, I'm leaving! You... take your time packing."

Song Yanzhou didn't look up.

"Yes. I know."

Jiang Zhiyu turned her back and walked step by step toward the door.

On the open ground at the entrance of the military compound, an olive-green helicopter was already spinning, its rotors spinning, and the wind was blowing sand and gravel up from the ground in gusts.

All the aunties, sisters-in-law, and children in the compound stood a little further away, watching from a distance. Those aunties who had previously said, "Commander Song is exaggerating his praise of his wife," were now speechless.

Jiang Zhiyu, carrying a small shoulder bag, walked step by step toward the helicopter. The wind blew the stray hairs on her forehead onto her face. She lowered her head and walked to the cabin door.

A guard stood up straight and saluted her.

"Consultant Jiang, please board the machine."

Jiang Zhiyu nodded, raised her hand to hold the cabin door, and the moment she boarded the plane, she couldn't help but turn around.

At the entrance of the compound, there was a whole group of silent people. Further inside, on the path leading to their own small courtyard, there wasn't a single person in sight.

She turned around, went into the cabin, the door closed, and the helicopter roared and climbed up.

The rooftops, streets, and old plane trees in Shanghai were gradually left behind.

Jiang Zhiyu sat on one side of the cabin, her fingers clasped on her knees. She looked out the porthole at the clouds dyed red by the setting sun, and her heart sank to the bottom little by little.

Throughout her journey, from beginning to end, all she relied on was actually just that small group of people.

seventeen.

Zhuge Yunhe.

And then there was the person she had only called "old leader" a few times.

Jiang Zhiyu closed her eyes briefly, recalling the first time she met her former boss. He sat opposite her, scrutinizing her from head to toe and asking her some strange questions.

From beginning to end, the old man never exploited her for anything she brought back, never used the greater good of the nation to bind her, and never made her do anything she didn't want to do.

Every word of advice he gave her was like an elder's admonition to a younger generation; every authority he granted her was backed by his own lifelong reputation.

Jiang Zhiyu took a deep breath, and her face suddenly felt cool. She raised her hand and touched it; there was a little dampness on her fingertips.

Without her even realizing it, Jiang Zhiyu rubbed the drop of water on her fingertip, stared at it for a long time, and then looked up at the increasingly dark sky outside the porthole, torn apart by the clouds.

Only one thought remained in my mind: I hoped the plane would fly faster.

Faster.