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

Jiang Zhiyu simply smiled at everyone's curiosity without answering.

Song Yanzhou watched her smile from the side. He was like a man possessed, staring intently at Jiang Zhiyu, as if he had etched her every smile and frown into his very bones. Her smile was more relaxed this time, the curve of her lips less pronounced, but with a touch of languidness.

"As for the four of you," Jiang Zhiyu's gaze shifted to the unfamiliar faces, "I haven't seen you in the files. Commander Song ordered me to rescue you all."

Song Yanzhou quickly regained his composure and introduced them: "These four are Chinese scientists we met during our detention. They were detained because they did not cooperate with the experimental requirements of Country M."

The four of them stood up.

The first to speak was a middle-aged man wearing thick-rimmed glasses, the lenses as thick as the bottom of a bottle. He was thin, but his hands were long and strong, clearly someone who had spent years doing experiments. "My name is Xu Weiming, specializing in aerospace engineering materials," he said quickly, as if reading a thesis.

A tall man next to him nudged his shoulder and continued the conversation. This man had thick eyebrows, a square face, and broad shoulders; he looked more like a physical education teacher, but the first thing he said was theoretical physics—"Chen Jingshu, high-energy physics."

The third one was the oldest, with gray hair but a ramrod-straight back, exuding an unwavering and composed aura. He simply said, "Song Huaiyuan, theoretical physics." His voice was soft, but the other three people unconsciously fell silent for a moment—clearly, he was the most senior among them.

The last person huddled in the corner. He wasn't tall, wore round-framed glasses, and his eyes kept drifting to the ground as he spoke. His fingers kept twisting the hem of his clothes: "Zhao... Zhao Yuanqi, mathematics." His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible!

Jiang Zhiyu nodded, secretly pleased—wasn't this double the profit? This time it really wasn't a loss.

She turned to Professor Sun: "Your research materials?"

"Don't worry, everything that needed to be destroyed has been destroyed. The rest is all memorized. Once I return to China, it's as if the data has returned to China."

The words had barely left his mouth when those same people were already squatting on the ground, drawing formulas in the dust with their fingers, their voices rising and falling in discussion, completely forgetting they had just been released from prison. The others exchanged bewildered glances, watching helplessly.

Song Yanzhou instructed his team members to patrol the surrounding area and scout the terrain. He then assigned them their next tasks.

Jiang Zhiyu beckoned to him: "Come with me."

Jiang Zhiyu pulled him into a bedroom and took out disguise tools from a canvas bag.

"What are you doing?"

"I'll give you a new identity. Aren't you going to the city soon?" She raised her hand to hold his chin, turning it from side to side, her tone slightly disdainful. "Your face is too conspicuous; what if you get recognized in the city—"

"You think my face is too conspicuous?" Song Yanzhou chuckled softly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So you're already disgusted with me?"

Jiang Zhiyu's ears burned slightly. There were no outsiders around, and this man was getting increasingly talkative. She remained expressionless: "Stop talking nonsense, look up."

She began to adjust the contours of his face, and when her fingers touched his cheekbone, Song Yanzhou's body stiffened slightly.

Her fingers were cool, with thin calluses on her fingertips, but when she touched his skin, she subconsciously softened her pressure, her fingertips slowly gliding across his cheekbone, not like she was working, but more like she was—

Jiang Zhiyu pulled herself out of her thoughts, her brows furrowing slightly as she forced herself to focus.

But Song Yanzhou looked down at her, so close he could count her eyelashes. She pursed her lips, her expression serious, though the tips of her ears were faintly pink. He couldn't help but smile—it was clearly his face being pinched and tossed around by her, so why was she more nervous than him?

"Don't move." Jiang Zhiyu noticed the smile on his lips, glared at him, and said, "What are you laughing at?"

"I didn't laugh." Song Yanzhou blinked innocently, remaining completely still.

Jiang Zhiyu snorted and continued applying her makeup. While attaching the wig, her fingertips accidentally brushed against his earlobe, and they both paused for a moment.

No one spoke.

Twenty minutes later, Jiang Zhiyu stepped back to examine her work and nodded in satisfaction.

"Okay, let's take a look."

Song Yanzhou took the mirror—inside was a middle-aged white man with waxy white skin and slightly yellow hair, completely different from himself.

"This...you know disguise techniques?"

"I guess so." Jiang Zhiyu packed up her tools, avoiding looking at him.

Song Yanzhou put down the mirror and watched her put the bottles and jars back in their places one by one. Her movements were quick, but a beat slower than usual.

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke:

"You know me."

"Um?"

Why did you come?

Jiang Zhiyu paused for a moment, then looked up at him.

Song Yanzhou's face was covered with thick makeup, obscuring her expression, but behind those gray contact lenses, her gaze was earnest and gentle.

"This kind of mission shouldn't have been assigned to you..." he said, his voice low. "You, alone, crossed the entire Pacific Ocean..."

He paused, as if considering his words, and finally simply said, "I'm very worried about you."

It's not "I'm very grateful to you," it's "I'm very worried about you."

Jiang Zhiyu looked at him.

She understood. Since their last separation, she had also worried about his safety. She just hadn't wanted to admit it!

She lowered her eyes, her fingers unconsciously stroking the strap of the canvas bag.

"……I know."

Her voice was much softer than usual, as if it had been dug out from a very deep place.

"I—" She paused, swallowing the rest of her sentence, and instead said, "I am indeed worried about you."

She didn't look at him when she said this, and the tips of her ears turned bright red.

Song Yanzhou was stunned.

These words, spoken by Jiang Zhiyu, carried more weight than any confession. He understood her—she wasn't one for sweet talk; every word she uttered was forced from her heart, clumsy yet sincere.

He couldn't help but reach out and gently squeeze her fingers.

Jiang Zhiyu did not pull it away.

She paused for only two seconds, then gently jerked her body apart, her voice reverting to its usual businesslike tone: "I'm leaving, I have important business to attend to."

But when the hand that had been freed picked up the bag, the fingertips unconsciously curled up.

Jiang Zhiyu walked ahead, her pace neither hurried nor slow.

"Seventeen," she wondered to herself, "Was I too unreserved just now?"

[Host, according to my database analysis, it is normal for humans to express care in romantic relationships.]

"Alright! You're the system, what you say makes sense."

Jiang Zhiyu pursed her lips.

She recalled the hand that had just held her fingers—dry and warm, with a very light touch, yet a tingling sensation that lingered in her heart.

In the ten years since the apocalypse, she had witnessed far too many deaths and separations. Love was a luxury in that world, and those who possessed it often died the fastest. She learned to ignore it, not because she didn't want to, but because she dared not.

But Song Yanzhou was different.

He won't die. She won't let him die. Just for his face, yes, it's that face she can't bear to see.

[Stubborn] Seventeen pouted.

When this thought popped into her head, Jiang Zhiyu was taken aback. When did she begin to have this unquestionable certainty about this person's safety?

It wasn't because she trusted his abilities, but because—she wouldn't allow that to happen.

She quickened her pace, suppressing the thought. She stopped thinking about it.

After descending the mountain, Jiang Zhiyu told Song Yanzhou to wait outside while she went into the warehouse. Seventeen scanned a dilapidated pickup truck at a farm 1.2 kilometers away. She teleported there, found the truck to be in good condition, stored it in her spatial storage, and then drove it out of the warehouse upon returning.

Song Yanzhou looked at the SUV that had appeared, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes, but he didn't ask anything and deftly opened the car door and got in.

Neither of them spoke.

Jiang Zhiyu started the car and drove onto the highway leading to the city. The scenery outside the car window rushed past, and sunlight shone through the clouds, illuminating the distant hillsides.

Song Yanzhou turned his head to look at her.

She gazed ahead, her fingers gripping the steering wheel long and slender, fair and delicate yet brimming with strength.

He recalled last night—the moment he saw her, standing there against the dim light, her radiant beauty undeniable even in disguise. Some people, at first glance, capture the heart?

Seeing that Jiang Zhiyu was a little stiff while driving because of his gaze, he secretly chuckled to himself. Then he withdrew his scrutinizing gaze.

He began to mentally review the entire mission, wondering how to report it to his superiors and how to arrange for the large number of personnel to return home.