Nominal: Hou Liangping blocking the door? He was slapped away!

The confidential secretary, Xiao Zhao, accepted the order and turned to walk deeper into the office area.

At the end of the corridor, there is a gray explosion-proof door without any markings.

Xiao Zhao took a mechanical key from his waist, inserted it into the lock, and turned it half a turn. The fingerprint reader on the right side lit up green, and he pressed his thumb on it.

"despair."

The door lock popped open.

Xiao Zhao stepped aside and stood ramrod straight.

Liu Qigang walked to the door and subconsciously raised his hand to fasten the top button of his military uniform. This was a habit he had maintained for decades—entering the secure room followed the same rules as going to the battlefield.

He stepped inside.

The secure room wasn't large, about fifteen or sixteen square meters. All four walls had been specially treated, with soundproofing and electromagnetic shielding. As soon as you entered, you felt a slight sense of oppression, as all outside sounds were blocked out.

There are no windows.

There were only two fluorescent light tubes overhead, the light was rather cold, and the whole room had an operating room feel to it.

In the very center is a metal desk with a terminal on it.

This machine does not use the internet or public nodes on the military's intranet; instead, it uses a physically isolated dedicated fiber optic cable that connects directly to the military's core database.

The number of terminals of the same level in the entire military can be counted on two hands.

The screen, lit up in standby mode, emitted a layer of bluish-white cold light that shone on the metal tabletop.

Liu Qigang sat down in front of the terminal; the chair was fixed to the ground and the height was just right.

He pulled a general officer identification card from the inside pocket of his uniform. The card had his photo, rank, and a code printed on it, and a chip the size of a fingernail embedded on the back.

The screen flickered the instant the card was inserted into the card reader.

An authentication dialog box popped up.

Liu Qigang placed his ten fingers on the keyboard and began entering the dynamic password.

Twelve.

The input format is a mix of numbers, letters, and special symbols, and it updates automatically every six hours. This cannot be copied or memorized; it's all about memorization. Three incorrect entries result in the terminal being physically locked, and alerts are sent to three different levels of security.

He typed it in character by character, and made no mistakes.

The verification box disappeared, and the screen switched to the main interface for searching the files of senior military officers.

At the top of the interface, the current user's permission level and access scope were displayed in bold. Liu Qigang glanced at it—his level was sufficient; the basic information in the major general's file was within his permissions.

Behind him, Xiao Zhao had already retreated outside the door, and the heavy soundproof door slowly closed behind him, locking with a click.

Only Liu Qigang and the terminal emitting a cold light remained in the entire secure room.

In the quiet that he could only hear his own breathing, Liu Qigang placed his hands on the keyboard, his fingers hovering over the keys for two seconds.

Liu Qigang typed three words into the search box: Shen Zhong.

Then, in the drop-down menu of the limiting conditions, I checked "Handong Provincial Military Region".

Press Enter.

A blue loading circle appears in the center of the screen, spinning in circles.

The database is running.

Liu Qigang leaned back in his chair, waiting for the results. According to the normal procedure, the system would display a standardized cadre resume page—service number, enlistment date, rank promotion records, and routine awards and punishments.

It will only take ten seconds at most.

The aperture rotated for three seconds.

Then, it stopped.

It's not a normal pause after loading completes; it's stuck.

The blue interface on the screen suddenly flashed, as if something had forcibly intervened in the current display process.

Liu Qigang's back left the chair back.

The next second—

The background color of the entire screen changed, jumping directly from blue to scarlet red.

A glaring, crimson red that filled the entire monitor.

All the usual menu options—search bar, filter criteria, permission indicators—had disappeared. Completely empty. Only that shocking expanse of red remained on the screen.

At the same time, a sharp beep came from inside the terminal.

High frequency, continuous, uninterrupted.

The sound bounced back and forth in the closed, secure room, like someone stroking your eardrums with a needle.

Liu Qigang sat up straight as if by reflex.

His fingers immediately slammed onto the exit key in the upper left corner of the keyboard, pressing it three times in a row.

There was no response. He pressed it again, but still no response.

The keyboard is dead. All the physical keys are unresponsive; it's like pressing on a plastic sheet.

The screen remained fixed on that crimson color, completely still.

Then, a black dialog box popped up in the center of the screen.

It's huge. It takes up half the screen.

The edges of the dialog box were flashing, with yellow and black warning stripes alternating between light and dark, just like the danger warning tape on a construction site.

Liu Qigang leaned forward, staring at the dialog box.

This is not a system crash, this is not a system malfunction.

Just then, a sound came from the terminal's speaker.

The voice is synthesized mechanically. It has no emotion, no intonation, and just utters one word at a time, as if it were a pre-programmed message poured in from somewhere.

"The current terminal physical address is locked."

"Operator identification has been extracted and recorded."

"The above information has been uploaded to the Supreme Security Council in real time."

Liu Qigang's Adam's apple bobbed slightly.

He stared at the black dialog box on the screen. The text inside was appearing one word at a time, in red, bold, large font.

His lips parted slightly, and his voice was so low that only he could hear it as he read out the words on the screen one by one.

"Top Secret..."

"Unauthorized access warning..."

"Lock the program...start..."

The text in the black dialog box is still popping out.

Line by line, bold red, large font.

Each time a new line of text appeared, the yellow and black warning stripes would flash, casting the entire secure room in a flickering light.

"...Any forced unlocking, copying, screenshotting, or recording of this file..."

"...will be automatically flagged as espionage by the system..."

"...This triggers Article 117 of the Military Security Law, the treason clause..."

"...The terminal has now entered an irreversible locked state..."

Liu Qigang's back slammed against the chair back with a "thud".

He worked in the Central Military Commission system for over twenty years. What level of classified files hadn't he seen? What kind of access control hadn't he encountered?

But this kind of—

This was the first time in his life he had encountered a top-secret procedure that even brought "treason" to the forefront.

This thing has a very niche code name within the military: "Iron Curtain".

The number of personnel who could trigger the "Iron Curtain" protocol is less than two hands' worth across the entire military.

Each and every one of them is a core contributor who has carried out the highest-level death mission.

Each one is a national-level asset protected by the Central Military Commission with the highest level of security.

The identity information of these individuals is not processed through the conventional cadre file system and is not under the jurisdiction of any single department. It is physically isolated in an independent encrypted storage system, with access directly linked to the highest security council.

And Liu Qigang, a committee member, faced with this system—

Insufficient permissions.