Courtyard House: I Rely on Time-Space Trade to Build a Nation

It's 8 p.m. at Qianjia Apartment.

Zhao Pingan opened the door with the copied key.

Everything in the living room was normal, but he knew that there were two "people" lying in the bedroom—high-fidelity clones that he had exchanged for 800,000 system coins.

The system description is very clear: "An organism generated based on target DNA information has a congenital deficiency of higher brain functions, and vital signs can last for 48 hours."

He took the two clones out of the system space and placed them on the bed in the bedroom.

Then he took the pistol out of the bag and attached the silencer.

Aim at the center of your forehead and pull the trigger.

With a soft "thud," the bullet damaged the already damaged brain, but the wound was small and the bleeding was minimal.

Zhao Pingan carefully inspected the scene.

He staged a struggle to create the illusion of a home invasion robbery—a few valuable items were "taken" and drawers were ransacked.

Then, he turned off the light, locked the door, and quietly left.

The whole process took less than twenty minutes.

It was already 11 p.m. when they returned to the safe house. The elderly Mr. and Mrs. Qian were still awake and were sitting in the living room waiting.

"It's all taken care of," Zhao Ping'an said, uttering only these three words.

Mrs. Qian's lips moved as if she wanted to ask something, but in the end she didn't.

"Alright, now it's time for us to leave, but before we go, we need to make some preparations." Zhao Ping'an said, then took out some strange equipment and began to "make up" for the couple. Half an hour later, Qian Lao's "disguise" transformation was completed first. He was no longer a refined scholar, but a sharp-tongued and shrewd businessman.

"What is this?" Madam Qian stared wide-eyed at Old Master Qian, who had completely changed.

"Alright, Mrs. Qian, please forgive my rudeness, I'm going to do your makeup now!" Zhao Ping'an gestured to Mrs. Qian, then continued his work...

On Saturday, outside the Qian family apartment, FBI agents changed shifts.

The detectives noticed the curtains were drawn in the morning but didn't think much of it—Old Qian sometimes slept in on weekends.

The detectives in the afternoon sensed something was wrong, but according to regulations, they could not enter a citizen's residence without cause.

At 8 a.m. on Sunday, the detective on duty finally noticed something was wrong.

The curtains remained drawn, and no one came out for a whole day and night. They knocked on the door, but there was no response. They called, but no one answered.

At nine o'clock, they found the landlord and opened the door with the spare key.

The scene in the bedroom stunned everyone.

Mr. Qian and his wife lay on the bed, no longer breathing. There were small wounds between their eyebrows, and a small amount of blood on the sheets. The scene showed clear signs of having been disturbed.

"Robbery...murder?" one of the detectives asked in disbelief.

"Report to your superiors immediately!"

The scene was immediately cordoned off. The police arrived, as did their superiors from the FBI and immigration officials.

The coroner's initial examination concluded that the time of death was between late Friday night and early Saturday morning, and the fatal injury was a gunshot wound from a small-caliber weapon at close range.

The news exploded like a bomb.

Prominent Caltech scientist murdered in home invasion robbery

The mysterious deaths of Chinese scientists Qian Zhongshu and his wife

Police suspect gang involvement

Newspapers and radio stations reported on it extensively. Caltech lowered its flag to half-staff, and colleagues were shocked and saddened.

Military personnel secretly visited the site and inspected Qian Lao's study and documents—nothing was missing or unusual.

Everything points to an unfortunate, random crime.

At the same time, at the San Francisco pier.

A passenger ship named "President Cleveland" is sounding its horn, preparing to set sail.

The ship will stop in Hawaii and Yokohama before finally arriving in Hong Kong.

In a third-class cabin, Zhao Ping'an looked at the elderly Mr. and Mrs. Qian, who had undergone a complete transformation.

Makeup altered their facial features, wigs changed their hairstyles, and ordinary work clothes concealed their intellectual demeanor.

Now, they are described as an "overseas Chinese businessman couple returning to China to visit relatives," with all necessary documents and legal procedures.

"The ship is about to set sail," Zhao Ping'an said. "For the next twenty days or so, we'll try to stay in our rooms as much as possible."

I will bring you food. Once we reach Hong Kong, comrades will meet us, and then we will travel back to China.

Mr. Qian nodded. He looked out the porthole at the receding American coastline with a complex expression.

This country where he lived for fifteen years contained his teachers, colleagues, friends, the Jet Propulsion Laboratory he helped create, and his unfinished research.

But on the other side was the newly born motherland, a land in ruins waiting to be rebuilt, and a cause waiting for him to explore.

"Mr. Zhao," Mr. Qian suddenly spoke, "thank you."

Zhao Pingan shook his head:

"It is our country that should say thank you. Mr. Qian, after you return, many people will be waiting to learn from you, and many fields will be waiting for you to lay the foundation. That is your true stage."

A long blast of the ship's horn. The ship slowly departed the dock and entered the vast Pacific Ocean.

Zhao Ping'an glanced at the system interface. The mission status was still "in progress," and it wouldn't be considered complete until he actually set foot on the land.

But he wasn't in a hurry.

Twenty-odd days later, in mid-September, I returned to China, just in time for October 1st.

At that time, the new republic will be officially established. And this gift—this man who is worth five divisions and can change the technological destiny of a nation—will be the best birthday present to the republic.

The sea breeze blew in through the porthole, carrying a salty smell. In the distance, where the sea met the sky, the sun was rising.