Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

The dark red document was only the size of a palm, with no words on the cover, exuding a mysterious aura that kept strangers at bay.

The young sentry took it with some doubt, and as soon as he turned to the first page, his pupils contracted sharply as if he had been pricked by a needle.

There was no job title, no company affiliation, and even the photo was just a black-and-white profile. There was only a red, stamped number: **001**.

Below the number is a line of elegant calligraphy, and the name at the end carries immense weight.

"Snapped!"

The sentry seemed to be struck by lightning; his back instantly straightened, a conditioned reflex ingrained in his bones. He abruptly brought his legs together and gave the most standard military salute to the poorly dressed young man before him.

The movement was so large that it even stirred up a gust of wind.

"Greetings, sir!"

The sentry's voice was so loud it cracked, and the wariness in his eyes instantly turned into fervent admiration. "Old Qian specifically instructed that if you arrive, go directly to Conference Room Number One! Marshal Nie is waiting for you!"

"No more body search?"

Shen Jinghong smiled and pointed to the broken box in her hand.

"Need not!"

The sentry answered loudly, his eyes resolute, "What the commander brought back is the lifeblood of the nation! Anyone who dares to search you is searching the face of the nation!"

Shen Jinghong was slightly taken aback, and then a warm feeling welled up in her heart.

These are the soldiers of this era.

Pure, sincere, and even somewhat adorable.

"Thanks, bro."

He returned a somewhat informal military salute, picked up his suitcase, and strode across the red warning line.

Stepping through that vermilion gate, the hustle and bustle outside is instantly shut out.

The courtyard was quiet, with a few old locust trees rustling in the wind. There were no luxurious decorations, only rows of gray brick and tile bungalows, which even looked somewhat simple.

But Shen Jinghong knew that this was the heart and brain of this newborn nation, the starting point for its technological leap forward in the coming decades.

After walking through the long corridor, Shen Jinghong stopped in front of an inconspicuous wooden door.

He took a deep breath, calmed his somewhat agitated emotions, and raised his hand to knock on the door.

"Thump, thump, thump."

"Enter."

A slightly tired, yet still warm and powerful voice came from inside.

Shen Jinghong pushed open the door and entered.

The room was dimly lit, and the air was thick with the smell of cheap tobacco. Behind a desk with peeling paint sat a middle-aged man in an old military uniform.

His temples were slightly gray, his brows were furrowed, and he was reading a document in his hand, with an ashtray next to him piled high with cigarette butts.

Nie Rongzhen.

This founding father, a future scientific and technological genius, is currently so worried about the impoverished state of the new China that he can't sleep all night.

Hearing the door open, Marshal Nie looked up.

When he saw Shen Jinghong standing at the door, looking travel-worn, his bloodshot eyes instantly lit up with surprise. He abruptly dropped his pen, strode around the desk, and tightly grasped Shen Jinghong's hands.

"Amazing! It really is you!"

Marshal Nie's grip was strong, his palms rough and warm. "Old Qian told me you were arriving today, and I've been so distracted all morning looking at documents! How was it? You must have suffered a lot on the way here!"

He looked Shen Jinghong up and down in her worn-out trench coat, his heartache impossible to hide.

"You've lost weight and gotten darker. Those Americans must have given you a hard time, right?"

Marshal Nie sighed, pulled Shen Jinghong to sit down on the worn-out sofa, and personally poured her a cup of hot water. "It's good that you're back, it's good that you're back! Our family's resources are meager, and conditions are tough, but don't worry, as long as I, Nie Rongzhen, have a bowl of rice, I'll make sure you never have to drink water!"

These words were spoken sincerely and without a trace of official jargon.

Shen Jinghong held the enamel mug, feeling the warmth in her palm, and felt a pang of sadness in her heart.

This country is having a really tough time.

Even someone like Marshal Nie had to be frugal with a few machine tools and blueprints, and was even prepared to make the scientists tighten their belts.

"Marshal Nie, I don't feel bitter."

Shen Jinghong put down her teacup, looked up, and her eyes shone brightly in the dim room. "Moreover, our family's wealth will not be meager in the future."

"Haha, that's ambitious!"

Marshal Nie laughed heartily, patted him on the shoulder, clearly taking his words as the boast of a young man. "But we must also be realistic. The West is imposing a tight blockade right now; even a single screw is difficult to smuggle in. If you can bring people back safely, with knowledge in their minds, that will be the greatest contribution!"

He paused, his gaze falling on the tattered leather suitcase at Shen Jinghong's feet. His eyes held a hint of expectation, yet he was also cautious, afraid of putting pressure on the young man.

"Um... is that the information we brought back in the box? It's okay, even if it's just a few books, it's still a spark."

In Marshal Nie's view, Shen Jinghong's ability to escape from such tight security and bring back a few notebooks and sketches was already a stroke of luck.

As for equipment? That's something I wouldn't even dare to dream of.

Shen Jinghong couldn't help but smile as she looked at Nie Shuai's "as long as there's something, I don't mind how much" expression.

"Marshal Nie, you underestimate me."

He leaned forward slightly, a mysterious smile playing on his lips, his tone light and cheerful as if he were remarking on the pleasant weather.

"I didn't bring many books with me this time. Books are too heavy and take up too much space."

Marshal Nie paused for a moment, the light in his eyes dimming slightly, but he still forced a smile and comforted him, "It's okay if you didn't bring it, as long as you're alive..."

"but."

Shen Jinghong interrupted him, reaching into her robes slowly and deliberately. "I felt that since I was coming back to build up the motherland, I couldn't come empty-handed. The Americans were so kind as to insist on sending me some 'local specialties,' so I just brought some along."

"Local specialties?"

Marshal Nie was a little confused. "What local specialty? Chocolate? Or coffee?"

"Pretty much, anyway, they're all high-quality stuff."

Shen Jinghong took out a neatly folded piece of paper from his pocket.

That wasn't ordinary letter paper; it was a "supply list" that he had just had the system print out. The paper was light, but every word on it was heavy enough to collapse the room.

"There's too much stuff, this box won't hold it all, so I made a list."

Shen Jinghong handed the paper to Marshal Nie, her tone calm, yet carrying an earth-shattering arrogance:

"Could you please arrange a larger warehouse for me? Ideally, one that can accommodate airplanes; I'm worried that a smaller one won't be enough."

"Stop the plane?"

Marshal Nie was amused, shaking his head with a smile. He thought to himself that the boy was quite humorous and knew how to make jokes. He casually took the paper, picked up his teacup to drink some water, and said casually:

"Alright, alright, as long as it's something you brought back, I'll find you a place to park it, even if it's an aircraft carrier..."

His gaze casually swept over the first line of the list.

next second.

Marshal Nie's movements froze.

The teacup, which was brought to my lips, stopped in mid-air, the lid still trembling slightly.

His eyes widened, his pupils contracted violently, and his originally rosy complexion turned deathly pale in an instant, then flushed red again. It was due to the rush of blood to his head caused by extreme shock.

The first line of the list prominently displays a line of bold Song typeface:

**[Lockheed F-86 Sabre Jet Fighter Complete Production Line (including 12 prototypes, 50 spare engines, complete tooling and blueprints)]**

Marshal Nie's hand suddenly trembled.

"Clang!"

The enamel mug with the words "Serve the People" printed on it slammed heavily onto the table, spilling scalding hot tea all over the table, which dripped down the edge.

But he was completely unaware.

He stared intently at the paper, as if trying to see a hole through it, his voice trembling like a leaf fluttering in the wind:

"This...this...is this real?"