Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

The Lockheed factory had such tight security that it was like an iron barrel, but it couldn't stop a "ghost" with two doctoral degrees and extraordinary abilities.

Shen Jinghong straightened the blue-collar work clothes he had taken from the unlucky drunkard, pushed his elegant gold-rimmed glasses up his nose, grabbed a pipe wrench from the tool rack by the door, and swaggered inside.

Sometimes, the most dangerous place is the safest place. As long as you walk with enough confidence, the whole world will think you're a leader inspecting work or an old man fixing the sewers.

"Hey! You new guy!"

As soon as he entered the B-section workshop, a foreman who looked like a gas cylinder yelled at him, "Stop dawdling! The night shift is about to end, hurry up and change the filter in ventilation duct number 3!"

Shen Jinghong paused, turned around, and instantly put on the kind of simple and honest smile that is unique to low-level workers.

"Alright, boss! My stomach was acting up, so I went to the squatting area for a bit, I'm coming right now!"

As the foreman turned away, cursing and swearing, to reprimand others, Shen Jinghong's憨厚 (honest and simple) expression vanished instantly, replaced by the cunning of a hunter eyeing his prey.

He slipped into the maintenance passage of the ventilation duct, but instead of changing any filters, he silently slid up to the top of the final assembly workshop like a gecko.

Looking down through the grille, even the well-traveled Shen Jinghong couldn't help but pause for a moment.

This is American industry in 1950; this is the pinnacle of violent aesthetics on the planet.

The enormous final assembly workshop was as bright as day and stretched as far as the eye could see.

A dozen or so fully assembled F-80 "Meteor" fighter jets, like a group of silver sharks waiting to pounce, lay silently on the assembly line. The streamlined fuselages reflected a cold metallic luster under the searchlights, and every rivet seemed to flaunt the country's industrial prowess.

Behind them are even more spectacular production facilities.

There were hundreds of precision machine tools, huge hydraulic presses, mountains of aluminum alloy sheets, and assembly drawings and operation manuals covering an entire wall.

"It's so beautiful..."

Shen Jinghong lay on the vent, her eyes glazed over, as if she were looking at a stunning beauty. "Such good stuff, it's just going to be used to bomb fishponds in the hands of the US. It's such a waste."

At that moment, he gained a new understanding of the phrase "still charming".

This isn't a production line! This is clearly the backbone of China's air force for the next few decades!

"Clang—clang—clang—"

The shrill ringing of the work bell suddenly sounded, like a delightful call to dinner.

The workers in the workshop gradually put down their work and headed towards the changing room, laughing and joking. The once noisy factory gradually quieted down, leaving only the low hum of the machines.

There will be a 15-minute gap during shift handover.

This was the opportunity Shen Jinghong had been waiting for.

"System, wake up! Get ready for the buffet!"

He kicked open the vent grille abruptly, landing lightly on the wing of an F-80 like a large bird descending from the sky.

The moment he landed, his palm was already pressed against the cold leather.

"This one's mine!"

hum-

Without the slightest hesitation, the fighter jet, weighing several tons, vanished instantly, along with the auxiliary fuel tanks under its wings, disappearing into the void.

Shen Jinghong didn't stop. He was like a black lightning bolt, frantically weaving through the huge workshop.

"This one is mine too!"

"This stamping machine looks good, quite sturdy. Let's take it!"

"Hey, you even have unfinished engine turbine blades? Good stuff, give them to me!"

He was like a greedy child who had wandered into a candy store, leaving nothing but desolation in his wake.

The system notification sounds were so frequent, it was like firecrackers going off during Chinese New Year:

[Ding! 12 F-80 fighter jets acquired!]

[Ding! Received 20 Pratt & Whitney J33 turbojet engines!]

[Ding! Received 3 five-axis CNC machine tools (prototype)!]

[Ding! Received the complete set of assembly drawings and process manuals...]

In just ten minutes, the originally crowded assembly workshop became cleaner than a plate that had just been licked clean.

Shen Jinghong stood in the center of the empty workshop, looked around, and noticed that there were still several rows of anchor bolts used to fix the machine tools on the ground.

"This thing is just a hindrance if we keep it, so we might as well go all the way and do a good deed."

He crouched down, placed his hands on the ground, and said, "Stop!"

With the ground belt bolts attached, scrape the ground three feet deep.

Now, this place is so clean that it could even be used for ice hockey.

Before leaving, Shen Jinghong took out a can of red spray paint from his spatial storage—it was something he had just taken from the warehouse.

On that wall, which used to be covered with blueprints but is now just white plaster, he sprayed a huge line of English text in a flamboyant style:

"Thanks for the souvenirs, looking forward to the next date. —Ghost"

After the last letter was sprayed, the footsteps and voices of the workers taking over the shift could be heard in the distance.

"Hey Jack, I heard they're having roast beef in the cafeteria tonight?"

"Come on, that beef last time was as tough as a shoe sole..."

The sound was getting closer.

Shen Jinghong threw the empty can on the ground with a crisp "clang" sound, and then scrambled back up into the ventilation duct.

A few seconds later, the workshop door was pushed open.

"My God!"

"My eyes! Am I blind?!"

"Where's the airplane? Where's the machine tool?! Even the floorboards are gone?!"

A cacophony of screams and curses erupted behind us, creating utter chaos.

Shen Jinghong had already slid down the pipe to the lawn outside the factory. Hearing the shrill alarm behind him, he slowly took off his dirty work clothes, revealing the white shirt underneath.

He dusted himself off and patted his pockets.

I was so busy moving all that stuff that my pockets are practically empty. Even though my net worth in the system space is now enough to make me richer than a country, you can't exactly use a fighter jet to pay off a bill for a ship ticket or some gifts for your family these days, can you?

"Now that we have the guns and cannons, we need to make sure the logistical support keeps up."

Shen Jinghong glanced back at the chaotic Lockheed factory, then turned to look at the lights at the southernmost tip of Manhattan Island.

That's the direction Wall Street is heading.

That's the place in the world with the strongest smell of money, and also the most alluring.

"Having guns is one thing, but having money is another. After all, war is expensive, and we can't let our soldiers go hungry while they have good guns."

He straightened his wind-blown hair, snapped his fingers at the dazzling sea of ​​lights, and, like a gentleman about to attend a banquet, said softly:

"Gentlemen of the Federal Reserve, polish your vault doors a little, the ATM of China is here."