Reborn in 1950: Shorting the Federal Reserve at the Start

"Snapped!"

A document was slammed onto the desk.

It has a striking red stamp on it: **TOP SECRET**.

In the very center of the document was a black-and-white arrest warrant sent back from overseas.

The photo was obviously taken secretly and was somewhat blurry, but the gold-rimmed glasses and the cold smile on his lips made it easy to recognize who it was.

Below is a line of bolded English text:

**Wanted: Dead or Alive**

**Reward: $10,000,000**

"Ten million?"

Shen Jinghong picked up the wanted poster, flicked the paper with her fingers, and made a crisp sound.

Far from being afraid, he looked at it with disgust, as if he had seen some cheap promotional item.

"Chen Weiguo, don't you think these Americans are a bit too stingy?"

"Let's not talk about anything else. Just the gold I smuggled back from the Federal Reserve must be worth at least several billion dollars, right? Plus the F-86 production line, centrifuges, and those blueprints..."

Shen Jinghong threw the wanted poster on the table and curled her lip:

"So, in their eyes, my head, Shen Jinghong, is only worth this little bit of silver? Who do they think they are?"

Chen Weiguo had no intention of joking with him.

This tough man was covered in cold sweat, his hand on the pistol at his waist, veins bulging.

"Chief! What time is it? You still think it's not enough?"

Chen Weiguo was so anxious that he stamped his feet, and his loud voice made dust fall from the roof.

"This is a CIA Interpol Red Notice! Ten million US dollars! In the underworld, that's enough to buy the president of a small country!"

"Right now, assassins and mercenaries all over the world are probably crazy, all rushing this way!"

"You're a walking gold mine! A moving target!"

Shen Jinghong shrugged, picked up his teacup, and took a sip:

"Let them come. It's a good opportunity for our guard battalion to practice."

"Practice?"

Chen Weiguo's eyes widened, and the murderous intent on his face instantly transformed into a kind of resolute madness:

"From this moment forward, the Shenzhou Bureau is entering nuclear-level security status!"

Security level upgraded to Top Tier Plus!

"What does 'Special Grade Plus' mean?" Shen Jinghong was taken aback.

"Even if you go to the toilet, I have to be there to hand you toilet paper!"

Chen Weiguo roared, giving Shen Jinghong no chance to refute, and turned to yell at the door:

"Guard company! All personnel on duty!"

"One guard every three steps, one sentry every five steps! Block up all the rat holes within a five-kilometer radius!"

"Furthermore, from now on, I will personally taste-test the director's food for poison! And when the director sleeps, I will sleep on a makeshift bed outside his door!"

Shen Jinghong looked at the overly nervous battalion commander and helplessly rubbed his temples.

"Wei Guo, is it really that serious? I'm not made of clay."

"Absolutely! Absolutely!"

Chen Weiguo, his eyes red and his neck stiff, said, "Marshal Nie said that if you lose even a single hair, he'd twist my head off and use it as a football! My head isn't worth much, but your life is the life of the nation!"

Over the next few hours, Shen Jinghong truly experienced what "nuclear-level" security meant.

When he went to the canteen, he was surrounded by eight guards who completely blocked the area. Anyone who didn't know better would have thought he was building an atomic bomb inside.

He went to the lab to look at the data, and Chen Weiguo followed behind him carrying a submachine gun, his eyes wide like copper bells, looking at everyone as if they were assassins.

The most outrageous thing is going to the toilet.

As soon as Shen Jinghong unbuckled his belt, he turned around and saw Chen Weiguo standing with his back to him, blocking the toilet doorway, his hand tightly gripping a gun.

"...Battalion Commander Chen, can you leave? I can't pee." Shen Jinghong said with a dark face.

"No!"

Without turning his head, Chen Weiguo's tone was as firm as iron: "What if a water ghost crawls out of the toilet? You pee, I'll keep watch for you!"

Shen Jinghong sighed, completely exasperated.

This is hardly protection.

This is practically like being in jail.

Back in the office, Lin Qinghan was sitting at her desk, holding the wanted poster in her hand, and her expression was not good.

But she was, after all, an intelligence officer, and was much calmer than Chen Weiguo.

"Director Shen, the Americans are getting anxious."

Lin Qinghan pushed up his glasses and pointed out incisively, "When they can't win on the battlefield, they resort to these underhanded tactics. This also shows that our 'Shenzhou Bureau' has indeed hit a nerve with them."

"Yeah, a cornered dog will do anything."

Shen Jinghong sat back down in her chair, looking out at the heavily guarded compound, a cold glint in her eyes.

Since you want to play psychological warfare, then I'll play along.

"Qinghan, help me draft a telegram."

"To whom should it be sent?"

"Send it to CIA headquarters, even if it's just a plaintext telegram."

Shen Jinghong picked up a pen, scribbled a line on the paper, then pushed it in front of Lin Qinghan, a smug smile playing on her lips:

"Tell them they want my head? No problem."

"Welcome to pick it up."

"but……"

He paused, then tapped his fingers lightly on the table, making a "tap-tap" sound, like the rhythm of a war drum:

"Remember to pay the shipping fee before you come."

"Shipping fee?" Lin Qinghan was taken aback, but then immediately understood.

What about shipping costs?

That's fate!

It's the lives of those agents and assassins who dare to extend their claws into China!

"Okay, I'll send it right away."

A smile flashed in Lin Qinghan's eyes, a tacit understanding between them. "I'll send it using the most advanced encryption algorithm, and by the way... leave a little 'gift' for their servers."

Radio waves travel across the ocean.

That sarcastic and domineering reply was like a resounding slap across the face of the Pentagon.

Night was falling.

Inside the Shenzhou Bureau's compound, beams of searchlight swept back and forth.

Shen Jinghong finally persuaded Chen Weiguo to stand guard at the door, leaving only him and Lin Qinghan in the office.

The table was piled high with letters of condolence and documents sent from all over the country.

"Take a break."

Lin Qinghan handed him a cup of hot tea and tidied up the messy pile of letters on the corner of the table.

"These are all letters of thanks sent by frontline soldiers, as well as ordinary people."

Shen Jinghong took the teacup and warmed her hands.

Looking at the crooked handwriting and the simple, unadorned words, he felt much of the day's fatigue dissipate.

"what?"

Lin Qinghan's hand suddenly stopped.

At the very bottom of a pile of postmarked envelopes, there was a very special envelope.

No stamps were provided.

No signature.

It wasn't even sealed properly.

The envelope was made of kraft paper, with a worn-out feel, and only three words were written on it:

**[Shen Jinghong]**

The handwriting is elegant and has an indescribable sense of familiarity.

"Who sent this?"

Lin Qinghan picked it up with a puzzled look. The envelope felt very light and seemed to contain no paper, but rather some other thin, flat object.

"Maybe some admirer just shoved it in?"

Shen Jinghong smiled, not paying much attention, and casually took it.

He gently pinched open the envelope.

There were no confidential documents or threatening letters.

A dry, slightly yellowed white petal drifted down from the envelope.

It floated lightly, landing on the black desk surface, appearing particularly glaring.

A very faint, delicate fragrance wafted through the air, almost imperceptibly.

Shen Jinghong's fingers froze.

That is……

A jasmine petal.

His heart skipped a beat, and some emotion buried deep in his memory surged up like a tide.

He suddenly raised his head and looked at Lin Qinghan.

Lin Qinghan was quietly looking at him, her usually cold eyes now shimmering with an unfathomable tenderness.

"This is……"

Shen Jinghong picked up the petal, her fingertips trembling slightly.

He remembered.

On that distant afternoon, before the war, under the grape trellis in that courtyard house.

Someone once told him:

"I'll come back when the jasmine flowers bloom."

That is……

Letters home.