I put you in charge of those rebellious female soldiers, how come they all became top special forces

His subordinate brought back a publicly available military file.

It contains the date of birth, date of enlistment, unit affiliation, and rank promotion records.

Each column is neatly arranged.

But if you investigate any further, you'll hit a wall.

Chen Zheng's core files within the military system are mostly encrypted.

It's not ordinary encryption; it's the kind of encryption that requires extremely high-level authorization from the military to view.

Does a lieutenant colonel's file require the highest level of authorization?

This in itself says it all.

As for the information that can be found by the public, there isn't even a single speeding ticket.

The subordinate's exact words were: "Master, this person's file is the cleanest I've ever seen in my thirty years of work."

After listening, Zong Yanhui remained silent for a long time.

A lieutenant colonel whose file was heavily encrypted by the military.

The person standing behind him is probably someone he can't touch.

The outcome of the second event was even more despairing than the first.

He had his men bring out the list, which contained the names of more than a dozen military and local officials who had maintained good relations with the Zong family over the years.

Some had their families help them with errands, some had received generous gifts during festivals, and some had their children's jobs arranged by their families' clans.

Logically speaking, given how many benefits these people have received from the clan, it wouldn't be unreasonable for them to say something at a crucial moment.

The call was made.

The first one was a retired cadre from the logistics department of a certain military region. When I answered the phone, he was very enthusiastic, recognizing Zong Yanhui as the caller.

But Zong Yanhui had only said half a sentence when the other person's tone changed.

"Old Zong, this matter... it's not that I don't want to help, it's just that it's really inconvenient lately. The higher-ups are cracking down, things are too tense, you know."

The second is a retired provincial cadre who has already stepped down from his post.

The phone rang three times and then hung up.

I called a second time, but she didn't answer.

The third is a powerful local figure to whom the clan had previously done a great favor.

Their relationship was so close that last Lunar New Year, the other party personally brought his family to the Zong family to pay New Year's respects, and in front of Zong Yanhui, he patted his chest and said, "Your business is my business."

This time, however, I answered the phone.

The person on the other end immediately started asking about my health and whether I had been resting well.

Zong Yanhui didn't say much and simply gave a brief account of what had happened.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone.

Finally, the other person said something.

"Old Zong, I really can't help you with this. The higher-ups are keeping a close eye on things. Take care of yourself."

Then it hung up.

Take care.

Take care of yourself.

Zong Yanhui put his phone on the table, his expression somewhat pained.

He had lived most of his life and never imagined he would end up like this.

Those who usually call him brother and put their arms around his shoulder at the dinner table saying "just ask if you need anything" all ran away faster than rabbits.

Those relationships he thought were absolutely secure vanished overnight.

Something made of paper won't last even a second when it comes into contact with fire.

Now, the fire has reached his feet.

And so, Zong Yanhui sat in his study all night.

One thing kept running through his mind.

The main family's path is not yet over.

But if we don't do something soon, it'll really be over.

As dawn approached, Zong Yanhui finally moved.

He stood up and walked to the window.

The old locust tree in the courtyard stood in the morning mist.

This tree is older than him.

It existed when his grandfather was alive.

He still remembers that when he took over the Zong family in his early twenties, his grandfather stood under this tree, bent over, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Our clan has survived to this day not because of force, but because of diplomacy."

"Be firm when you need to be firm, and be willing to go all out when you need to be flexible."

Zong Yanhui was young at the time and didn't take those words too seriously.

But over the decades, he has come to understand the weight of those words more and more.

The main family has faced crises before.

Thirty years ago, we were almost swallowed up; twenty years ago, we were almost killed by policy.

I survived every time by being able to bend and stretch.

When you're in a tough spot, throw money and manpower at your opponent and crush them.

When it's time to back down, bow your head and admit defeat, tear off your face and step on it.

Able to bend and stretch.

This is the fundamental reason why a prominent family has survived for over a hundred years.

Its daybreak.

Zong Yanhui walked back to the bedroom and opened the wardrobe.

Inside, there was a row of custom-made suits and Tang suits hanging.

But he didn't touch any of them.

He pulled out a gray cotton jacket from the very bottom, which he had worn before he came to power and had bought from a roadside stall.

After changing into a jacket, he put on a pair of black cloth shoes and looked at himself in the mirror.

He looks like an ordinary old man.

He lacked the imposing presence of a family head and the grandeur of a powerful figure.

He didn't call a driver, didn't bring any subordinates, and didn't even ride in his own car.

So I took a taxi to the airport, bought a regular class ticket, and flew to Beijing.

In the taxi, the driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror.

"Sir, which terminal are you going to?"

"T2".

"On a business trip?"

Zong Yanhui leaned back in the back seat with his eyes closed.

"Go ask someone for help."

The driver paused for a moment, then remained silent.

……

Beijing.

Western suburbs.

The second-in-command lived in an inconspicuous courtyard.

The walls and tiles are gray, and the house numbers are the most ordinary community numbers.

But Zong Yanhui knew that within a 300-meter radius of this courtyard, behind every tree and in every corner, someone was watching.

He did not try to force his way in.

Outside the courtyard wall, there is a cement road more than three meters wide, with two rows of poplar trees planted along the roadside.

Zong Yanhui walked to the roadside, found a spot where he could be seen from inside the courtyard, and stood there staring straight ahead.

Just standing there.

The time is 8:00 AM.

The sun had just come out, and the early spring wind was still a bit chilly.

Zong Yanhui wasn't dressed warmly; his cotton jacket barely kept out the cold.

He had his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on a corner of the eaves peeking out from the courtyard wall.

He knew that the people inside must have received the message.

The head of a clan from the southwest came to the capital alone and stood at the door of the second-in-command's house, refusing to leave.

It's impossible for something like this to go unnoticed.

But no one came out.

The door was closed, and no one came to chase him away.

Not seeing him speaks volumes.

Nine o'clock.

ten o'clock.

11 o'clock.

Occasionally, a car would pass by on the road, and the people inside would see an old man standing motionless by the roadside, probably assuming he was waiting for someone.

They are indeed waiting for someone.

Waiting for someone who may never come out to see him.

Noon.

Zong Yanhui's legs started to ache.

No matter what, he's over sixty years old, and after standing for four hours, his knees are really sore.

But he didn't squat down; he remained standing straight.

He knew there must be surveillance cameras in the yard pointing at this road.

His every move is seen.

Two o'clock in the afternoon.

Perhaps even God wasn't on his side; there was no sun today.

The sky darkened, and the wind picked up considerably.

Zong Yanhui's nose was red from the cold, and his lips were chapped.

2:40 PM.

It's raining.

It wasn't a heavy drizzle, just a light spring rain.

Zong Yanhui did not have an umbrella.

Raindrops pattered on his gray cotton jacket.

His hair was originally a little gray, but he takes good care of it, so it's not usually noticeable.

Now, with the rain soaking through, all the gray hairs hidden inside were plastered to his forehead, and water dripped down his brow.

He was still standing.