Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Starting with the Korean War, returning home to take charge

The office lights were off.

The old table lamp was the only source of light. A layer of dust had settled on the lampshade, and the light shone through from below, illuminating the light screen that floated in mid-air in front of him. The pale blue light reflected on He Yuzhu's face, making the shadows on his eye sockets and cheekbones deep, and he looked five years older than he actually was.

Several documents lay spread out on the corner of the table; they were the rocket test plan that Ma Yuejin had delivered that afternoon. He hadn't read a single word. In the distance outside the window, the lights in Workshop No. 3 were still on, and the hum of the machines could be faintly heard—those people were working overtime again.

He stared at the line of text.

[The "Rise of Yanhuang Plan 2.0" meets the upgrade requirements. Upgrading will unlock new permissions. Upgrade now?]

The button flashed a ghostly blue light, pressing it repeatedly.

He tapped his fingers twice on the table. Then he stopped.

Upgrade? Or not?

As I knocked for the third time, the words my old leader had spoken on his sickbed that day flashed through my mind—"The next few years will be even tougher. There will be droughts, floods, wars in the south, and famine in the north. Your research institute needs to be prepared."

Which production lines can manufacture guns and cannons? Which meteorological technologies can compete with nature for food? Which breeding data can help the fields yield more crops?

But the system warning was still there.

Any technology must be released through legitimate channels; exposure means destruction.

To obliterate.

He reached out and tapped it.

A burst of blue light suddenly shot out, causing him to instinctively lean back. The words on the screen were like crumpled paper, twisting, tearing, and rearranging, jumping line by line too fast to read. A buzzing sound filled his mind, something was working, the sound was deep, pressing down from the back of his head, making his temples throb.

It lasted for about ten seconds.

Once the screen stabilized, the interface completely changed.

[The "Rise of Yanhuang Plan 2.0" has been activated]

[Current Permissions: Civilization Mentor (Intermediate)]

The new features are listed one row at a time.

Production line exchange: rifles, tanks, ammunition, cars, tractors.

Meteorological intervention technologies: artificial rain bombs, hail suppression rockets, and short-term weather forecasting.

Biological breeding data: hybrid rice, stress-resistant wheat, fertilizer efficiency enhancement technology.

He read through the lines one by one, clenching his fist on his knees and then relaxing it.

Yes, it can be exchanged. All of them can be exchanged.

But while 150 million seems like a huge sum, it's not exactly cheap when you start spending it. A tank production line costs 35 million, a hybrid rice technology system costs 12 million, and a weather intervention program adds up to another 10 million.

The old leader mentioned those things—drought, floods, war—all lined up waiting to happen.

You have to choose.

But how do you choose?

There's a line of smaller text at the very bottom.

[Special Note: Any technology obtained through the system must be released through legitimate channels. Directly revealing the source will result in immediate elimination of the host.]

He read the line of text twice.

Legitimate channels. Seizure. Research. Independent breakthrough.

We've been doing this for years.

the phone is ringing.

It was urgent; it exploded in the quiet office.

He answered the phone, and it was Old Sun on the other end. His voice was low, but you could hear that he was a little out of breath.

"Old He, our old boss isn't doing well. Can you come over now?"

He Yuzhu stood up, his hand still on the table.

Which hospital?

Old Sun gave the address.

He hung up the phone, grabbed his coat, and ran outside. He stopped at the door, glanced back at the screen, and looked back at it.

The interface was still there, with rows of technical options, gleaming with a faint blue light.

He flung open the door and rushed into the hallway.

The car was driving very fast.

The streetlights outside the window flashed past one after another, their light flickering on the driver's face. He Yuzhu sat in the back seat, his hands on his knees, his knuckles white. He didn't speak, and the driver didn't dare to either, only pressing the accelerator to the floor.

They almost ran a red light at an intersection. The driver swerved, the car veered off course, and He Yuzhu hit the door. He held onto the door handle without making a sound.

He jumped out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop, nearly twisting his ankle on the ground. Ignoring the pain, he rushed towards the hospital entrance.

The corridor lights were blindingly white. That white was different from the white elsewhere; it was a cold, almost chilling white. The smell of disinfectant was pungent, mixed with some other, indescribable odor. Footsteps echoed loudly in the corridor, thumping loudly. As he ran past the nurses' station, a nurse looked up at him, but he didn't stop.

When they reached the door of the innermost ward, Old Sun was standing there.

When Old Sun saw him, he stepped aside without saying a word.

He Yuzhu, panting heavily, put his hand on the doorknob.

Just about to push—

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the other end of the corridor.

In the darkness where the light couldn't reach, there was a shadowy figure pressed against the wall.

Just a moment.

The man took a step back and disappeared into the deeper shadows.

He Yuzhu's hand froze on the handle. He recognized the silhouette. It wasn't Sun Deming. It was the one from the hospital entrance that night—Scarface.

He wanted to chase after him, but after taking half a step, he stopped.

The door to the ward is right next to me.

He gritted his teeth and pushed the door open to go inside.

The old leader lay on the bed, his face as white as the pillow. His lips were chapped and peeling, his eye sockets were sunken, making his eyes appear large. A needle was stuck in the back of his hand, secured with tape, and a tube connected to a bottle by the bedside, from which liquid dripped slowly, drop by drop.

Hearing the door open, he opened his eyes. Seeing He Yuzhu, the corners of his mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile.

"Xiao He is here."

The sound was very soft, as if it were drifting from a great distance.

He Yuzhu walked over, stood by the bed, and bent down.

"Boss, how are you?"

The old leader looked at him for several seconds.

"I won't die." He paused, then added, "It's not time yet."

He raised the hand that wasn't pricked by the needle and gestured in the air. He Yuzhu grasped it. The hand was cold, and the bones felt uncomfortable.

The old leader stared at him, his eyes filled with something.

"How are your preparations going on your end?"

He Yuzhu was stunned for a moment.

"What?"

The old leader didn't explain, he just squeezed his hand, held it for a moment, and then let go.

"You need to know what's going to happen next," he said, his voice even lower than before.

He Yuzhu stood there, looking at that face, not knowing what to say.

The old leader has closed his eyes.

He's still breathing. The liquid in the bottle is still dripping.

He stood by the bed for a long time. So long that the nurse peeked in through the door, then went back out.

Then he turned around and went out.

The corridor was empty. The figure was gone. The darkness was just darkness; there was nothing there.

Old Sun walked over and lowered his voice.

"What did you see?"

He Yuzhu shook his head.

"I didn't see it clearly."

He walked outside.

After walking a few steps, he looked back at the dark place again.

still none.

But he knew what he was doing.