Wang Ning called Xiao Zhu to buy a dozen bottles of Jiangxiaobai.

Bai Zhen was furious: “Is this how you test a cadre?”

He was deeply hurt—here he was sacrificing his health for the future of all humanity, with the fate of the entire world resting on his shoulders, and they tried to appease him with this industrial alcohol? He wasn’t even worth two bottles of Feitian Maotai?

Old Wang pulled out 75% medical alcohol from his bag and placed it on the tea table. “Take your pick.”

Bai Zhen said, “Then I’ll choose the industrial alcohol.”

He hugged the Jiangxiaobai to his chest, then chased Old Wang out, all the way beyond Plum Blossom Estate.

“Do I need to go this far?” Wang Ning was pushed out of the estate’s main gate, somewhat puzzled. “Old Bai, what exactly are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to send the key over.” Bai Zhen turned to go back, casually pulling a glass bottle of Jiangxiaobai from his coat pocket and taking a swig.

“What about me?” Wang Ning shouted at his retreating.

“Go do whatever you want!” Bai Zhen hiccupped, raising his arm in a wave. “Don’t come back before eight tonight, and tell Old Zhao and my son the same. From now until eight tonight, have someone guard the entrances to Plum Blossom Estate—no one comes in or out!”

Wang Ning watched his silhouette disappear behind the landscaping, scratching his head. What scheme was this guy cooking up?

Bai Zhen returned home and plopped onto the sofa, crossing his legs as he faced the empty, messy living room, sitting there motionless. The room hadn’t been this quiet in a long time. Since the Nanjing Command Center was established, Old Bai’s house had practically become a public space. Forget about Zhao Bowen and Wang Ning’s permanent residence—project team leaders, administrative staff, and military personnel frequently visited. The living room had accumulated more and more documents and materials, the dining table held an increasing number of telephones, and colorful cables coiled across the floor in circles, requiring careful steps to avoid tripping.

Now that the living room was suddenly empty, Bai Zhen felt strangely unfamiliar.

Was this his home, or the Nanjing Command Center?

Usually, when the day’s work ended and the command center staff went home, Bai Zhen would instinctively get up too, as if he came here to work and had another home waiting for him somewhere else in Nanjing.

Old Bai sat there silently, taking another sip of baijiu.

What a rare moment.

It seemed only the end of the world could give him a chance to drink.

But what did the end of the world matter?

As the saying goes, nothing is impossible for those who try. We concentrate our efforts on important matters—the Nanjing Command Center concentrates its efforts on important matters. Human potential is limitless; human initiative alone can determine the course of history. The people! The people are the only factor that determines the course of history! What is the Big Eye?

A reactionary! How dare it attempt to obstruct the steps of the masses!

—The alcohol was kicking in.

Bai Zhen figured it was about time. He got up, pulled open the TV cabinet drawer, took out his toolbox, and went into Bai Yang’s bedroom.

The legendary Icom 725 amateur shortwave radio sat on the bookshelf, nestled among tangled cables. Over the past few months, they had designed plenty of peripherals for this old relic to meet various data transmission requirements. Old Bai unplugged them all and carefully lifted out the radio.

The First Law of Time Slow Delivery stipulated that from the sender’s perspective, the order of sending and receiving cannot be reversed. In other words, having the girl receive the key before Bai Zhen sent it was impossible. No one could guarantee 100% successful delivery of the key—in 2019 Nanjing had no way to establish the fact that “the other party received the key.”

But there was another fact they could use.

That was “the other party received the Icom 725 amateur shortwave radio.”

This was a fact, firmly nailed to the timeline. The Icom 725 was the communication tool connecting present and future, the foundational condition for the Three Laws of Time Slow Delivery, and the only thing guaranteed to reach that girl’s hands. If you wanted to design a test based on the answer, this was the only place you could work with.

The Three Laws of Time Slow Delivery weren’t just behavioral guidelines and frameworks—they were also methods and means.

Learn to use time.

Bai Zhen took out a screwdriver from the toolbox.

His mind was clear and lucid—a symptom of having drunk too much. Alcohol was a lubricant for the nerves; the fully lubricated gears in his brain spun madly, almost sparking. A drunk Bai Zhen could easily take apart an old TV; an antique shortwave radio was child’s play.

He wasn’t worried about breaking it. This thing had been taken apart twice before—the fact that the radio was still working normally 20 years later proved his current actions wouldn’t cause any damage.

Never before had there been a moment like this. Old Bai could feel time’s presence. He knew where it came from and where it was going. He knew what he was doing—he was acting out a predestined story.

Everything seen and thought, everything done and achieved, was history.

At eight that evening, the group gathered at Plum Blossom Estate’s main gate and finally received clearance to enter. Old Zhao, Old Wang, and the others climbed to the eighth floor, opened the door, and rushed in to find Bai Zhen sprawled on the sofa, violently vomiting, the tea table covered in empty glass bottles.

“Holy shit!” Zhao Bowen was startled. “Drinking like this—are you trying to die?”

Bai Zhen was rushed to the hospital that night, and diagnosed with alcohol poisoning.

At the hospital, they induced vomiting, pumped his stomach, and put him on an IV drip. A large group kept watch the whole time. The doctor took them all for drinking buddies, saying every New Year’s holiday they got alcohol poisoning cases—drinking like this would cause liver damage if it didn’t kill you outright.

Old Bai’s mind cleared slightly as he saw a large circle of people around his hospital bed.

“Did it work?” Wang Ning sat by the head of the bed and asked, “Did you manage it?”

“What?” Bai Zhen lay half-reclined on the hospital bed with an IV drip, confused. “What worked?”

Wang Ning turned to nod at Zhao Bowen: “It worked.”

Old Zhao came over and patted Bai Zhen’s shoulder. “Leave the rest to us—you rest well.”

The latter instinctively grabbed his wrist, blurting out: “Must hurry.”

After saying it, his own eyes grew vacant, not knowing where those words came from. Zhao Bowen gave him a deep look, nodded, and left with the others. The ward emptied, leaving only his mother wringing out a towel.

“You drank too hard and too fast, almost severe alcohol poisoning.” Mom tossed the towel onto the bedside table with a sigh. “I’m gone for one day and you pull something like this.”

“Circumstances forced my hand, had no choice.” Bai Zhen smiled nervously.

“Come clean now—leniency for those who confess, severity for those who resist.” Mom pulled up a chair and sat down, naturally imposing.

“Can’t confess—blacked out. My head hurts terribly when I try to remember.” Old Bai pressed his forehead, wincing and sucking in cold air. “You know I have this problem—I always black out when I drink, and the more I drink, the worse the blackout.”

“Was it something important?”

“Very important,” Bai Zhen said. “Extremely important.”

He wasn’t lying—Bai Zhen really couldn’t remember what he’d done that afternoon.

He still vaguely recalled that idea and plan, hiding the key somewhere, but he couldn’t remember the specific details or even if he’d done it. Blacking out was a strange experience like that—during the memory loss period, it was as if someone else was acting. That afternoon Bai Zhen had desperately drunk himself into alcohol poisoning to ensure the double-blind condition.

Old Bai’s head throbbed painfully as he silently cursed himself from two hours ago for being such an idiot.

Bai Zhen didn’t remember what he’d told Ban Xia.

He guessed he’d only briefly reported a location, but in reality, he’d rambled incoherently to the girl for an hour.

“Ah, back then they were still enforcing the family planning policy, you know. As government employees, we had to set an example. Otherwise, I would’ve wanted a daughter too, hehe.”

“One child is good, one child is good.”

“I’m an old driver, you know, driving around the city every day. If you come here, I’ll take you around every day, every day. No lie—the whole of Nanjing, from Pukou to Gulou to Jianye to Jiangning, I know every alley. Tell me where to go and I’ll get there, no navigation needed.”

“Walk wherever you want! Go ahead and walk wherever—we’ve got your back!”

“In all of Nanjing, the provincial party secretary is number one, the city party secretary is number two, and I’m number three.”

“Eh? The key? Yes, yes, yes, yes, the key! If you hadn’t mentioned it, I almost forgot. The key has been sent over. I’ll tell you now where you can find the key…”

Ban Xia blankly removed her headphones.

In the darkness, she took a deep breath, then bit her lip, using both hands to hold the sides of the radio, lifting it slightly off the table and gently shaking it.

A faint, almost imperceptible “ding-ding-dang-dang.”

Ban Xia moved closer and shook it again.

Ding-ding-dang-dang.

She was very familiar with this sound. It had been there since she first got the radio. She’d thought it was loose parts from aging, which was why she’d been careful not to move the radio around much.

The girl shook it again.

Ding-ding-dang-dang.

Ding-ding-dang-dang.

Such a clear sound.

Ban Xia raised her hand to wipe away the tears on her face. She slowly lowered her head, gently resting her forehead against the radio, closing her eyes.

So you were here all along.

So long.

So hard.

So good.