Chapter 187: Compensation from the Temporal Management Bureau

Zhao Jianguo, holding the twins, took two steps forward; his foot just stepped onto the Courtyard's bluestone slabs when the Special Forces Captain happened to arrive at the stone table. He said nothing, just placed the briefcase from his hand onto the table, producing a light "thud".

The twins were still wriggling in his arms, one reaching for a wind chime, the other burying its face on his shoulder and laughing out loud. Zhao Jianguo didn't set them down; instead he held them even tighter.

"This time, is it still for an audit?" he asked, his voice neither high nor low.

The Special Forces Captain glanced at the two children, then at Zhao Jianguo: "Not an audit. It's compensation."

He opened the briefcase, took out a document whose cover bore bold black characters: "Historical Revision Compensation Plan". He pushed the document to the center of the stone table and tapped it lightly with his fingertip.

Zhao Jianguo lowered his head for a quick glance, without reaching for it. When a draft lifted a page, he bent over with one hand to turn it. After reading, the corner of his mouth twitched: "Only allow me to keep the college‑entrance‑exam memories? Everything else cleared?"

"This is the highest Permission we can grant at present," the Special Forces Captain said, "Retaining too much information can trigger chain reactions. We don't want another temporal wrinkle."

"What about the labor‑reform farm?" Zhao Jianguo closed the document and gave it two pats, "You've found Xu Da Mao's diary, right? Who had him focus on my weakness? Are these also 'irrelevant memories'?"

The other party gave no reply.

Zhao Jianguo nudged the document toward the edge: "If I forget these, can I still defend against them when they come back to subvert others?"

"You can obtain the necessary intel gradually through system Authorization," the Special Forces Captain said evenly, "You don't need to grasp everything at once."

"Authorization?" Zhao Jianguo laughed, "If I wait to apply, wait for your approval, wait for the process to finish, the daylilies will have gone cold."

After speaking, he fished a badge from his close‑fitting clothing pocket. It was copper‑colored, edges slightly worn, a line of small characters on the front, a serial number on the back. He placed it on the table, gave it a gentle spin so the other could see clearly.

"It's the exemption Permission Chen Jianguo obtained," he said, "Level‑12 Permission, unrestricted in content or duration. Your files should have a record."

The Special Forces Captain's brows twitched; he reached out and pressed the device on his wrist. A blue light flashed briefly, then faded. He glanced down at the Screen, murmured something low, as if communicating.

Zhao Jianguo didn't press, just looked up at the Courtyard. Dong Xu was still fiddling with the automatic problem‑solving machine, Electric Wire coiled around his arm like a snake. San Daye was standing on tiptoe hanging a new wind chime, humming a storytelling tune. The children formed a circle, clapping and cheering.

"If you want to wipe my memories," Zhao Jianguo suddenly raised his voice, "you have to ask these people whether they agree. They can read, do arithmetic, speak at the assembly now—who taught them? I only brought it out bit by bit."

He paused, his gaze landing on the two small figures that ran out of the house.

Each twin clutched a tin box, welded with a few antennas and bearing a hand‑drawn button label. Chen Xiao Jian chased after them, pretending to be frozen, making the two children giggle nonstop.

"Dad! Look!" one raised the tin box, "We can make Uncle stop for three seconds!"

"Nonsense." Zhao Jianguo walked over, squatted, "Who gave you this thing?"

"Uncle Chen made it!" the other shouted, "They say it's a Spacetime Stabilizer; press it and you can pause the world!"

Zhao Jianguo took the box, flipped it over, and saw the casing was assembled from old motor parts, the interior wrapped in a layer of silver foil, the connector attached to a tiny battery. He recognized it—it was material derived from the Metal Sheet left by Jia Wu.

He stood, handed the box to the Special Forces Captain: "You call this a 'folk toy'? It carries a spacetime anchoring frequency. If kids play with it, it can truly freeze time."

The Special Forces Captain took the box, his complexion changed. He pressed his wrist device again; this time a red box popped up on the Screen, reading "Unregistered Energy Source Detected".

"They… can already trigger a real effect?" he asked.

"Was that pause just now real?" Zhao Jianguo looked at him, "Did you feel it? The air grew heavy, ears buzzed, like an old TV changing channels."

The Special Forces Captain was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.

"It's only just begun," Zhao Jianguo said, "They don't know the weight or the consequences. But I have to teach them the rules, just like teaching them to look at traffic when crossing the road."

He turned toward the storage cabinet under the eaves, unlocked it, and took out an object wrapped in thick cloth. Unwrapping it revealed another identical tin box, this one equipped with a latch and a warning sticker.

"This is a training device I made," he said, "It can only be used in a closed space; each activation logs a record. If they want to practice later, it must be under my watchful eye."

The Special Forces Captain stared at the device, silent for a long while.

Finally he put the instrument away, re‑packed the "Compensation Plan" into his briefcase: "The plan will be reassessed."

"I don't need your assessment," Zhao Jianguo stood unmoving, "What I want is confirmation—my memories fully retained. That's a right, not a charity."

"Then you must sign the commitment document," the other said, "'Non‑Active Intervention Commitment.' Guarantees you won't arbitrarily alter major historical nodes again."

Zhao Jianguo shook his head: "I won't sign."

"Why?"

"Because I don't need your approval on how I live," he said, "I can agree with you—so long the overall direction is correct, I won't act recklessly. But this isn't a contract, nor a clause. It's my choice."

The two stared at each other for a moment. Outside the Courtyard, a bicycle bell rang; someone rode past the gate, a shadow flashing by.

The Special Forces Captain finally relaxed his shoulders: "Alright. I'll report it upward."

He lifted the briefcase, turned toward the gate, and halfway there, stopped again.

"Another copy of the Compensation Plan will be sent over," he said, "perhaps… the terms will be looser."

Zhao Jianguo gave no response, just stood where he was, watching him leave.

After the door closed, he slowly squatted, patting the twins' heads: "That toy can't be used casually anymore, understand?"

"But Uncle Chen said it's fun…" one child pouted.

"Fun doesn't mean you can misuse it," Zhao Jianguo said, "You're weak now; a three‑second pause is harmless. When you grow stronger, you might freeze the whole Courtyard's time. Then meals won't cook, lights won't turn on, and everyone will go hungry."

The children blinked, half‑understanding.

"Then can we still play?"

"Yes," he stood, "but you must wait for me to teach you the rules. Like learning arithmetic, first memorize the mnemonic, then solve problems."

He walked to the stone table, picked up the badge, brushed off the dust, and slipped it back into his pocket.

At that moment Dong Xu came over, holding the problem‑solver's manual: "Just fixed it; now it can solve ten problems with at most two mistakes."

"Very good," Zhao Jianguo said, "Tomorrow's open class, let it compute a set of equations on the spot."

"What if the students don't know how?"

"Then teach them," he said, "One pass fails, try twice; twice fails, try ten times. Someone will always be willing to learn."

Dong Xu grinned: "You really aren't afraid of trouble."

"People who fear trouble can't do this," Zhao Jianguo looked toward the Courtyard gate, "Some people want me to forget the past so they can sneak in again next time. But as long as anyone still remembers, they won't get away with it."

He lowered his gaze to his watch; the hand had just passed three o'clock.

In the Courtyard the sunlight was perfect, the wind chimes tinkling. The twins tugged Chen Xiao Jian, wanting to play "Pause Game" again, but Zhao Jianguo called out to stop them.

"First go wash your hands," he said, "then recite the multiplication table; only after you finish can you play."

The children sighed and ran toward the house, shouting as they went, "Dad's the toughest!"

Chen Xiao Jian laughed, shaking his head: "What you're doing isn't being a father at all; it's more like being an instructor."

Zhao Jianguo said nothing, only watching the two small figures rush into the Main Hall. The door curtain fluttered a few times, then gradually settled.

He lifted his hand to the spot on his chest, where a badge lay close to his skin, and where a stretch of days that no one could erase was also hidden.

At the distant Street Entrance, a black jeep rolled by slowly; the car window opened a crack, then quickly closed again.

Zhao Jianguo's gaze lingered there, unmoving.