Upon hearing Minglang's question, Mingzhao's brow twitched.
She sat down on the bench and placed the communicator she was holding on the table.
"I can't remember," she replied.
Minglang suddenly realized: "Oh."
Then I wanted to slap myself.
Knowing full well that Mingzhao is not a good person, how could you ask such a stupid question?
Howard suddenly spoke, breaking the tense atmosphere between the two.
"Your communicator uses dictated numbers and commands. In complex environments or near enemy lines, the sound reveals location and information, posing a high risk of leaks. Are there any other solutions?"
The blood and fire of the battlefield taught him that any detail that might reveal one's own intentions and location could be fatal.
Minglang also realized what was happening, his expression hardening: "That's right! Zhaozhao, if we're near the enemy, and they find out our numbers, or they mimic our calls and try to decipher them, wouldn't things get chaotic?"
Seeing the serious and tense expressions on their faces, Mingzhao tilted her head slightly, seemingly analyzing the problem quickly. Her clear gaze swept over the simple knobs and buttons of the communicator, as if searching through her mental database.
"Based on the current level of technology and material limitations..." She paused for less than a second before giving her conclusion.
Solution: Incorporate a key encoding system. Convert voice commands into preset digital encoded pulse sequences for transmission. The receiving end decodes the commands using a preset codebook.
She pointed to the simple knobs on the communicator: "This area can be converted into a numeric keypad area, and the coding logic can be redesigned."
Howard and Minglang exchanged a glance, both seeing immense surprise and even deeper shock in each other's eyes!
Keypad coding, digital pulses, and a password book—this approach…
It's practically tailor-made for battlefield communications!
Although it may sound like it needs further improvement, it's heading in the right direction.
If it were to actually be made, it would definitely be a groundbreaking product.
"Great, that's wonderful!"
Minglang excitedly slapped his thigh.
"Zhao Zhao! You are really... amazing!" His eyes were filled with pride as he looked at Ming Zhao.
Howard's tightly pursed lips loosened almost imperceptibly.
He looked at Mingzhao, and in the depths of his gaze beneath the brim of his hat, within the surging complex emotions, it seemed as if something hard had been pried open with a tiny crack.
His hand, gripping the No. 01 communicator, tightened unconsciously.
“It takes time to improve,” Mingzhao stated calmly.
"The current prototype has low security in voice communication mode. It is recommended to use it only in secure environments or emergency situations."
Howard nodded, carefully tucking the heavy aluminum lunchbox into the inner pocket of his uniform, pressing it tightly against his chest.
Beneath its cold, metallic exterior lies a fiery power that seems to change the future.
The crisp sound of spatulas clattering against each other echoed from the kitchen, and the aroma of oil mixed with the salty and savory scent of sauces filled the air, instantly filling the slightly stagnant atmosphere in the living room.
Minglang leaned against the kitchen doorway, his eyes wide open, as if he were seeing Howard for the first time.
This is the cold-faced drill sergeant who can make his soldiers cry and scream on the training field.
At this moment, she was wearing a slightly worn blue apron, holding the black iron pot handle firmly with one hand and a spatula in the other, skillfully stirring the meat chunks in the pot.
The sugar was caramelized to perfection, evenly coating each piece of pork belly, sizzling and releasing a rich, savory aroma.
"At home...do you do all the cooking?"
The clear voice carried a hint of disbelief and etherealness.
This was far from what he had imagined married life to be like.
He thought his poor sister had to cook, do housework, and take care of Howard all by herself, but now that's how it is, hey, it's not so bad!
Howard flicked his wrist, and the braised pork in the pot flipped over beautifully, glistening and tempting.
He hummed in agreement.
His eyes were fixed intently on the heat in the pot, his expression serious as if he were dealing with something of utmost importance.
Minglang looked at his practiced movements, then at Mingzhao, who was sitting quietly in the living room, completely unresponsive to the symphony of sounds coming from the kitchen.
The slight resentment in Minglang's heart about his own precious cabbage being taken away was mostly diluted by the overwhelming aroma of cooking and meat.
Okay, at least my sister won't go hungry.
The meal was served: a simple three dishes and a soup, but the portions were generous.
The most eye-catching thing is the bowl of glistening, red, and trembling braised pork in the middle, and the pile of sweet and sour spare ribs on the side.
Mingzhao's gaze was immediately locked onto the two main dishes.
She picked up her chopsticks, her goal clear: she picked up a piece of braised pork belly, coated in sauce and with alternating layers of fat and lean meat, carefully blew on it, and then put it in her mouth.
His cheeks puffed out slightly as he chewed intently, and his eyes, which always seemed too calm and clear, narrowed slightly, revealing a pure sense of satisfaction.
She was completely unaware that a little sauce had accidentally gotten on the corner of her lips.
Howard's gaze kept lingering on her, seemingly casually.
Seeing that unsightly sauce, without thinking, he naturally reached out and gently rubbed his warm, calloused fingertips against the corner of her lips.
The movements were as fast as brushing away a speck of dust, yet as practiced as if they had done it a thousand times.
This overly intimate and natural gesture caused Minglang's hand, which was about to reach for the ribs with his chopsticks, to freeze in mid-air.
He glanced at Mingzhao, who showed no reaction and whose attention was entirely focused on the next piece of rib.
Then look at Howard, who withdrew his hand, looking completely calm as if nothing had happened.
The last bit of bitterness in my heart from the thought of my sister being taken away vanished completely with a "poof".
He resignedly picked up a piece of pork rib and took a big bite: "Tsk, it tastes pretty good."
This brother-in-law... I guess I can barely accept him.
At least, he's a reliable person, and his cooking is delicious.
Minglang left after finishing his meal.
The main issue was that it was getting dark, and even if one had no eyesight, it was impossible to stay overnight at someone else's house.
My sister has her own blessings.
His older brother, who suddenly appeared, couldn't care less about anything else.
Mingzhao didn't seem to want him to interfere.
If he hadn't been injured back then...
The night was deep, and the residential compound fell silent, save for the occasional distant bark of a dog.
Howard pushed open the bathroom door and walked out, carrying with him lingering moisture and a faint scent of soap.
He casually draped a military green cotton shirt over his body, the top two buttons undone, revealing a small patch of his firm, tanned chest, which had been steamed by hot water, and his collarbone was clearly visible.
Her hair was damp, and water droplets rolled down the line of her neck and into her slightly open collar.
He walked very quietly to the desk.
Mingzhao was lying on the desk, one hand pressing down on the open notebook, the other holding a pencil, the tip moving quickly across the rough paper, making a soft rustling sound.
A few strands of hair slipped from behind her ears and fell beside her cheeks. Her focused profile looked particularly soft in the dim light of the desk lamp, and her long eyelashes cast small shadows under her eyes.
"Zhaozhao, look at me..."
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