You are ordered to support the War of Resistance against Japan; China enters Level 1 combat readines

Wu Lao Er walked home, humming a folk tune.

Three pounds of freshly milled white rice, wrapped in coarse paper, weighed heavily in my hand.

In the past, you might not earn this much rice even if you worked as a laborer for a landlord for half a month, but now you can earn that much for just one day of work.

Life is getting better and better, and there's more and more hope for us.

When I passed by Caishikou, there were still some dark brown marks on the ground that hadn't been washed off.

A few old men squatted by the wall nearby, chatting and spitting as they spoke: "Three more were killed this morning. They were all former grain station managers who used to be lackeys for the Japanese. They deserved it!"

"That's right! These traitors used to run rampant, robbing people, beating them, and committing all sorts of atrocities. Now look what's happened, the Eighth Route Army has come, and they've all gotten shot!"

Wu Lao Er nodded in agreement, feeling pleased with himself.

He will never forget the winter before last, when the traitors came to his door demanding grain and stole the last half bag of dried sweet potatoes from his house. His eldest daughter was so hungry that she cried.

Back then, who could have imagined that one day the Japanese devils would be driven away, the traitors would be purged one by one, and that they would be able to earn a peaceful life through their own hard work?

All of this is thanks to the Eighth Route Army!

When he reached the gate of his own yard, he raised his hand and patted the gate, calling out as usual, "I'm back."

As soon as he finished speaking, three teenagers would rush over and circle around the grain bag in his hand, clamoring to smell the aroma of the new rice.

But today is strange; the yard is quiet, without a sound.

Wu Lao Er's heart skipped a beat, and he pushed the courtyard gate a little harder.

The gate creaked open, revealing an empty courtyard. Clothes still hung on the clothesline, but the children were nowhere to be seen playing.

He felt a pang of panic, took two quick steps, and lifted the curtain. The sight inside made his mind go blank, and the bag of rice in his hand fell to the ground with a thud.

His wife, with her hands tied behind her back and her mouth gagged, sat slumped on the ground, tears streaming down her face.

The three children huddled in the corner. The youngest, only five years old, was also tied up with rope and was so frightened that he didn't even dare to cry out loud.

Three unfamiliar men dressed in gray cloth shorts stood in the room, their waists bulging, clearly hiding weapons.

"Hero! Hero, spare my life!"

Wu Lao Er's legs went weak, and he knelt down with a "thump," his knees hitting the muddy ground hard.

He frantically pointed to the rice jar in the corner, his voice trembling uncontrollably: "There are still twenty jin of rice in the jar, and a jin and a half of cured meat hidden on the kang (heated brick bed). You can have it all! Please, don't hurt my wife and children!"

He had never seen anything like this in his life, and only one thought remained in his mind: to avoid disaster by spending money. As long as his family was safe, he was willing to do anything.

But the three men didn't even glance at the rice jar.

The leader was a young man in his early twenties, with regular features, speaking fluent Jiaodong dialect. He squatted down and patted Wu Lao Er on the shoulder:

"Don't be afraid, we don't need your food."

"From today onwards, I am your distant nephew, here to seek your help and find work. You've caught a cold and are resting at home these past two days, so I'll take your place at the grain depot construction site."

Wu Lao Er stood there, stunned.

nephew?

To work for him?

What kind of show is this?

Why would someone abandon rice and cured meat to go to a construction site and swing a sledgehammer?

He stood there with his mouth agape, unable to react for a long time. A burly man next to him suddenly turned grim, drew a short knife from his waist with a "whoosh," and placed it against the youngest child's neck.

The blade was cold against the child's delicate skin.

"Hmm?" The man's eyes hardened.

"No! Don't touch my child!"

Old Wu was so frightened that he immediately kowtowed, his forehead hitting the ground with a thud.

"Alright, alright! Whatever you say, sir! You're my nephew! You can be my ancestor, I beg you! Please, please don't hurt my child!"

With a knife to the child's neck, he had no room for negotiation whatsoever.

The young man in the lead raised his hand in satisfaction, and the man with the knife immediately sheathed it and stepped aside.

"If only you had listened to me earlier, everything would have been fine."

The young man smiled and softened his tone: "As long as you cooperate honestly, don't ask questions you shouldn't ask, and don't say things you shouldn't say, we will not only not harm your family, but we will also give you ten silver dollars and fifty catties of flour, enough for your family to live comfortably for half a year."

Wu Lao Er knelt on the ground, nodding blankly.

He didn't dare to think about anything like that—not even a little bit of foreign flour.

He just wanted to free his wife and children, and he wanted to go back to the old days when he carried a sledgehammer to work every day and came home to drink hot porridge in the evening.

……

The next day.

Dust billowed at the grain depot construction site in the early morning, the shouts of workers ramming the earth and the muffled thuds of sledgehammers hitting the foundation mingled together, creating a lively scene that crowded half the street.

Zhao Tou squatted on the earthen slope, clutching a rolled-up roster, calling roll. His coarse cloth jacket was faded from washing, and his trousers were rolled up to his knees, revealing his tanned calves.

He was the leader of the migrant workers in this area, and he was known for being stubborn and inflexible.

When the Japanese were around, he dared to point his finger at the traitors and curse them. After the Eighth Route Army entered the city, he was the first to take the lead in arresting traitors. He patted his chest and shouted, "A person should have a conscience." He was the most upright and incorruptible person in everyone's eyes.

"Zhao Tou, cough cough..."

Wu Lao Er walked over with a hunched back, coughing incessantly while covering his mouth, his face turning red. Behind him followed a short, muscular young man.

"This is my third nephew. Cough cough... I caught a cold last night and feel sluggish all over. I'd like him to cover for me at work for the next couple of days. What do you think...?"

Zhao Tou glanced at the two men, his brows furrowing first. He put down the roster, stood up, and patted Wu Lao Er's arm: "What's wrong, Lao Wu? Is it serious? Should we call the medic?"

"It's nothing, it's nothing, I just caught a chill, I'll be fine after a couple of days of rest."

Wu Lao Er quickly waved his hand, coughing even more violently.

Zhao nodded, then turned to look at Wu Laosan beside him, sizing him up: "Where are you from? Have you ever done bricklaying before?"

"Reporting to Zhao Tou, I'm from the countryside of Laiyang. I've been helping my dad build houses since I was a kid; I'm good at bricklaying and wielding a hammer!"

Wu Laosan spoke with a genuine Laiyang accent, his tone honest and simple. He could clearly pronounce the village name and the number of people in his family, without revealing any flaws.

But Zhao Tou still didn't budge, stroking his chin in contemplation:

"According to the construction site rules, you can't just substitute workers for others..."

A knowing glint flashed in Wu Laosan's eyes. He stepped forward half a step and, using his wide coat as cover, discreetly slipped half a pound of cured meat wrapped in oil paper into Zhao's hand.

When his fingertips touched the hard chunk of meat, Zhao Tou paused abruptly, glanced down at the oil droplets seeping from the oiled paper, and his Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.

These days, even white rice is precious, let alone cured meat.

He has three teenagers and two elderly people in his family, and they haven't eaten meat for more than half a year.

"Zhao Tou, you see my uncle's health really can't hold up anymore, I'm just here to lend a hand, I don't want a penny of wages, it's all on my uncle's dime."

Wu Laosan smiled ingratiatingly and said in a low voice, "Please be lenient with me. I'll leave once my uncle is better."

Zhao Tou clutched the package of cured meat, remained silent for two seconds, then sighed, quickly stuffed the oil paper package into his pocket, and a slight smile appeared on his face:

"Alright, we're all from the same village, everyone has their difficulties. You start by carrying bricks and mixing mud, be careful, and don't try to slack off..."