You were tasked with guarding the Sihang Warehouse, and you brought out a Tiger tank?

"First Battalion, Third Company, spread out and establish a defensive line."

"Dashan, bring the guard company and come with me."

Lin Feng, carrying an STG44, trudged along the rubble-strewn street.

Baoshan Road was once the most prosperous area in the Chinese-controlled part of Shanghai, lined with shops and factories.

Now, most of the city has been reduced to ruins after three months of bombardment.

"stop!"

Lin Feng suddenly raised his fist.

Before me stood a magnificent yet dilapidated building.

One of the massive Roman columns was broken, and the exterior walls were riddled with bullet holes and soot marks, but the powerful characters on the lintel were still faintly discernible—The Commercial Press.

This is the leading publishing house in Daxia, and the backbone of culture.

In 1933, during the January 28 Incident (Shanghai Incident), this place was bombed by the Japanese, and the famous Oriental Library's hundreds of thousands of volumes were reduced to ashes—a catastrophe for civilization.

Unexpectedly, after reconstruction, war broke out again.

"Watch out, someone's there!"

Zhao Dashan, with his sharp eyes, suddenly pulled Lin Feng over and shoved him behind a stone lion by the roadside, then waved his hand.

"superior!"

Several guards, armed with PPSh submachine guns, crouched low and charged through the vanished gate like cheetahs.

"Don't move!"

"Hands up!"

Several gasps came from inside, but no gunshots were heard.

After a while, Zhao Dashan poked his head out and waved to Lin Feng: "Brigade Commander, it's safe. It's civilians."

Lin Feng dusted himself off and strode inside.

The museum was in a mess, with scattered book pages and broken glass everywhere.

In the corner, there were more than twenty people with terrified expressions.

There were intellectuals wearing long gowns and glasses, old technicians with ink-stained hands and wearing work clothes, and a few shivering women and children.

"Why haven't you left yet?" Lin Feng asked, frowning. "The Japanese are about to attack; this place is a death trap!"

An elderly technician with gray hair stepped forward shakily, clutching a piece of lead type tightly in his hands:

"Sir...we...we can't bear to part with him."

He pointed to the heavy printing presses behind him, tears streaming down his face: "These machines were imported from Hans, they're brand new, they haven't even printed many books yet. If we leave, and these treasures are ruined by the Japanese devils, that would be a terrible tragedy."

"And what about you?" Lin Feng asked, looking at the women and children.

A woman holding a child burst into tears: "We wanted to run too, but to get to the foreign concession, we had to cross a bridge. The police officers guarding the bridge colluded with thugs, and the toll was five silver dollars per person! Five dollars! Where would we get that much money? We could only... we could only turn back and wait to die."

"Five silver dollars?"

Enraged, Zhao Dashan slammed his fist against the wall: "These bastards who profited from the national crisis deserve to be torn to pieces!"

Lin Feng felt as if something had squeezed his heart tightly.

On one side, soldiers were fighting valiantly at the front, while on the other side, greed was rampant and the people were driven to desperation.

This is the messed-up world.

A deep sense of sorrow and guilt welled up in my heart.

At this moment, he was no longer just a corporate slave before he transmigrated, but also a soldier of the Great Xia Dynasty who was protecting his country in this era.

Lin Feng slowly stood at attention and solemnly saluted the unarmed civilians:

"Fellow villagers, we are sorry. We were incompetent; we could not defend Shanghai or Zhabei. This is a disgrace to all soldiers of the Great Xia!"

The hall was deathly silent.

Just then, a middle-aged man wearing a Zhongshan suit and thick glasses stood up. He looked frail, but his spine was ramrod straight.

"No, sir."

He pushed up his glasses and stared intently at Lin Feng:

"Failure to defend Shanghai is not only a disgrace to the soldiers, but also a disgrace to all of us in Great Xia!"

"The rise and fall of a nation is the responsibility of every citizen. Since we are outmatched and have lost, we must accept it! But..."

The middle-aged man's voice rose a few decibels, echoing in the empty hall:

"Failure is only temporary. In the five thousand years of the Great Xia Dynasty, what hurdle haven't we overcome? As long as our people are still here and our spirit remains, the Great Xia Dynasty will not perish. We must learn from our shame and strive to be stronger!"

Lin Feng looked at the middle-aged man and was deeply moved.

This is the true soul of the Great Xia Dynasty.

"Well said."

Lin Feng cheered loudly: "That's right, Great Xia will not perish. The Japanese devils want to swallow us up, but they'll have to see if they have the teeth to do so."

He turned to look at Zhao Dashan:

"Dashan, arrange a squad to escort these villagers to the Sihang Warehouse."

"Tell Commander Xie that these people must be properly settled. Tonight, I'll try to negotiate with the foreigners, or even use tanks to clear a path, to get them into the concession for refuge."

"Yes."

After the people left, full of gratitude, Lin Feng suddenly became happy again.

His gaze changed as he looked at the books scattered on the floor and the heavy printing presses.

That was the look in his eyes when "hamster syndrome" was acting up.

"Books are the ladder of human progress, and machines are the spark of industrial civilization."

Lin Feng muttered to himself, his palm resting on a huge rotary printing press:

"Leave it to the Japanese? That would be aiding the enemy. Since we can't take it with us, you'll all come with me."

"System, accept!"

A thought arose.

The enormous printing press vanished in an instant.

Next came the rows of bookshelves, the boxes of lead type, and even the tattered plaque of "Commercial Press," Lin Feng didn't miss a thing.

In just ten minutes, this once-great cultural landmark of the Xia Dynasty became completely empty; even a mouse that went in would have to come out with tears in its eyes.

"Okay, next stop!"

Lin Feng walked out of the gate and glanced at the rows of chimneys standing in the distance.

Zhabei was an industrial area in Shanghai, home to the printing press, Daxia Ironworks, Huasheng Electric Appliance Factory, Tianyuan Chemical Plant, and more...

"These are all good things; we can't just focus on those inanimate objects in the Sihang Warehouse."

Lin Feng licked his lips, revealing the greedy smile characteristic of the Industrial Party:

"You devils, you're too late. Every single screw here now belongs to the Lin family!"

Half an hour later, in the northwest corner of Zhabei.

Inside a chemical plant called "Tianli".

"Company commander, take your men and block up the wall. Set up the machine gun on the high ground. If the Japanese dare to show their heads, give them a good beating."

While directing his troops to build defensive fortifications, Lin Feng led a few trusted confidants straight to the workshop.

This is a factory that produces acids, bases, and dyes.

The air was filled with a pungent chemical smell.

Inside the workshop, huge reactors, centrifuges, and pipes are intertwined in a complex manner.

Although the workers had long since fled, the equipment still stood silently, radiating the cold luster unique to industry.

"You...you're taking this thing too?"

The guards following behind looked at those massive iron canisters weighing several tons with utter bewilderment.

"Nonsense, these are all treasures."

Lin Feng patted a large jar labeled "Concentrated Sulfuric Acid," his eyes lighting up.

These days, being able to manufacture three acids and two bases is the threshold for becoming an industrial powerhouse.

With these equipment and raw materials, even if we were to manufacture the simplest bitter acid explosives or make some homemade aspirin in the rear, they would be strategic resources.

"System, collect it for me."

"Buzz—"

The enormous reactor vanished into thin air.

"Take this centrifuge."

"Take all of these raw material barrels, no matter what they are."

Lin Feng was like a mouse that had wandered into a rice jar; wherever he went, nothing grew.

"What's this? A lathe? Take it."

"Is this a generator? Take it."

"This is... the big iron pot from the canteen? Uh, let's keep it too, we can use it to stew meat for the brothers later."

Just as Lin Feng was engrossed in his search, wishing he could dismantle and take away even the steel beams of the factory building.

"Sizzle..."

The Motorola walkie-talkie carried by the communications soldier next to me suddenly rang.

"Cousin! Cousin! Calling my cousin!"