Siheyuan: Hang Jia Dongxu, smash Banggeng to death!

Amsterdam, the Prime Minister's residence.

The compensation amounted to eight million taels.

The Netherlands is a trading nation; it has money, but it didn't come from thin air.

"Let those big companies and conglomerates foot the bill."

The prime minister's voice was hoarse: "This is a matter of national survival; we cannot be stingy with money."

Amsterdam, a diamond merchant is doing his accounts in his shop.

He looked at the sparkling diamonds, his heart bleeding.

Two million taels of silver was equivalent to most of his life savings.

"Sir, the government requires you to pay the full amount within one month, otherwise..."

The assistant kept his head down.

"Otherwise what?"

"Otherwise, we will shut down the shop and confiscate all the diamonds."

The diamond merchant remained silent for a long time, his voice hoarse: "Sell it, sell half of it, keep the rest to save our lives."

10. The Prime Minister's residence.

The compensation amount is five million taels.

Belgium is small, but it's rich.

Brussels is one of Europe's financial centers, and its bankers and capitalists have plenty of money.

"Let those bankers pay for it."

The Prime Minister's voice was cold: "Don't they have plenty of money? Take out ten million and buy peace."

In the heart of Brussels, at the headquarters of a private bank, bankers are signing checks.

My hand was trembling, but the pen tip didn't stop.

"Sir, are you really going to hand over this money?"

The assistant asked in a low voice.

The banker looked up at him: "Not pay? If we don't pay, we'll lose everything. Every American, every British, every penny-pincher, doesn't they all obediently pay up?"

Who are we? We, Billy X, don't even have a decent army. How can we fight them?

The Luxembourg Prime Minister's Office awarded 500,000 taels in compensation.

Not many, but Luxembourg is a small country, and 500,000 is an astronomical figure for them.

"Let those big conglomerates foot the bill."

The prime minister's voice was hoarse: "This is the fate of the nation."

In downtown Luxembourg City, a steel tycoon is doing his accounts in his office.

Five hundred thousand taels of silver wasn't a lot for him, but it still pained him.

"Sir, this is an order from the government. If you don't comply, the consequences will be..."

The assistant didn't finish speaking, but the meaning was already quite clear.

The steel tycoon remained silent for a long time, his voice hoarse: "Pay up, consider it money to buy my life."

The once arrogant capitalists are now like lambs to the slaughter, obediently handing over their money.

They hate the government, hate the Chinese people, hate the generals who fight, and hate the diplomats who negotiate.

But they hate themselves even more: why were they born in such a country?

Why face such an army?

The soldiers' guns weren't pointed at the enemy, but at them.

The guns of those warships were not pointed at the sea, but at their homeland.

The bombs from those planes didn't fall on the battlefield, they fell right above their heads.

The telegram flew back to China, and in Lin Tian's command post, Brigade Commander Chen was reading the replies from various countries.

"Sir, approximately 350 million taels of silver are on their way."

"it is good."

Lin Tian nodded and looked out the window. "Tell them we're waiting. Hurry up, if the money isn't there, we'll go get it ourselves."

The once arrogant powers finally bowed their heads.

The once arrogant capitalists have finally learned to spend money.

In the end, the fist calls the shots in this world.

And China's fist is harder than anyone else's.

The telegraph operator hadn't slept all night; his fingers were numb, but he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up.

A week later.

All the compensation has been paid!

The news spread like wildfire throughout China.

In the teahouse, the storyteller slammed his gavel, spitting as he spoke: "Ladies and gentlemen, today I have to tell you about some truly joyous news."

Those foreign devils, what they robbed and burned of us back then, are now returning with interest, all of it.

The tea drinkers cheered, some banging on the table, others whistling.

An elderly man with a white beard stood up and shakily raised his teacup: "This cup is a toast to the fallen heroes, to Commander Lin, and to our Chinese Independent Brigade."

The tea drinkers rose to their feet, their teacups clinking together.

"Well said."

"This toast is to our Chinese nation!"

The tavern was even more lively.

The waiter, carrying a wine jug, weaved between the tables and chairs, wishing he had two more hands.

In a corner, several veterans sat together, with only a dish of peanuts on the table, yet they were drinking until their faces were flushed.

"Old Zhang, when you were making a living back then, did you ever imagine things would turn out this way?"

An old soldier who was missing half an arm wiped his mouth.

The veteran who was asked shook his head: "I don't even dare to think about it. Back then, I was lying in the trench, watching the Japanese planes fly in the sky."

I wondered, when will we be able to hold our heads high again?

Now, not only have we raised our heads high, but those foreign devils have also bowed their heads. It was worth it.

He picked up the bowl and drank it all in one gulp.

In Shanghai, firecrackers went off from morning till night, and a thick layer of red confetti covered the streets.

The students marched with banners that read "Long live the Chinese Independent Brigade" and "Long live Commander Lin".

Several women in cheongsams stood by the roadside, their eyes reddening as they looked at the young faces.

"Mom, why are you crying?"

A little girl with pigtails looked up and asked.

The wife knelt down and wiped her daughter's face: "Mom didn't cry, Mom is happy. When you grow up, you won't have to watch foreigners bully our people like Mom did when she was little."

The little girl nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.

On the streets of Guangzhou, lion dance troupes beat drums and gongs, and the lions leaped and bounded, winning rounds of applause.

An elderly overseas Chinese man stood in the crowd, holding onto the railing, tears streaming down his face.

When someone next to him asked what was wrong, his voice choked with emotion: "I have been wandering in Southeast Asia for forty years, and I have been called 'the sick man of East Asia' for forty years."

Today, I can finally proudly tell those foreigners that I am Chinese.

At the Hanyang Ironworks, the workers stopped what they were doing.

The foreman stood on the high platform and announced loudly, "The compensation has been paid in full. Those foreign devils have returned all their money, including interest."

The workers cheered, some took off their hats and threw them into the air, some patted each other on the shoulder, and some squatted on the ground wiping away tears.

An old worker touched the machine beside him and said, "This ironworks was built by foreigners back then. They made money off us and looked down on us."

Now that we have our own money, we can build better factories and manufacture better machines.

The mountain town's nights are illuminated by lanterns and fireworks.

People set up a stage in the street and started performing Sichuan opera.

An old farmer, holding his grandson's hand, stood on the outskirts of the crowd and pointed at the painted-face man on the stage: "Son, look closely, this is called face-changing."

Back when the foreign devils came, our opera troupes didn't dare to perform, fearing their shows would be disrupted. Now, we can perform whenever we want; who dares to stop us?

The grandson looked up and asked, "Grandpa, why don't the foreign devils dare to stop us now?"

The old farmer patted his head: "Because we have become strong, when you grow up, you should also be like Commander Lin and make our China even stronger."

……