On the eve of the fall of Liaodong, he led his troops in a remonstrance against the young marshal.

"Sir, please spare the child! The child is innocent!"

An old man pleaded desperately.

The little boy huddled in the old man's arms, his face pale, his eyes filled with terror, clutching the old man's clothes tightly, unable to even cry.

The old man knelt before Zhang Xueming and kowtowed repeatedly, his forehead covered in blood.

"We have never wronged any Chinese people! We are just ordinary citizens! We are innocent! Please, please let us go! Please spare this child!"

His voice was heart-wrenching, echoing above the mass grave.

The surrounding overseas Chinese also started crying and shouting. Some shouted in Japanese, and some shouted in broken Chinese. For a moment, the cries, shouts and pleas were mixed together, shaking the earth.

Zhang Xueming lowered his head and looked at the old man kneeling in front of him.

His expression was calm, so calm that there wasn't a ripple in it.

It's like looking at a piece of trash.

"innocent?"

Zhang Xueming's voice was icy cold.

The old man raised his head, tears blurring his wrinkled face:

"Yes, innocent! We are just civilians! We haven't killed any Chinese people! This child is only seven years old, he doesn't understand anything! Please..."

"Shut up."

Zhang Xueming's expression changed drastically.

The old man choked.

Zhang Xueming squatted down, bringing his eye level with the old man's.

He looked into the old man's cloudy eyes and asked, word by word:

Do you pay taxes to your government?

The old man's pupils suddenly contracted.

"Have your children received the education your government provides?"

The old man started to tremble, even more violently than before.

"Have you old folks ever seen a doctor at a hospital run by your government?"

The old man's lips began to tremble.

"Was the land you were given to cultivate allocated to you by your government?"

With each question Zhang Xueming asked, the old man's face paled a little more.

By the time the fourth question was asked, the old man's face had turned ashen.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but his lips moved for a long time without uttering a single word.

Zhang Xueming remained squatting there, his tone calm as if he were chatting about everyday matters:

"Tell me, have you ever enjoyed these things?"

The old man's eyes widened, his gaze filled with terror.

He looked into Zhang Xueming's eyes, and those eyes held a hatred that chilled him to the bone.

That was the strength of a nation rising up from a sea of ​​blood.

"You enjoyed all the benefits brought by your Japanese government's invasion."

Zhang Xueming's tone was devoid of any emotion: "The land your government seized with bayonets is being given to you for free."

"The wealth your government plundered from China has become your hospitals, schools, and roads."

"Your sons slaughtered Chinese people on the battlefield to bring you glory and benefits."

"You've won the battle, and you so-called civilians are welcoming those beasts whose hands are stained with the blood of Chinese people, as if they were heroes!"

"At that time, did you ever consider who was truly innocent?"

Zhang Xueming suddenly shouted loudly, his voice like thunder, echoing through the valley.

"Is it you who launched the war of aggression? Or is it the Chinese people struggling in dire straits?"

"You've been sucking the blood of the Chinese people, living a life of debauchery! Now that you're facing death, you're starting to cry out that you're innocent?"

"Do you even know what it means to be caught in a losing battle and to share in a winning one?!"

The old man's body trembled violently. His mouth was open, like a fish out of water, desperately trying to breathe, but he couldn't get a breath in.

"Sir...sir..."

He tried to say something, tried to explain himself, but Zhang Xueming didn't give him the chance.

Zhang Xueming stood up and placed his right hand on the hilt of the knife at his waist.

It was a Tang-style horizontal sword, with a straight blade and a cold gleam in the sunlight.

"You're saying the child is innocent?"

Zhang Xueming's voice was icy and chilling.

"Thirty years ago, right here in this city, you Japanese devils killed more than 20,000 Chinese people."

"Those children, the youngest of whom was only one month old, were picked up by you with bayonets and hung on the tips of your rifles, laughing at you."

"Those women, after being violated by you, were disemboweled, and even the babies in their wombs were dug out and trampled to death."

"Those old people were hung from trees and burned alive by you with wire through their collarbones."

"Why didn't you say the child was innocent back then?!"

The old man's tears flowed even more fiercely, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Zhang Xueming looked at him, his eyes filled with no pity, only hatred that ran deep in his bones.

"Today, none of you will live."

As soon as he finished speaking, he suddenly drew his Tang sword.

A flash of light appeared.

The little boy, who had been huddled in the old man's arms and was too scared to even cry, suddenly had his head blown off.

Blood splattered all over the old man's head and face.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still.

The old man knelt there blankly, staring at the headless corpse in his arms, watching the small body still twitching, blood gushing out from the severed neck.

His mind went blank.

Then, he saw Zhang Xueming bend down, pick up the small head, hold it in his hand, and look at him expressionlessly.

"ah----!!!"

The old man let out a heart-wrenching howl, and all the pity, all the pleas, and all the humility in his originally cloudy old eyes vanished in an instant.

Instead, it became ferocious.

It's insane.

It was an overwhelming hatred that wished he could tear Zhang Xueming to pieces.

"You beast!! I'll kill you!!!"

The old man sprang up from the ground, his face covered in blood, his eyes bloodshot, like a mad beast, and lunged at Zhang Xueming desperately.

His fingers were spread wide, his nails gleaming pale in the sunlight. He looked as if he wanted to strangle Zhang Xueming, or tear open his throat and bite through his veins.

Zhan Lang tensed up instantly behind Zhang Xueming, his hand already on his gun, ready to strike.

But Zhang Xueming reached out and stopped him.

"Step back."

Wolf Warrior was taken aback, but without any hesitation, he immediately withdrew his hand and took a half step back.

Zhang Xueming looked at the old man rushing towards him and a cold smile appeared on his lips.

When the old man rushed in front of him, Zhang Xueming suddenly raised his foot and kicked the old man hard in the chest.

"Bang!"

With a muffled thud, the old man was kicked backward and flew heavily to the ground, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

Zhang Xueming used hidden force in his kick, breaking at least three of the old man's ribs. He struggled on the ground for a few moments, trying to get up, but he couldn't muster any strength at all.

I won't kill you.

Zhang Xueming walked up to the old man, looked down at him, and spoke with a cold, triumphant air.

"I'm going to show you."

"Watching your loved ones die one by one before your eyes."

"To make you experience endless pain and despair."

"Then."

Zhang Xueming lowered his head, stared into the old man's bloodshot eyes, and said, word by word:

"Then I'll skin you alive and tear out your tendons, so you can die in agony and despair."

The old man let out a howl that sounded inhuman as he tried desperately to get up, but he fell to the ground again as soon as he managed to prop himself up halfway.

Blood kept gushing from his mouth, but he continued to struggle and howl, his voice filled with hatred, pain, and despair.

"Wolf Warrior," Zhang Xueming said calmly.

"Here!" Zhan Lang straightened his body.

"Tie this old man up."

"yes!"

Zhan Lang led his men over, pinned the still struggling old man to the ground, and tied him up tightly with hemp rope.

The old man was tied up like a pig waiting to be slaughtered, but he was still struggling desperately, making noises all the while.

That's Japanese.

Zhang Xueming couldn't understand it, but he knew it was an insult directed at him.

The insults were very vulgar and vicious.

Zhan Lang frowned, took out a piece of cloth from his pocket, and prepared to gag the old man.

"Don't block the way."

Zhang Xueming stopped him.

Wolf Warrior was stunned:

"Commander-in-Chief, his words were extremely offensive..."

Let him curse.

Zhang Xueming turned around, facing the mass grave, and the more than 20,000 Japanese civilians being driven away. His voice carried on the wind.

"Hearing the cries of these beasts, my ears were instantly cleared as if by celestial music."

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and smiled.

It was a smile of enjoyment.

It was a smile that had been suppressed for thirty years and was finally released.

"In my eyes."

Zhang Xueming opened his eyes and looked at the Japanese soldiers who were tied up and being pulled out one by one in front of Wan Zhong's tomb. His voice was frighteningly calm.

"The roar of the loser is as melodious as the howl of a stray dog ​​on the roadside."

He waved.

"Let's do it."

"Start killing this old man's relatives."

"Right here beside this mass grave, let the spirits of the fallen heroes in heaven take a good look!"

His voice suddenly rose in pitch, carrying immense force, and resounded through the valley.

"Zhang Xueming, a descendant of later generations, together with his brothers in the Northeast Army, have avenged you today!!"

"kill!!"

The Northeast Army soldiers roared in unison, their voices shaking the heavens and earth, drowning out all the wails and cries.