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

Beiping, a theater.

"Bang!"

The door to the side hall was kicked open, and Zhang Xueming strode out.

Clutching the victory report from Beidaying, Wang Yizhe had not disappointed him; 180 Japanese soldiers lay dead in the sorghum field. This first shot was brilliantly fired.

"Wolf Warrior! Prepare the vehicle! Notify the airport that the plane is ready for takeoff immediately, departing in ten minutes!"

"yes!"

Wolf Warrior turned and ran towards the theater entrance, the sound of his military boots gradually fading into the distance in the corridor.

As Zhang Xueming walked to the theater entrance, a night breeze blew in his face.

The guards at the door had been replaced by the Wolf Warriors. Two soldiers in camouflage uniforms stood on either side of the door, holding Type 95 automatic rifles. When he came out, they snapped to attention and saluted.

Zhang Xueming returned the greeting with a raised hand and was about to step down the stairs...

"Second Master!"

Secretary Hong stumbled out from inside, shouting, "Second Master! Urgent telegram from Nanchang! The Chairman has personally given the order!"

Zhang Xueming stopped in his tracks.

He turned around, took the telegram from Secretary Hong, and glanced at the words on it.

Power generation time: 4:45 AM.

Location of the telegram: Official residence in Nanchang.

The telegram was very short, only three sentences long, but every single word made Zhang Xueming explode.

"Order Zhang Xueliang to immediately apologize to the Japanese regarding the South Manchuria Railway incident, compensate for all losses, and ensure that the incident is resolved."

"If this leads to a full-scale conflict, Zhang Xueliang will bear all the blame."

Zhang Xueming stared at those three lines of text for a full ten seconds.

The smile on his face froze, then gradually shrank back until it became a tight, straight line.

The hand holding the telegram hung limply in mid-air, the paper rustling in the night wind.

"Good. Very good."

Zhang Xueming folded the telegram twice, turned around, and strode back to the side hall.

When he pushed open the door, Zhang Xueliang was still slumped in his armchair, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. When he saw Zhang Xueming return, he reflexively shrank his neck.

"Big brother."

Zhang Xueming walked up to him and slapped the telegram onto his chest with such force that Zhang Xueliang leaned back.

"Take a good look at yourself! What orders did your sworn brother, your commander-in-chief, your chairman who keeps calling you Hanqing, give you?!"

Zhang Xueliang took the telegram and unfolded it.

His gaze swept from the first line to the last, but his face showed no anger, only immense comfort.

"This is the Chairman's order."

Zhang Xueliang raised his head, his tone even carrying a hint of persuasion, "Xueming, did you see that?"

"The chairman told me to come forward, apologize, compensate for the losses, and suppress the matter."

"This is a decision made by the highest authorities; it's not something you or I, as brothers, can change on our own."

"It's not too late to back down now. Come with me to talk to the Japanese pirates; there's still a chance to salvage this situation..."

"Bullshit!"

"Snapped!"

A crisp popping sound rang out in the air.

Zhang Xueming's right hand slapped Zhang Xueliang squarely across the left cheek.

The slap was so powerful that it sent Zhang Xueliang flying off the armchair, tumbling over onto the brick floor.

Zhang Xueliang lay on the ground, a bright red handprint on his left cheek, his lips were cut by his teeth, and a thin line of blood trickled down his chin, dripping onto the collar insignia of his yellow woolen military uniform.

Before he could react, Zhang Xueming had already bent down, grabbed his collar, pulled him up from the ground, and slapped him across the right cheek with his other hand.

"Are you fucking cursed?!"

Zhang Xueming's roar exploded in the side hall: "The Japanese devils have already rushed to your door with bayonets, and you don't resist, but instead kneel down and offer your wife, daughter, and all the gold and silver treasures in your house to them."

"Tell me, are you a jerk? Speak up!!"

Zhang Xueliang's cheeks were swollen, turning a deep purple, and blood was trickling from the corners of his mouth down to his chin.

But at that moment, his eyes became more stubborn than ever before.

"He's the chairman!" he exclaimed.

He glared at Zhang Xueming, head tilted back, "He's the Chairman of the Military Commission! The Supreme Commander of the entire Chinese army!"

"If I don't obey his orders, should I obey yours? Who do you think you are?"

"You're just my brother! The Commander-in-Chief is my sworn brother, he wouldn't harm me! If he says this matter should be suppressed, there must be a reason for it!"

"Sworn brothers?"

Zhang Xueming loosened his collar and took a step back as if all his strength had been drained.

Looking at the man in front of him, whose cheeks were swollen and whose mouth was bleeding, he felt no longer anger, but a deep-seated despondency and despair.

Before traveling through time, when he was researching this period of history, he thought of many reasons why Zhang Xueliang did not resist.

They were afraid of the Japanese invaders, afraid of losing battles, afraid of losing their family fortune, afraid of taking responsibility, and afraid of being called warlords.

But he never expected that the real reason was this.

He was stupid! Stupid enough to actually believe that his sworn brother could handle this matter.

Does someone this stupid really deserve to sit in the position of the King of Northeast China?

Zhang Zuolin, the Northeast King who rose from the ranks of bandits, the warlord who transformed the Fengtian Army from a few hundred men and guns into a mighty force of 300,000, the old marshal who dared to slam his fist on the table and curse the Japanese.

His son, however, was a joke.

"Touch down there."

Zhang Xueming's voice suddenly turned cold.

Are there any eggs left?

Zhang Xueliang was stunned.

"You are Zhang Zuolin's son. Your father was blown up in Huanggutun."

"The person who bombed your father was a Japanese soldier. When did your father ever bow his head to the Japanese soldiers while he was alive? When did he ever bend his back to the Japanese soldiers?"

"And now look at you! The Japanese blew up your father's railway and stormed your father's military camp, and instead of picking up a gun to avenge your father, you're kneeling down and kowtowing to your enemies to apologize? Are you even a man?"

He bent down, leaned close to Zhang Xueliang's ear, and whispered his last words:

"What kind of man do you think you are??"

Zhang Xueliang's shoulders trembled violently.

He opened his mouth, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something, but ultimately found it difficult to speak.

Zhang Xueming straightened up and stopped looking at him.

He turned around and waved to Zhanlang.

"Get the young marshal into the car. If he doesn't leave, tie him up and carry him away."

"yes!"

With a wave of his hand, Zhan Lang sent two soldiers to support Zhang Xueliang's arms on either side.

Zhang Xueliang instinctively tried to struggle, but the Wolf Warrior's hand gripped his wrist like an iron clamp, and he didn't budge.

Zhang Xueming stepped out of the side hall without looking back and walked through the main hall of the theater.

The dignitaries in the hall remained squatting in place, with a group of soldiers in camouflage pointing their guns at them, and none of them dared to utter a sound.

Mei Lanfang on the stage remained frozen in mid-air with his water sleeves still in the same position, his face paint streaked with cold sweat.

Zhang Xueming walked through the center of the hall, his military boots clicking crisply and rapidly on the blue brick floor, like gavel striking a table.

He pushed open the theater door, and the cold wind of the early morning hit him in the face, making the hem of his Zhongshan suit flutter loudly.

Three Willys Jeeps and five large trucks were parked at the bottom of the steps in front of the theater.

The car lights all came on, the beams of light cleaving through the night and illuminating the stone road ahead in a pure white light.

Two soldiers from the Wolf Warriors shoved Zhang Xueliang into the back seat of the second jeep. Zhang Xueliang was still struggling, shouting that it was never too late to mend the fence after the sheep were lost, but Zhang Xueming was too lazy to listen anymore.

"Go to Nanyuan Airport."

Zhang Xueming got into the first jeep, patted the driver on the shoulder, and said, "Drive faster."

The three jeeps started up at the same time, and the roar of their engines shattered the silence of the early morning.

The wheels rolled over the stone pavement, kicking up a spray of mud from the puddles. The car lurched slightly before accelerating into the empty streets of Beiping.