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

[Ding! Congratulations, host, you have awakened the points system. You can earn points by defeating enemies, and these points can be used to exchange for weapons, ammunition, supplies, troops, and various skills.]

[Ding! A new player gift pack has been sent. Do you want to claim it?]

Zhang Xueming suddenly sat up in bed.

"receive!"

[A new player welcome pack has been distributed, containing one hundred elite Marines with maxed-out loyalty, fully equipped, and ready to be summoned at any time.]

One hundred people.

One hundred fully armed, absolutely loyal soldiers.

Zhang Xueming stared at the line of words, his pupils contracting slightly, and the corners of his mouth curving upwards little by little.

It felt as if the blood in his body had been set on fire, surging scalding through his limbs and bones, burning away the frustration and helplessness he had felt earlier, leaving only a kind of fanatical determination.

enough.

In his previous life, he infiltrated Japan alone and managed to complete his mission and destroy the entire nuclear base despite being surrounded and intercepted by eighty-one special agents.

With soldiers and generals, what is there to fear?

Zhang Xueming rolled out of bed, his feet landing on the cold floor tiles. He fastened the buttons on his Zhongshan suit, smoothed out the wrinkles on the lapel, and raised his hand to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.

The guard standing at the door saw him get up and was about to go forward to ask him something when Zhang Xueming strode past him, pushed open the door, and stepped into the cool autumn night air of Beiping.

An elderly doctor in a blue robe stood in the courtyard, carrying a medicine box on his back, panting heavily, clearly having been dragged here.

When the old doctor saw Zhang Xueming come out, he quickly went to greet him:

"Second Master, your face looks pale..."

"I'm fine."

Zhang Xueming raised his hand to interrupt him, but continued walking straight toward the main hall of the theater without stopping.

........

Inside the theater's main hall, the air was filled with the fragrance of sandalwood and the warmth of the heating system.

The octagonal tables below the stage were packed, with dignitaries dressed in mandarin jackets and cheongsams lounging in their armchairs, their fingers tapping idly on the armrests.

The shells of the melon seeds were spat out from mouths and landed on the blue brick floor, where they crunched under the cloth shoes of the servants.

The waiter carried a teapot and weaved between the tables, white steam rising from the copper spout as it poured into the covered bowl, releasing a burst of Biluochun tea fragrance.

On the stage, Anita Mui, swaying gracefully with her flowing sleeves, walked slowly and deliberately to Zhang Sheng. Her red lips parted slightly, and she sang the last line of the opera in a melodious and lingering tone:

"Come with me to my boudoir...to share our tender moments..."

The last note lingered for seven or eight breaths, circling the roof beam three times before finally falling.

"good!"

The audience erupted in cheers, creating an atmosphere of peace and prosperity.

Beside the largest eight-immortal table in the very center, Zhang Xueliang leaned back in a grand master's chair, his left leg crossed over his right, the toe of his riding boot swaying with each beat of the clapper.

He had taken off his military cap, revealing a neatly combed slicked-back hairstyle, with a thin layer of oil shining from the lamplight on his forehead.

He held a covered teacup in his right hand, tapped his left hand on his knee, his meticulously trimmed mustache curled slightly upwards, and a satisfied smile played on his lips.

He was surrounded by four women, all of whom were his concubines.

When Zhang Xueming pushed open the back door and walked in, he brought in a cool autumn night breeze.

The two guards standing at the door shivered in the cold wind, shrinking back. They were about to stop him, but when they saw Zhang Xueming's face, they withdrew their hands and snapped to attention, giving him a salute.

Zhang Xueming nodded slightly, then walked straight in.

He went to the back of the last row of tables in the hall, leaned against the carved door frame, and slowly scanned the entire theater with his gaze.

The air was filled with the sweet smell of opium, the powdery scent of floral water, and the fragrance of tea, all mixed together like an invisible oil film floating above everyone's heads.

Warmth emanated from the large iron stove in the corner, mingling with the body heat emanating from the crowd, making the entire hall feel stuffy and unnatural, unlike an autumn night in Beiping.

Zhang Xueliang was talking to the student-turned-concubine, making her giggle and cover her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

He didn't even notice Zhang Xueming coming in.

Zhang Xueming did not go over either.

He turned around and went up the stairs along the wall to the second floor.

The U-shaped corridor on the second floor encircles the entire main hall of the theater, with vermilion wooden railings encircling it, carved with the Eight Immortals Crossing the Sea.

The corridor was deserted. In theory, there should have been sentries standing here, looking down from above, so that no movement in the entire hall could escape their eyes.

But now, the guards who should have been standing here have all gone downstairs to listen to the opera, their eyes fixed on the stage.

Zhang Xueming strolled slowly along the corridor, carefully observing the defenses throughout the main hall.

There was a guard standing in each of the four corners of the lobby downstairs, each carrying a Mauser pistol and with their hands on the gun cases at their waists.

But none of them were looking at the doorway; they were all looking at the stage.

There was a company of soldiers outside the main entrance of the hall, with three platoons taking turns to surround the theater like an iron barrel.

But it was precisely because there was a whole company of men guarding the outside that the guards inside were so lax.

Zhang Xueming stood in the shadows of the second-floor corridor and could see all of this very clearly.

The corners of his mouth curved slightly. It was truly a stroke of luck!

He turned and went downstairs, his steps lighter than when he went up.

Instead of returning to the main hall, he turned into the corridor leading to the west wing.

There were no lights in the corridor, only a pale moonlight shining through the window at the end, casting long shadows on the blue brick floor.

The west hall is an empty banquet room, furnished with a huge mahogany round table and a dozen matching chairs. On the wall hangs a painting of a tiger descending a mountain, its eyes gleaming eerily in the darkness.

There was no one in the room. Moonlight streamed in through the carved windowpane, casting a layer of silvery-white shimmer on the floor.

Zhang Xueming closed the door, leaned against it, and took a deep breath.

"call."

He silently recited it in his heart.

A ripple appeared in the air.

The air where the moonlight shone suddenly began to twist, the light bending twice on the same plane, refracting into rings of pale blue light.

Then, a figure emerged from the ripples.

He was wearing camouflage clothing and holding a Type 95 automatic rifle with a tactical rail on the body, on which a red dot sight and a tactical flashlight were mounted.

A QSZ-92 pistol was tucked into the quick-draw holster of his belt, with anti-slip tape wrapped around the grip.

Three Type 86 all-plastic hand grenades hung on his waist, the safety pull rings gleaming with a subtle metallic sheen in the moonlight.

Behind him, one figure after another stepped out from the halo of light.

The same camouflage uniforms, the same tactical vests, and the same Type 95 automatic rifles.

No one spoke or made any unnecessary noise. After they emerged from the halo, they automatically dispersed and stood against the wall in groups of three.

One hundred people, not one more, not one less.

As the last person stepped out of the halo, the ripples in the air slowly receded, the blue light dimmed, and finally disappeared.

The room was once again bathed in the silvery light of the moon, but now there were a hundred more silent warriors.

Zhang Xueming's pupils dilated suddenly for a moment, then contracted sharply.

Type 95 automatic rifle.

He originally thought that the Marine Corps unit provided by the system would be equipped with equipment from the Republic of China era, at most with mechanical weapons or Thompson submachine guns.

To his utter surprise, the system delivered the Type 95 automatic rifle, along with the man, all packaged together.

With these guns, not to mention the more than three hundred guards outside the theater, even if Zhang Xueliang mobilized all the troops stationed in Beiping, he could still finish the business in the main hall before the reinforcements rushed in.

Zhang Xueming took a deep breath and forcefully suppressed the overwhelming joy that was about to burst forth.

Now is not the time to get excited.

A soldier standing at the front of the line took a step forward, stood at attention, and neatly raised his right hand to the brim of his hat with his five fingers together.

He was taller and bigger than the soldiers behind him, with broader shoulders, a more defined jawline, and a pair of sharp, hawk-like eyes hidden beneath his brow bone.

"Reporting, sir! The captain of the Marine Corps Special Operations Team, codenamed Wolf Warrior, has assembled his team of ninety-nine men! Requesting instructions!"

He deliberately lowered his voice.

Zhang Xueming stood up straight, raised his right hand to his forehead, and returned a standard military salute.

"Wolf Warrior"

"arrive!"

"Leave the whole team in this room and wait for orders."

Zhang Xueming whispered the order, "Without my command, no one is allowed to move, no one is allowed to make a sound, and no one is allowed to fire. Do you understand?"

"I understand!"

"After I gave the signal from the main hall..."

Zhang Xueming paused for a second, then said, "You need to take control of the entire hall within ten seconds."

"All those who resisted were shot dead on the spot, and all those who attempted to break through the gate were shot dead on the spot."

"Everyone, including my older brother and his concubines, stay put and don't let a single one escape."

"clear!"

Zhang Xueming nodded, turned around, straightened the collar of his Zhongshan suit, and walked out of the side hall.

Moonlight streamed in through the window at the far end, casting a long, thin shadow over him.

The leather shoes clattered on the blue brick floor, making a steady, unhurried sound, each step perfectly spaced, like a metronome keeping time.

He pushed open the door at the end of the corridor and walked back into the theater's main hall.

The warmth and noise in the hall hit me like a wall.

The performance on stage was still going on, the cheers from the audience were still ringing out, and the aroma of melon seeds and tea was still as strong as ever.

No one noticed him walking in through the side door, and even fewer noticed the cold expression on his face.

Zhang Xueming slowly walked across the open space at the back of the hall, around the tables filled with tea and fruit, and walked step by step toward the largest table in the center.

When he walked up to Zhang Xueliang, he blocked Zhang Xueliang's view of the stage.

Just as Zhang Xueliang was getting into the story, a dark shadow suddenly blocked his view, completely obscuring the stage. It was as if someone had stuffed a mouthful of sand into his mouth while he was eating braised pork.

He frowned, his thick eyebrows forming a deep frown, and slammed the covered teacup he was holding onto the coffee table, splashing tea onto the tablecloth.

He looked up impatiently, saw it was Zhang Xueming, and was instantly enraged!

"What are you doing? You're blocking my way, get out of the way."

He waved his hand, his tone as if shooing away a fly.

Zhang Xueming did not move.

Just as Zhang Xueliang was about to speak again, his mouth was half open when the word "get lost" was already on the tip of his tongue.

But at this moment, Zhang Xueming finally made a move.

A pistol, with lightning speed, was pressed directly against Zhang Xueliang's forehead.