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

North of Fengtian City, Beidaying.

The smoke of battle has not yet cleared.

Wang Yizhe stood at the camp gate, with several corpses lying at his feet that had not yet been carried away. The Japanese soldiers and the Northeast Army were mixed together, and the blood had turned the frozen soil black.

The Mauser pistol in his hand was still emitting wisps of smoke, and his face was cut by shrapnel, with blood smeared on half of his face, but he didn't bother to wipe it off.

The 16th Regiment's charge was repelled, and the Japanese left behind more than 300 corpses of men and horses outside the Beidaying camp before slinking back to the sorghum fields to the north.

But Wang Yizhe knew that this was only temporary.

The Japanese soldiers hadn't gone far; they were lurking a few miles to the north, ready to pounce again at any moment.

"Travel seat!"

Zhao Zhenfan rushed in through the door, his voice brimming with excitement.

"A great victory in Fengtian! Second Master personally led the troops to achieve it!"

"We decimated two Japanese regiments; the ground beneath the city walls was littered with corpses, and the Hun River was stained red!"

"They also chopped off the heads of over a thousand Japanese civilians!"

Wang Yizhe suddenly turned his head, his eyes wide open:

"real?!"

"It's true! I just received a telegram from Commander Liu, it's absolutely true!"

Zhao Zhenfan grinned, revealing a set of teeth stained yellow by gunpowder. "Our Beidaying fired the first shot, and we won a great victory in Fengtian City! This battle will give those little devils a real hard time!"

The surrounding soldiers heard it too, and smiles appeared on their previously exhausted faces.

Wang Yizhe laughed heartily, laughing so hard that blood seeped from the wound on his face, but he was completely unaware of it.

He patted Zhao Zhenfan on the shoulder, as if to say something, but his throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and it took him a long time to squeeze out a sentence:

"Good. Well played."

"Second Master...Second Master is more daring in fighting than the Young Marshal."

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from outside the camp gate.

A messenger rode a fast horse into the North Camp, dismounted, ran to Wang Yizhe, and handed him an order with both hands:

"Brigade Commander Wang! Urgent order from Fengtian Command! You are requested to return to Fengtian immediately to attend an emergency military meeting!"

Wang Yizhe took the order, glanced at it, and frowned.

What time is it? The Japanese have just been driven back, and now they want him to go back to Fengtian for a meeting?

But he didn't say much. The order was issued directly by the Fengtian Command, and he had to obey it.

He folded the order and stuffed it into his pocket, then turned to Zhao Zhenfan and gave him a few instructions:

"You stay here, re-establish the position, evacuate the wounded to the rear, and ensure the ammunition is properly inventoried."

"If the Japanese dare to come again, beat them to death. Don't let them embarrass me."

"yes!"

Wang Yizhe mounted his horse, raised his whip, and lashed the horse's rump hard. The horse neighed and galloped off towards Fengtian City.

.......

When Wang Yizhe entered the city, he saw a small mountain of Japanese corpses piled up below the city wall, and a group of civilians were helping the soldiers carry the corpses out.

Some people carried the corpses while crying, some people carried them while laughing, and a few teenagers were crawling on the pile of corpses, rummaging through the Japanese soldiers' pockets, trying to find something valuable.

The breach in the city wall had not yet been repaired, and broken bricks and tiles were piled up all over the ground. Dark red blood was still flowing in the drainage ditch at the foot of the city wall, and a strong smell of blood mixed with gunpowder was overwhelming.

Wang Yizhe frowned, spurred his horse through the city gate, and headed towards the Northeast Border Defense Army Headquarters.

The headquarters was located in the center of Fengtian City. It was originally Zhang Zuolin's mansion, and after the old marshal died, it became the command center of the Northeast Border Defense Army.

Wang Yizhe dismounted at the gate, straightened his uniform, wiped the blood from his face, and strode inside.

The guards at the door clearly recognized him; they snapped to attention and saluted without stopping him.

But as soon as Wang Yizhe entered the headquarters building, he felt something was wrong.

The corridor was filled with adjutants and secretaries, each with a solemn expression, not daring to utter a sound.

Several familiar faces saw Wang Yizhe, but only nodded slightly, not daring to greet him.

The air felt frozen, so stuffy and oppressive that it was hard to breathe.

Wang Yizhe's heart skipped a beat, and he involuntarily slowed his pace.

He pushed open the conference room door and froze at the entrance.

The conference room was packed with people, the most powerful group in the entire Northeast.

Sitting at the head of the left was Zhang Zuoxiang, the old marshal's sworn brother, the pillar of the Northeast Army, and the assistant marshal.

He was wearing a dark blue Zhongshan suit, his hair was neatly combed, and the wrinkles on his face looked as if they had been carved by a knife and axe.

Sitting on the right is Wan Fulin, the chairman of the Heilongjiang Provincial Government and one of the most senior generals in the Northeast Army, wearing a yellow woolen military uniform with a gold star of a general pinned to his collar.

Next are Wang Shuhan, the highest-ranking civil official in Northeast China; Zang Shiyi, the chairman of Liaoning Province; and Rong Zhen, the chief of staff of the Northeast Border Defense Army.

Any one of these people could be a force to be reckoned with in Northeast China; their mere presence would cause the ground to tremble.

But at this moment, these bigwigs were all sitting upright, their expressions as if they had just crawled out of a graveyard.

No one spoke, no one drank tea, and even coughs were muffled.

All eyes were focused on the head of the conference table.

Two people were sitting in the main seat.

One was Zhang Xueliang. Commander-in-Chief of the Northeast Border Defense Army, Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Chinese Army, Navy and Air Force, and the nominal supreme ruler of the three northeastern provinces.

He slumped in the armchair, his cheeks still swollen, the purplish-blue handprints particularly glaring under the light.

His lips were trembling slightly, and his eyes were fixed on the table, not daring to look at anyone.

The yellow woolen military uniform was wrinkled, and two buttons on the collar were missing, revealing a white shirt underneath that was soaked with sweat.

His hands gripped the armrests of the armchair tightly, his knuckles bulging out from the force.

Wang Yizhe almost didn't recognize that this was their young commander.

In his memory, Zhang Xueliang was always full of vigor and high spirits.

His crisp military uniform, gleaming riding boots, meticulously trimmed mustache, and the slight tilt of his chin as he spoke exuded an confidence that seemed to emanate from his very bones.

But the person in front of me, where is there even a trace of the young marshal?

Like a dog whose spine has been broken, he curled up in the armchair, too weak to even lift his head.

The other person sitting right next to Zhang Xueliang presented a completely different picture.

Zhang Xueming.

He was wearing a crisp navy blue Zhongshan suit, and the Kuomintang emblem on his chest was polished to a shine.

He sat very upright, his hands resting naturally on the table, a faint smile on his face, exuding a unique composure and confidence.

The contrast between the two brothers sitting together is astonishing.

The older brother looked as disheveled as a stray dog, while the younger brother looked as triumphant as a general returning from the battlefield.

Wang Yizhe stood at the door, momentarily at a loss for words.

"Yizhe!"

Zhang Xueming saw Wang Yizhe at the door, stood up from his seat, and his smile deepened.

He strode to the door, reached out and patted Wang Yizhe on the shoulder with a light but gentle touch, conveying a sense of warmth.

"Our great hero has arrived! The hero who fired the first shot at the Japanese and won a resounding victory!"

Zhang Xueming's voice was loud and clear, like a thunderclap in the otherwise dull conference room, "Yizhe, that was a brilliant victory!"

"Not an inch of Beidaying was lost; the Japanese Kawashima Company was completely annihilated, and four infantry guns were captured!"

"Your shot has displayed the might of the Northeast Army!"

Wang Yizhe blushed at his words and quickly stood at attention and saluted.

"You flatter me, Second Master! We were merely following orders; our victory was entirely due to the excellent command of the Commander-in-Chief and Second Master!"

As he said this, his gaze unconsciously glanced at Zhang Xueliang, who was slumped in the armchair.

Zhang Xueliang showed no reaction, staring intently at the table as if he hadn't heard a word anyone was saying.

"Sit down and talk."

Zhang Xueming pulled Wang Yizhe by the arm and led him to sit down at the conference table.

As Wang Yizhe sat down, he glanced at the bigwigs around him out of the corner of his eye.

Zhang Zuoxiang remained expressionless, Wan Fulin frowned, and Zhang Jinghui's face was particularly unpleasant, as if he had swallowed a dead fly.

His heart skipped a beat again, and he had a vague feeling that something was wrong with the atmosphere of this meeting.

Zhang Xueming walked back to the main seat, but did not sit down.

He rested his hands on the conference table, his gaze slowly sweeping across the faces of everyone present.

The air in the conference room suddenly seemed to freeze, and even breathing became clearly audible.

Now that everyone is here,

Zhang Xueming's voice clearly reached everyone's ears, "Then let's begin."

He paused for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts.

Then he straightened up, put his hands behind his back, raised his chin slightly, his eyes were sharp, and his voice was firm and resolute.

"There is only one topic for this meeting, and that is..."

"Resist Japan!"

The moment those two words were uttered, the temperature in the conference room seemed to drop several degrees, and everyone felt a chill creep up from the soles of their feet.

A brief silence.

Then, the meeting room erupted in chaos.

Various sounds arose simultaneously: some gasped, some whispered, some coughed, and some slammed their fists on the table.

Wang Yizhe's reaction was the most direct.

His eyes suddenly lit up, and his hands unconsciously clenched into fists, his knuckles cracking.

Resist Japan.

He had waited too long for those two words.

From the day he put on this military uniform, from the day the Japanese devils began to run rampant in Northeast China, from the day the blood of Wanbaoshan stained the black soil of Changchun, he had been waiting for these two words.

Today, finally someone uttered those two words in front of all the high-ranking military and political officials in Northeast China.

Although the person who said those two words was Second Master, not Young Marshal, it didn't matter. As long as those two words were mentioned, Wang Yizhe was willing to give up his life.

Not everyone thinks like Wang Yizhe.

The old men's faces darkened instantly, as if they had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

Wan Fulin's eye twitched, and the wrinkles on his face deepened. Wang Shuhan took off his reading glasses, wiped them, and put them back on, his movements so slow it was as if he was stalling for time.

Zang Shiyi kept his head down, stirring the tea with the lid of his teacup, his eyes fixed on the floating tea leaves, not daring to look up.

Zhang Jinghui had the strongest reaction.

With a loud bang, the chair was pushed back half a foot by him.

He stood up from his seat, his face clouded with worry, his nasolabial folds deeply etched into his cheeks, like two furrows carved into his face.

He is over sixty years old this year, with gray hair, but still has a strong back and speaks in a loud and sharp voice.

"Zhang Xueming! Shut up!"

Zhang Jinghui slammed her hand on the conference table, making the teacups clink.

His eyes widened, his finger pointed straight at Zhang Xueming's nose, and his voice echoed throughout the conference room.

"Who do you think you are? Who gave you the right to utter the words 'resistance against Japan' here?"

"Your father didn't dare utter those two words when he was alive, and you, a little brat, still breastfeeding, dare to spout such nonsense!"

He turned around, his gaze sweeping over everyone present, as if in a show of defiance.

"Everyone here has come through thick and thin alongside the old commander!"

His voice rose again, carrying a domineering air of someone who relied on their age.

"The Northeast Army's strength was built by us brothers, drop by drop, with our blood, not by you, Zhang Xueming, smoking opium in Beiping!"

"Don't think that just because you beat the Japanese once, you can look down on them. You're underestimating the Japanese!"

He pointed out the window, his fingers trembling with anger.

"I've dealt with the Japanese for half my life, and they're not so easy to deal with!"

"They have warships, cannons, tanks, and airplanes!"

"The Imperial Japanese Navy's Combined Fleet is the third largest in the world! Their army defeated the Russians in the Russo-Japanese War!"

"You're just a young brat, spouting off about resisting the Japanese. What are you going to use to resist them? Your head to smash into tanks? The lives of 300,000 Northeast Army brothers to fill the Hun River?"

His voice reached its highest point, and he shouted the last sentence, spitting all over half the table.

"If you want to die, go die yourself! Don't drag 300,000 Northeast Army brothers and all the people of Northeast China down with you!"