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

In the main hall of the Zang residence, the banquet had been cleared away, but the charcoal fire was still warm.

The clamor of last night's feasting had long since dissipated, and the leftovers on the table were quietly cleared away by the servants, replaced by a sandalwood tea table.

On the tea table are two official kiln celadon cups, in which the tender green leaves of Longjing tea are unfurled, the tea soup is clear and bright, and steam rises in wisps.

There were only two people in the main hall.

Zang Shiyi sat in the main seat, wearing a dark blue satin robe, holding a teacup in his hand, his posture was calm and his face was rosy.

His fingers tapped lightly on the lid of the teacup, producing a soft clinking sound, the rhythm neither too fast nor too slow, exuding a sense of self-satisfied composure.

Sitting opposite him was a middle-aged man wearing a dark gray suit.

The man wore round-framed gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, had a thin face, and a faint smile on his lips, making him look like a polite university professor.

But from time to time, a sharp glint, like that of a hawk, would flash in the eyes behind those glasses.

His tea-serving movements were extremely meticulous; he held the cup with three fingers and tilted his wrist slightly, clearly indicating that he had received rigorous tea ceremony training.

In the Japanese military, this kind of training is a mandatory course for intelligence officers.

Kanji Ishihara.

Chief of Operations Staff of the Kwantung Army, with the rank of Colonel. One of the true planners of the Mukden Incident, and a rare strategic genius in the Japanese Army.

In real history, it was his battle plan that led to the fall of the three northeastern provinces in less than three months.

At this moment, the man who should have been sitting in the headquarters of the Kwantung Army in Lushun, strategizing with a map in hand, quietly appeared in the main hall of the Zang family mansion in Fengtian City.

The two had clearly been talking for some time, as the teacups had been refilled twice.

"Mr. Ishihara,"

Zang Shiyi put down his teacup, leaned forward slightly, and said, "Now that our two sides have reached a consensus, there are some details that I would like to confirm again."

Ishihara smiled slightly, put down his teacup, took out a neatly folded piece of paper from his suit pocket, unfolded it, and laid it flat on the tea table.

It was a map of Manchuria, covered with countless arrows and markings in red and blue pencil.

From Qiqihar in the north to Lushun in the south, from the border of North Korea in the east to Rehe in the west, the military deployment of the entire Northeast China is clearly visible on the map.

"Chairman Zang,"

Ishihara Kanji spoke calmly and clearly in Chinese, even with a slight Beijing accent, "The Great Japanese Empire has always been a man of his word."

"The Kwantung Army Headquarters has made a formal resolution that, as long as the Manchurian government is declared established, you..."

He lightly tapped the location of Fengtian on the map with his finger, then raised his head and looked directly at Zang Shiyi.

"He is the prime minister of Manchukuo, second only to the emperor, above all others."

Zang Shiyi's fingers trembled slightly.

He picked up his teacup, using the act of drinking tea to conceal the expression on his face.

Prime Minister.

The name exploded in his mind, like someone setting off a string of firecrackers on New Year's Eve, crackling and shaking his eardrums.

Zang Shiyi served as a staff member for the Zhang family for most of his life, from Zhang Zuolin to Zhang Xueliang, and from Zhang Xueliang to Zhang Xueming. For three generations, he was always the insignificant person.

He'd had enough.

The title "Prime Minister" was like a key, clicking open the door to his heart.

But he was, after all, Zang Shiyi, an old official who had spent decades navigating the bureaucracy of the late Qing Dynasty.

He placed the teacup back on the table, his expression returning to calm, even slightly furrowing his brow, revealing a hint of concern.

"Mr. Ishihara, I have no doubt about the sincerity of the Imperial Army."

"However, the situation in Fengtian is still unclear. Although Zhang Xueming is far away in Fengcheng, the situation there could change at any time."

"Moreover, Yu Xuezhong's 190,000-strong army has already crossed the border, and Wang Yizhe's troops are also moving towards Fengtian. When will the Imperial Army arrive?"

Ishihara Kanji's smile deepened.

"Chairman Zang need not worry. The main force of the 2nd Division of the Kwantung Army, totaling 13,000 men, has already assembled in Lushun and set off north by train last night."

"Based on the marching speed, the vanguard should arrive at the southern suburbs of Fengtian by this evening at the latest."

His finger drew a line on the map from Lushun northward, tracing across the Liaodong Peninsula, past Gaizhou and Haicheng, and finally stopping at Fengtian, where he gently tapped it twice.

"Thirteen thousand men, all of whom are the Empire's elite."

"Equipped with artillery regiments, cavalry regiments, and air squadrons, their firepower was sufficient to crush any resistance."

His voice was arrogant: "Yu Xuezhong's 190,000 men sound intimidating, but without a leader, they are nothing to fear."

"As for Zhang Xueming, his main force was in Fengcheng. While he was fighting the 19th and 20th Divisions in Fengcheng, the 2nd Division had already firmly established itself in Fengtian."

"By then, the die will be cast. We'll cut off his supplies, and even if Zhang Xueming has three heads and six arms, he won't be able to turn the tide."

He paused, picked up his teacup, looked at Zang Shiyi through the rising steam, and lowered his voice.

"Once our Imperial Army occupies the city, everything in Fengtian City—military, political, financial, personnel, and defense—will be decided by Chairman Zang with a single word."

"The Kwantung Army will never interfere in the local administrative affairs of Manchuria."

"This has always been the Empire's policy toward Manchuria, and Chairman Zang should be well aware of it."

Zang Shiyi's pupils dilated suddenly for a moment.

He picked up the teacup to try and cover it up, but when his fingers pinched the lid, the lid tapped against the rim of the cup, making a series of soft, crackling sounds.

Everything in Fengtian City was decided by his word, a statement that made his heart race even faster than the title of "Prime Minister."

He wasn't unaware of how fragile the Japanese promises were, but at this moment, when he was only one step away from the pinnacle of power, he didn't want to think about those things.

He took a deep breath, placed the teacup on the table, and was about to speak when a loud commotion suddenly came from the direction of the front door.

"Snap! Bang!!"

A loud crash of shattering wood, accompanied by the clanging of metal striking metal and the sound of hurried footsteps, suddenly rang out.

Then came a woman's shrill wail, followed by the crisp sound of porcelain shattering.

The commotion grew louder and closer, as if something was crushing its way from the direction of the gate, smashing through all obstacles.

The air in the main hall seemed to be suddenly gripped tightly by an invisible hand.

Zang Shiyi sprang up from the armchair, his composure and smile vanishing in an instant, replaced by an inexplicable unease.

"Rebellion! Outrageous!"

He grabbed the pistol from the table and roared towards the door, "Who has the guts to cause trouble at the Zang residence?"

"Butler? Where's the butler? Where the hell is he? Stop him!"

No one answered him at the door.

Just as the echoes of his roar were still reverberating in the main hall, an old steward, covered in dust and dirt, tumbled and crawled out from behind the screen wall.

His face was covered in bruises, and there was blood at the corner of his mouth, as if he had been severely beaten.

He had just rushed to the entrance of the main hall when he tripped on the threshold and fell hard onto the blue brick floor, seeing stars.

"Master! Something terrible has happened! The young marshal... the young marshal is back!"

"What?"

Zang Shiyi's face changed instantly, revealing an instinctive panic welling up from his very bones.

His lips trembled twice, his previous imposing manner vanished, and the gun in his hand shook violently, the muzzle swaying wildly in mid-air.

He instinctively took two steps back, his face filled with terror.

Ishihara Kanji's hand, which was holding a teacup, paused in mid-air.

His complexion was no better than Zang Shiyi's; his brows were furrowed, he muttered a curse in Japanese, and then suddenly stood up from his chair, his left hand already silently reaching for the Nambu pistol at his waist.

He looked at Zang Shiyi, his tone carrying a hint of reproach and coldness:

"Chairman Zang, didn't you say Zhang Xueliang was in Fengcheng? Didn't you say Fengtian was completely safe?"

"I...I don't know...He should be in Fengcheng...Where are Zhang Haipeng's men? Where is Zhang Haipeng?"

No one answered him.

Just as he was about to question them, the main hall door was kicked open.

The two half-inch-thick elm wood door panels collapsed with a loud crash, the hinges coming loose from the stone mortar and smashing onto the blue brick floor with a deafening bang, sending wood chips and dust flying everywhere.

Immediately afterwards, two squads of fully armed soldiers surged in from outside the door like a black tide.

They were all dressed in dark combat uniforms, their faces painted with black and green paint under their helmets, their equipment was so sophisticated it was almost despair-inducing.

The gun muzzles were all pointed at everyone in the main hall, all safety engaged, and the cocking levers pulled all the way back. With just a flick of the finger, everyone in the room would be riddled with holes in a matter of seconds.

The soldiers filed in through the doorway, quickly spreading out along the wall to block all possible escape routes in the main hall.

Behind the group of soldiers, a man strode in.

He was wearing a dark gray combat uniform without any rank insignia, but his identity was self-evident from the fact that everyone automatically made way for him.

His right hand hung at his side, holding a pistol with wisps of smoke rising from its muzzle.

Zhang Xueming.

The moment Zang Shiyi saw that face, all the strength in his body seemed to be drained away. The gun in his hand fell to the ground with a thud and flew two feet away.

His knees began to buckle, his back slid down the armrest of the armchair, his lips trembled, and he couldn't utter a single word.

Kanji Ishihara reacted much faster than Zang Shiyi.

He reached for his waist and a Nambu pistol was already in his hand, the muzzle raised and aimed at Zhang Xueming.

He had received rigorous military training, and his speed in drawing and aiming his gun was extremely fast, so fast that the soldiers around him didn't even have time to turn their guns towards him.

His finger was on the trigger, and he began to press down.

Zhang Xueming didn't even blink.

His hands moved so fast it was almost invisible.

The muzzle of the gun in his right hand rose with lightning speed, almost without any aiming process. His wrist was subtly adjusted, and then his index finger gently snapped the trigger.

"Bang! Bang!"

The two shots rang out almost simultaneously, as if they were fired at the same time.

The first bullet struck Ishihara Kanji's right elbow, which was gripping the gun, and the Nambu pistol flew out of his hand.

Before Ishihara Kanji's scream could even escape his throat, a second bullet had already pierced his left knee.

His left leg went limp like a chopped log, and he lost his balance, collapsing to the ground with a scream.

Blood gushed from his sleeves and trouser legs, quickly forming a large dark red puddle on the blue brick floor.

Zhang Xueming put down his gun, the muzzle still emitting a faint wisp of smoke.

He glanced down at Ishihara Kanji on the ground, his gaze as calm as if he were looking at a cockroach.

"Leave them alive," he said calmly.

Zhan Lang suddenly appeared from behind Zhang Xueming, grabbed Ishihara Kanji by the collar, dragged him out of the pool of blood like a sack of potatoes, and pressed him down onto a chair next to him.

Zang Shiyi had collapsed to the ground.

He leaned against the legs of the armchair, trying to stand up by supporting himself with his hands on the ground, but he couldn't muster any strength in his legs. After a few attempts, he only left a few wet sweat stains on the blue brick floor.

His face was completely devoid of the smug look he had an hour ago. His lips were as white as paper, and his eyes were darting around frantically in their sockets, as if desperately searching for a crack in the ground to hide in.

Zhang Xueming slowly walked up to Zang Shiyi, each step landing precisely on Zang Shiyi's heartbeat.

"Second...Second Commander..."

Zang Shiyi's voice trembled, "Let me explain... I did it all for the Northeast... for the people of the Northeast... for the Marshal..."

"For the sake of Northeast China?"