A courtyard house; Li Yunlong, a subordinate of the deputy director of Harbin Military Engineering I

When Zhang Renfeng walked out of the command post, he saw several army commanders under the tree, each with a small notebook in hand, heads down and completely absorbed in their work.

He stood on the steps for two seconds and couldn't help but chuckle to himself—these guys, back in the Jin-Sui region, barely knew any characters and had to rely on clerks to write battle reports, but now they've all developed the good habit of keeping diaries.

What does this show? It shows that corporal punishment was effective back then.

Back then, if you asked who among these regimental-level cadres was the most cultured, believe it or not, it was Ding Wei!

Back in the Taiyue Military Region, he chased Li Yunlong all over the yard with his belt, forcing him to write a 300-word battle summary every day. Li Yunlong's writing was full of typos, which made him so angry that he slammed the notebook on the table and yelled, "Are you fucking brainless?"

Now, these people are more enthusiastic than anyone else when it comes to writing short essays. They all want to record their glorious achievements and inner thoughts, for fear that future generations will miss a word when compiling war history.

I just don't know what these guys write in their diaries.

It's true that "spare the rod and spoil the child" and "pressure breeds intellectuals."

Zhang Renfeng stepped down the stairs.

Li Yunlong, with his sharp ears, was the first to look up. Seeing Zhang Renfeng standing in front of him, he quickly stuffed his notebook into his pocket and put on a smile.

"Commander! Are we going back home to participate in the military parade next?"

Zhang Renfeng walked up to him, looked him up and down several times, his gaze sweeping from Li Yunlong's dark red face to his slightly protruding belly, then from his belly to his calves where his leggings were not properly tied, before revealing a meaningful smile:

"Linglong, Linglong, I'd like to take you, but your appearance is unacceptable. You, a dignified commander of the Anti-American Independence Army, standing in the formation, aren't even as tall as the flag bearer in front. What kind of image does that make? When the leaders on the city wall look through their binoculars, they'll think, 'Oh my, who is this clown?'"

Li Yunlong was so speechless by his words that his face turned green.

He snorted, but was unwilling to let it go so easily, and approached with a grin:

"Sir, that's not important! If marching in formation won't work, shouting slogans will do, right?"

I, Old Li, may not be good at much else, but I have a huge voice! Just imagine, on the day of the military parade, the square was completely quiet, and then I, Old Li, let out a roar—the momentum was incredible!"

He cleared his throat and deliberately lowered his voice, mimicking the announcer's tone.

"How about 'Model Soldiers, Take Your Position!'? Was it exciting enough?"

Zhang Renfeng stared at him for two seconds. This kid's shout of "Fire!" did actually have some merit.

Back in the Taihang Mountains, Li Yunlong could shout from a mountaintop and scare away Japanese sentries three mountaintops away.

This guy may not be good at anything else, but his loud voice is definitely a natural weapon.

"Alright," Zhang Renfeng nodded, glanced at the hillside not far away, then put his hands behind his back, "You say 'Model soldier in position'."

Li Yunlong's eyes lit up, he immediately straightened his back, took a deep breath, and then suddenly opened his mouth—

"Model soldiers, in position!!"

This shout startled the several army commanders under the tree.

Kong Jie nearly dropped his pipe, and Cheng the Blind's pen pierced the paper.

The sound was scorching hot, carrying the metallic stench of the battlefield, and it exploded in the open space in front of the command post, spreading in all directions.

On a slope not far from the headquarters, more than a thousand special operations soldiers from the Liangshan Special Operations Battalion were lining up and preparing for battle.

Beside each of them was an urn wrapped in white cloth, containing the ashes of their comrades-in-arms.

The heroes who shed their last drop of blood on this battlefield in a foreign land.

Upon hearing Li Yunlong's command, "Model soldiers, take your positions," all the special forces soldiers simultaneously stood at attention, their backs ramrod straight. The more than one thousand men stood like a dark green pine forest, completely still.

Immediately afterwards, the soldiers in the first row took the lead, raising 1800 Type 56 assault rifles in unison, their muzzles pointing skyward, gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

"Bang!!"

A muffled, thunderous gunshot rang out, followed by the simultaneous firing of 1,800 guns. The smell of gunpowder drifted down with the mountain breeze, carrying the scent of pine needles and earth, filling everyone's nostrils.

Before the gunshot had even completely faded, Li Yunlong had already turned around, facing the slope, taken a deep breath, and roared out the second half of his sentence with all his might...

"Respectfully sending our fallen heroes back home!!"

His voice was like magma erupting from a volcano, each word burning hot.

On the slope, a group of soldiers from the special operations battalion roared in unison, their voices, over a thousand in number, coalescing into a single, rough, dry, and hoarse sound, as if scraped from gravel with a shovel:

"Respectfully bidding farewell to our fallen heroes! Returning home!!"

Before the sounds from that side had even subsided, a second wave of echoes came from the 15th Army's positions, closest to the headquarters, organized by battalion:

"Respectfully bidding farewell to our fallen heroes—returning home!!"

Then came the 12th Army, the 38th Army, the 42nd Army, and the various divisions and regiments of the Independent Army, passing on the torch one after another, like a wildfire spreading along the dry grassy slopes, expanding in all directions from the valley where the headquarters was located, sweeping across the mountain ridges, passing through tunnel entrances, and wading through the scorched earth slopes that had been turned over countless times by artillery fire.

A dozen seconds later, along the entire central section of the 38th parallel, from west to east and from south to north, the voices of hundreds of thousands of soldiers merged into an overwhelming torrent...

"Respectfully sending off our heroic martyrs back to their homeland!!"