Southern guerrilla warfare: I led the Red Seventh Army Corps to amassed a million troops.

Xilan Township is located in the western part of Luoyuan County, and most of its villages are scattered in the mountain valleys.

In areas with relatively flat land and abundant water resources, rice cultivation is the main industry.

The rest of the area was densely planted with sweet potatoes.

In the local area, sweet potatoes are a staple food that is just as important as rice.

Without it, half the people in the county would go hungry.

The Luoping Trail, which is about to be constructed, begins in Xilan Township.

The Dapingtou construction site was the first place where construction began.

At dawn, as soon as the sun peeked over the eastern ridgeline, steam rose into the air.

Accompanied by Zeng Hongyi, Zhou Zeyuan walked up the newly trodden dirt road, looking around as he went.

The construction site is already bustling with activity.

More than two hundred workers were scattered on the hillside.

Zhou Zeyuan stopped and pointed to the people digging on the hillside: "What are they doing?"

Zeng Hongyi leaned over and explained, "The soil in this area is loose, making it prone to landslides."

"By reducing some of the earth and rock on the mountain, we can alleviate the pressure. Building a drainage ditch will also greatly reduce the risk of landslides."

Zhou Zeyuan nodded, his gaze sweeping over the workers on the construction site. Seeing that they were all strong laborers, he asked, "Didn't we mobilize the local people to participate?"

Zeng Hongyi quickly replied, "Comrade Su Da said that it is currently the busy farming season, and unless the project is extremely urgent, we should try to avoid involving the people."

"However, the local She people, upon hearing that we were going to build a road, provided us with a lot of food and tools. I also had someone pay them, so I didn't accept their gifts for nothing."

Zhou Zeyuan hummed in agreement, his gaze suddenly drawn to a group of short figures not far away.

He squinted and examined them carefully for a few moments, then his lips twitched slightly: "These people... are they from Fuzhou?"

Zeng Hongyi nodded knowingly and lowered his voice, saying, "They are indeed not from this country. These shorty bastards committed arson, murder, and looting in the city back then, and now they are undergoing labor reform, which can be considered as atonement."

Zhou Zeyuan patted him on the shoulder, his tone unusually approving: "Haha, Lao Zeng, you've done a great job lately. Your future is limitless."

Zeng Hongyi quickly waved his hand, a smile plastered on his face: "Oh, that's all thanks to Comrade Zeyuan's excellent leadership. By the way, we haven't had breakfast yet, how about we grab something to eat here? Let's experience the workers' meals?"

"Alright. Let's find a cool place to stay first; it gets unbearably hot as soon as the sun comes out."

The two walked one after the other towards a shady spot at the foot of the mountain.

On the construction site, a man put down his shovel.

My gaze swept past the busy crowd, fixed on the two figures that were gradually disappearing into the distance.

This man was in his early forties, with a square face and an air of authority that came from someone who had long held a position of power.

He Wen-ding, first class of Whampoa Military Academy.

Lu Xingbang was the deputy commander of the 52nd Division and the frontline commander of the Ningde Nanjishan defense line.

A few days ago, the Nanjishan defense line collapsed.

Taking advantage of the chaos, he stripped off his lieutenant's uniform and mingled with the fleeing soldiers. Then, along with hundreds of prisoners, he was taken here by the Red Army.

The whole process was thrilling but without any real danger; thanks to his superb acting skills, the Red Army didn't recognize him at all.

After all, he's quite experienced in this area!

But to his surprise, Zeng Hongyi, the commander-in-chief of the Red Army, suddenly decided to drag all the captured officers to the construction site, euphemistically calling it "labor reform".

He Wendin picked up the shovel.

Then, blisters appeared on the same day.

He did consider running away.

The surrounding mountains were high and the forests were dense. As long as he went into the forest, the Red Army's few guns might not be able to catch up with him.

The problem is, he doesn't know the way.

This area is all mountains; it's easy to go in, but difficult to come out.

It's better to dig dirt on a construction site than to starve to death in the forest.

He even considered turning himself in.

The days spent digging dirt on construction sites were truly inhuman.

But then he thought, surrendering would only bring temporary peace, and the chances of escaping would be even slimmer.

He Wending was torn between his inner turmoil and his own. He loosened his grip, and the shovel handle slipped out, rolling down the hillside.

It hit a man who was digging a drainage ditch squarely.

"Baka!" A sharp curse came from the foot of the mountain.

Three short, stocky figures jumped out of the ditch, still clutching shovels, and angrily strode up the hillside.

He Wen-ding looked down and saw it was a Japanese!

Hehe, might as well smash it!

He remained calm despite the three short men charging towards him menacingly.

Three people surrounded him.

The leader blushed, speaking broken Chinese, pointing to his shoulder, then to He Wending, and then to the shovel on the ground.

The meaning is clear: You hit me, apologize.

He Wending's eyes were filled with disdain, and he curled his lip: "Oh, sorry. I didn't kill you."

He said he was going to pick up the shovel. He pulled, but couldn't budge it.

The short, leader-like man pressed his foot firmly on the shovel head, staring fiercely at him, and said, word by word, "Bow, apologize. If you don't bow, you won't apologize properly."

He Wendin's temper flared up instantly.

He straightened up and slapped her hard across the face.

"Snap!" The crisp sound echoed far across the hillside.

Caught off guard, the short man was spun around in place by the slap, staggered a couple of steps, and fell to the ground with a thud.

The remaining two were stunned for a moment, then howled and pounced on it.

One man threw a punch at He Wending's face, while another grabbed him from the side around the waist, trying to knock him down.

He Wending blocked with his left fist, then slammed his right elbow into the back of the man to his side, making him groan and release his grip.

Then he kicked the man in front of him in the knee, and the man screamed and fell to his knees.

He fought two opponents alone and held his own without being at a disadvantage.

But the short guy who had been knocked to the ground got up, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and with red eyes, hugged He Wending from behind.

The three men held him tightly. No matter how skilled He Wending was, with his hands and feet restrained from three directions, he couldn't fight back.

Fists, knees, head—the three little dwarfs attacked him like madmen.

He groaned and was pushed to the ground.

A hail of fists rained down.

"The Japanese are hitting people! The Japanese are hitting people!"

Someone shouted out.

That one shout silenced the entire room.

On the construction site, the Kuomintang prisoners who had been working diligently all raised their heads.

Almost without hesitation.

Fuck your mother!

"Get him!"

"Brothers, let's go!"

Seven or eight burly men threw down their tools and charged forward with a roar.

Then came a dozen or so, then twenty or so...

In the blink of an eye, the three little dwarfs were swallowed up by a crowd of angry people.

A barrage of punches and kicks followed. Someone grabbed a short man by the hair, pulled him out of the crowd, and punched him in the face.

Someone kicked another person over, and then four or five people surrounded them, their feet raining down on them.

Before long, the three dwarfs, their faces bruised and swollen, were kicked down the hillside, rolled in the mud, and collapsed at the foot of the mountain.

He Wending got up from the ground, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and looked at the three disheveled figures. Suddenly, he felt a lot of anger in his chest dissipate.

Under the shade of a tree, Zhou Zeyuan was holding a teacup, listening to a soldier report on the situation.

Surprisingly, he wasn't angry at all; instead, he asked with great interest, "Who won?"

"Reporting to the commander, the white dogs won!"

Zhou Zeyuan put down his teacup, a slight smile playing on his lips:

"Very good, they are indeed worthy of being descendants of the Chinese people. We'll give these white dogs an extra dish at lunchtime."