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

The canteen of the Fujian-Zhejiang Military Region headquarters. Lunchtime had just passed, and a long queue formed in front of the food windows.

The government officials, holding their coarse porcelain bowls, sat in twos and threes around the long table.

The food today is quite good: mixed grain rice with one meat dish and one vegetable dish, plus a radish soup. This is a pretty good meal for the base area.

In the corner, an ordinary-looking middle-aged man slowly shoveled rice into his mouth.

He sat in the corner closest to the wall, and you would hardly notice him unless you were looking for him.

"Have you heard? The main force of the Central Committee... has already marched west."

Several young staff officers sat around the table, their voices hushed, but the shock in their tones was still evident.

"A western expedition? Where to?" The young staff officer opposite him frowned, his chopsticks hovering in mid-air.

"Heading towards Hunan. I don't know the specifics, but I heard... the central government agencies also moved with the troops."

"What?" An older cadre next to him suddenly looked up. "You mean, Ruijin has been abandoned?"

The young staff officer looked around and lowered his voice, saying, "Is that even a lie? When we left Ruijin, the situation there was already on the verge of collapse. Hundreds of thousands of Nationalist troops were pressing in, and the Soviet area was shrinking with each battle. What other options did the Central Committee have besides relocating?"

The group fell silent for a moment. A bespectacled cadre sighed, "No wonder we haven't received any orders from the Central Committee lately..."

Old Yang didn't listen to what they were saying after that.

He kept his head down, oblivious to the fact that the rice in his bowl had gone cold.

The scattered pieces of information in his mind quickly pieced together like jigsaw puzzle pieces—the central government's main force's westward expedition, the relocation of central government agencies, the abandonment of Ruijin...

No wonder the atmosphere in the military region has been a bit off lately; no wonder Comrade Qiu Bai has been holding frequent meetings with the commander these past few days; no wonder several batches of cadres from some departments have been transferred away.

He was lost in thought when a figure carrying a bowl walked up to him.

The one who came was Xiao Guo from the intelligence department. He was in his early twenties, with a rugged appearance. Like him, he had been withdrawn from Shanghai.

However, since I had attended a military academy in my early years and knew some military knowledge and logistics management, I was assigned to work in the headquarters.

This young man had studied literature and hadn't been working for long. Aside from intelligence work, he knew nothing else. Ironically, he was fortunate enough to be working in his old field.

"Old Yang, why did you choose this spot?"

Old Yang subconsciously glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention to them before speaking:

"Oh, Xiao Guo, this is an old habit of mine. When I'm doing underground work, I always try my best not to attract too much attention. I still haven't gotten used to working in the military region; I always feel a bit out of place."

Xiao Guo shoveled some rice into his mouth and said casually, "How could that be? We're all comrades. When I was in Shanghai, I dreamed of coming to the front lines. Working in the base area is so great; even if you die, you'll know why."

Old Yang smiled, a smile tinged with complexity: "That's true. It's better than having to be careful even when I sleep, afraid that I'll wake up to find myself in a Kuomintang prison."

He sighed, put down his chopsticks, and said, "Sigh, I just heard that the central government has moved. You work in the intelligence department, have you heard anything about this?"

Xiao Guo paused, chopsticks in his hand, and looked up at Lao Yang: "Lao Yang, what's wrong with you? We've both been underground workers, we know these secrecy regulations by heart. Why are you asking this?"

"Sigh, I'm just worried sick. To be honest, I'm even more anxious right now than when I was imprisoned by the Kuomintang."

"Old Yang, I understand how you feel, but don't worry, we have our commander here. He's a capable man, and he'll definitely be able to lead everyone to turn the tide."

Old Yang's eyes flickered slightly: "Do you know something?"

Xiao Guo waved his hand: "Hey, don't ask so many questions. You'll know in a couple of days."

After he finished speaking, he stood up with the bowl in his hand, nodded to Old Yang, and turned to walk towards the sink.

Old Yang sat there, watching his back, his eyes filled with contemplation, but the knot of doubt in his heart tightened more and more.

After get off work, Lao Yang went back to his dormitory first. He lived in a four-person dormitory room, and his other colleagues had not yet returned.

He walked to his bed and sat down, pulling a palm-sized notebook from under his pillow.

He wrote down all the bits and pieces of information he had gathered in the past two days.

After writing the last line, he paused, then added a few more words to create a more precise logical chain.

He stared at those lines of text for a few seconds, making sure that all the information was imprinted in his mind, then tore the page from the notebook, put it in his mouth, chewed it a few times, and swallowed it.

The door was then pushed open.

Li, my roommate, walked in. "Hey, Lao Yang, you're pretty eager to leave work today. That's not like you."

Old Yang lowered his hand from his mouth, a pained expression on his face, and clutched his stomach, saying, "I think I ate something bad at lunch; I don't feel well."

Xiao Li walked over and sat down on his bed, his tone concerned: "Then you should see a doctor and get some medicine from the infirmary."

Old Yang waved his hand: "No need. It's an old problem. A rest and some hot water will do the trick."

Late at night.

The dormitory area of ​​the military compound quieted down, with only the occasional sound of sentries changing shifts in the distance.

Old Yang lay on the bed with his eyes closed, but he couldn't really fall asleep.

He was still mentally analyzing the connections between the information he had gathered during the day.

"Bang!"

A crisp gunshot pierced the night sky.

Then came a second and a third shot, followed by a burst of intense machine gun fire, interspersed with the explosions of grenades.

The gunshots seemed to be coming from the center of the compound.

Old Yang suddenly sat up in bed. His roommate, Xiao Li, also woke up with a start, and another colleague, Xiao Zhao, jumped out of bed and rushed barefoot to the door.

Chaotic footsteps and shouts echoed down the corridor. Someone was asking, "What's going on?" and someone else was yelling, "Where did the gunshots come from?"

But then, a sharp whistle rang out.

"Everyone back to the dorms! No one is allowed to come out!"

The guard's voice came from outside the door, his tone stern and completely devoid of his usual politeness.

Old Yang walked to the door and looked out through the crack.

In the corridor, several guards in military uniforms stood on both sides of the passage with guns at the ready, their faces stern, their eyes scanning the cadres who were peeking around.

When someone tried to ask what had happened, the guard simply replied, "Don't ask what you shouldn't ask. You'll find out tomorrow morning."

Old Yang's mind started working quickly.

A few days ago, the military region conducted a security drill, and all the personnel's sidearms were confiscated.

Now they are unarmed and cannot do anything even if they want to.

He sat back down by the bed, listening to the gunfire outside gradually subsiding, and his guess became clearer and clearer.

He remembered what Xiao Guo had said earlier that day: "You'll find out in a couple of days."

Xiao Guo must have known something beforehand!