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

The Rong family's old residence in Wuxi, Jiangsu Province.

At this moment, Rong Zongjing was sitting in a grand chair, resting with his eyes closed.

Sitting next to him was his younger brother, Rong Desheng, who was a few years younger than him, but whose brows were furrowed at the moment.

Butler Fu strode in from outside and bowed slightly as he reached the front of the hall.

"Sir, it's been confirmed. Mr. Shi, who reported the matter, recently bought three ship tickets to San Francisco. It's said that Mrs. Shen is sending her two children to the United States for their studies."

Upon hearing this, Rong Desheng frowned even more deeply: "Brother, it seems that the rumor is most likely true. Our Rong family is probably going to suffer a great calamity this time."

Rong Zongjing picked up his teacup, took a sip, and shook his head: "We can't be so arbitrary. Those spies have long harbored murderous intentions towards Boss Shi. Sending his children abroad may not necessarily be to hide from the Red Army."

Uncle Fu didn't leave, and added, "Sir, I also inquired about it. Boss Shi is currently selling properties, and it seems the prices are quite low."

Upon hearing this, the two brothers' expressions changed simultaneously.

Rong Desheng stood up abruptly: "Brother, there's no smoke without fire. This Boss Shi is always the most well-informed."

"We should prepare in advance. If it turns out to be a false alarm, that's fine. But the worst thing is if that day really comes."

A flicker of hesitation crossed Rong Zongjing's eyes. He picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then made up his mind:

"Second son, why don't you go to the US? Help my third son look after him; say you're going to investigate investments. As for the other kids, arrange for them to go to Hong Kong. I'll take care of things at home."

"Brother, let me watch the house, you go..."

"No need for further explanation, it's settled then!" Rong Zongjing raised his hand to interrupt him, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He turned and ordered, "Uncle Fu, send out all the spies and keep a close eye on everyone's movements. Report back immediately if there's even the slightest sign of trouble."

Uncle Fu bowed and replied, "Yes, sir, I will arrange it right away."

He hurriedly left the main hall, walked through the corridor, went around the screen wall, and arrived at the parking area at the side gate of the house.

A black Ford Model Y was parked against the wall, its body gleaming.

The driver, Xiao Wang, was leaning against the hood of the car smoking. Seeing Uncle Fu get out, he quickly stubbed out his cigarette and opened the back door: "Uncle Fu, where are you going?"

"Go to the telegraph office." Uncle Fu bent down and sat in the back seat, closing the car door behind him.

"Okay, hold on tight." Xiao Wang stepped on the gas, and the car slowly drove out of the alley.

These days, most wealthy people can't afford to provide a car for their butler.

Because once you provide a car for your butler, your own car must be of a higher standard than the butler's.

This whole thing cost tens of thousands of dollars.

This doesn't even include the daily cost of maintaining the car; most capitalists simply couldn't afford it!

But for a top-tier conglomerate like the Rong family, it's standard for each of their top employees to have a car and a personal driver; otherwise, they'd be laughed at for being shabby by other wealthy people.

The car drove out of the alley and onto the main street, gradually picking up speed.

Uncle Fu was squinting, just about to take a short nap, when a commotion suddenly came from ahead, startling him from his half-asleep state.

He looked out the car window.

A large crowd had gathered in the center of the street, and in the middle were several young people dressed in school uniforms standing on a small makeshift platform, holding megaphones and shouting loudly.

"Fellow countrymen! The Japanese devils have occupied more than one million square kilometers of our Northeast China, which is equivalent to more than two hundred Wuxi cities!"

"Such a vast land, handed over to others without firing a single shot. Even if you gathered all the spendthrifts in the country together, none of them would be this good at squandering it."

"And what is our government doing? They have a million-strong army, but instead of using them to defend against foreign enemies, they've used them to fight a civil war! The Japanese are slaughtering our compatriots, and our government is slaughtering our compatriots too—what an irony!"

The students shouted as they handed out flyers to passersby.

Some people took the flyer and looked down at it, some hurriedly walked around it, and some stopped to watch and whisper among themselves.

The car inevitably slowed down in the flow of people.

Without turning his head, the driver, Xiao Wang, said, "Uncle Fu, there are too many people here. Should we take a detour?"

Uncle Fu looked at the young faces outside the window and said, "It's alright, drive slowly. I also want to see the passion of young people."

The car moved slowly through the crowd like a snail.

Uncle Fu's gaze fell on the student holding the megaphone. The boy was only seventeen or eighteen years old, with a stubborn look on his thin face. He was shouting until his voice was hoarse, but he was still shouting desperately.

Just then, a sharp whistle suddenly came from the end of the street.

Someone in the student group shouted, "The black dogs are coming! Retreat!"

The crowd immediately scattered as if a pot had been boiled over.

The students put away their flyers, jumped off the stage, and mingled with the crowd, dispersing in all directions.

At the other end of the street, a group of police officers in black uniforms were rushing towards them, brandishing batons.

A young policeman was running in the lead, about to catch up with the students, when he suddenly saw the black Ford parked on the side of the road.

He paused, cautiously approached, and peered through the car window.

The police officer was relatively young. Although he didn't recognize the license plate number of the Rong family's car, these days, anyone who can drive a car is either rich or powerful, and it's definitely not something a lowly policeman like him can afford to mess with.

He was hesitating whether to go up and say hello when the car window suddenly rolled down.

Uncle Fu called out to a middle-aged police officer leading a team in the distance, "Officer Zhao."

Officer Zhao, who was brandishing his baton and preparing to continue the chase, stopped abruptly upon hearing the shout.

Looking back, the fierce expression on his face instantly turned into a fawning smile.

He jogged over, his back slightly bent: "Oh, it's Butler Liu! It's been a while, you've gotten younger and younger!"

Uncle Fu smiled and pointed to the students dispersing in the distance: "I recently went on a business trip and just got back, and I ran into this. Those kids from earlier, were they from No. 1 High School? There seemed to be quite a few of them. What exactly happened?"

Officer Zhao lowered his voice and explained, "We don't know what happened either. We heard that some communists were secretly instigating it. These students are skipping their studies and causing trouble in the streets. In just the last two days, we've arrested more than a dozen people!"

"But rest assured, we dare not touch anyone connected to your government or company. I've already given the word that if we catch them, we'll pretend we didn't; if we see them, we'll pretend we didn't."

Uncle Fu nodded, his face expressionless. "Alright, I understand. Go on with your work."

"Okay, take care!" Officer Zhao nodded and bowed repeatedly, watching the black Ford slowly drive away.

After the car window was rolled up again, Uncle Fu leaned back in his seat and sighed softly.

"Alas, these are truly troublesome times. I hope my old bones... can pull through this."