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

It wasn't the door that collapsed, but rather Ah Si that took a solid hit to the back of the head with a rifle butt.

He felt a sudden darkness before his eyes, and his whole body collapsed to the ground like a sack of mud, the banknotes in his arms scattered all over the ground, flying wildly in the night wind.

Two Red Army soldiers stood behind him. One of them bent down, picked up the axe from the ground, and spat, "What the hell is this?"

Ah Si lay on the ground, blood and foam coming out of his mouth. His eyelids rolled a few times, and then he stopped moving.

But this was only the beginning of the riots in Fuzhou that night.

Those eyes lurking in the shadows aren't just filled with thugs; there are even more vicious ones.

Japanese military attaché Ichiro Matsumoto stood at the second-floor window, gazing at the distant flames soaring into the sky, a slight smile playing on his lips.

He turned around and whispered a few words to the dozens of overseas Chinese and ronin behind him who were already fully prepared to depart.

Excitement immediately shone in their eyes, and they all grabbed the rifles and samurai swords hidden under the tatami mats and filed out.

Their target was the commercial street in the city center.

"Bang!" The door of a restaurant with a sign that read "Wangjianglou" was kicked open.

Before the shopkeeper, Wang Youcai, could even speak, he was stabbed through the chest with a knife.

A short, stocky man in a kimono stepped over his corpse and roared in broken Chinese:

"Wang Sang, I told you to sell the restaurant to me, and you dare to refuse?"

Wang Youcai's wife leaned out from upstairs and saw her husband lying in a pool of blood, letting out a piercing scream.

The short, stocky man grinned maliciously and rushed upstairs in a few steps.

Soon, heart-wrenching cries and the sound of tables and chairs overturning came from upstairs, only to be drowned out by a burst of boisterous laughter.

Just then, a series of neat and hurried footsteps came from the street corner.

Zhou Zeyuan arrived with his men.

He stood at the street corner, watching as the doors of many shops ahead were brutally broken open, his face turning ashen.

He didn't say a word more, he just waved to the soldiers behind him.

Dozens of Red Army soldiers picked up their rifles and rushed into the damaged shops.

boom! boom! boom!

This time, the Red Army soldiers showed no mercy. When they saw the Japanese invaders committing violence, they emptied their magazines immediately!

Veteran Zhao Dezhu carried his gun into Wangjiang Tower. He immediately spotted Wang Youcai lying on the ground, already dead.

Zhao Dezhu rushed upstairs and saw a naked Japanese soldier on top of a young woman, tearing at her tattered clothes.

Zhao Dezhu's eyes were bloodshot, and he grabbed the Japanese soldier by the hair and lifted him up.

The Japanese soldier was still muttering something in his mouth, but Zhao Dezhu didn't care what he was cursing. He punched him hard in the face, and then inserted two fingers directly into his eye sockets.

The Japanese soldier let out a pig-like scream, covered his face with his hands, and rolled on the ground.

Still not satisfied, Zhao Dezhu mustered all his strength and delivered a groin kick.

This kick was the culmination of twenty years of practice.

Two faint sounds of testicles cracking came from the Japanese soldier's crotch, like a shrimp being crushed. It twitched a few times and then stopped moving.

Wang Youcai's wife struggled to get up, her hair disheveled and her clothes barely covering her body.

She completely disregarded the fact that there was a man present, and suddenly lunged forward, grabbed a vase, and smashed it down on the Japanese soldier's head with all her might.

With a muffled "plop".

The Japanese soldier's head lolled to one side, and he was completely dead.

Wang Youcai's wife collapsed to the ground, trembling all over, and finally burst into tears.

She crawled over and hugged her husband's body, crying her heart out.

Zhao Dezhu stood to the side, opening his mouth as if to say something comforting, but his mouth was as stiff as if it were stuffed with cotton, and after a long while he could only manage to stammer out: "Um... comrade... you... you shouldn't cry..."

The news was quickly relayed back to the Japanese consulate.

One of the expatriates who had escaped back home was covered in blood and was gesturing incoherently to his name.

Upon hearing this, Matsumoto Ichiro abruptly drew his sword, slicing off a corner of his desk with a single blow, and roared, "Assemble! Everyone! Take to the streets! The citizens of the Great Japanese Empire are not to be slaughtered at will by Chinese soldiers!"

In less than fifteen minutes, hundreds of Japanese residents and ronin poured onto the street.

They advanced along the commercial street and encountered a patrol of Red Army soldiers, who opened fire without saying a word.

Several Red Army soldiers were caught off guard and fell to the ground.

When the news reached Zhou Zeyuan, he laughed instead of getting angry: "I was just worried about not finding a chance to deal with these bastards, and they walked right into my trap."

He mounted a captured warhorse and rode to the assembled troops.

The firelight illuminated his cold, hard face. He surveyed the dark mass of warriors before him and roared:

"The Japanese devils in Fuzhou are taking advantage of our fighting with the Nationalist army to burn, kill, loot, and rape women everywhere. They're bullying our compatriots right under our noses. What do you say we should do?"

"kill!"

"kill!"

"kill!"

Three roars, each louder than the last, echoed through the night sky.

Zhou Zeyuan nodded in satisfaction and immediately gave the order: the soldiers in front fought and retreated, while a detachment was sent to silently flank and encircle the enemy from both sides.

At Zhou Zeyuan's command, the Red Army soldiers who were fighting the Japanese militia began to retreat in an orderly manner, fighting as they went. The gunfire gradually subsided, and their footsteps became disordered, as if they were about to give up.

The Japanese militia, who were in the midst of a fierce pursuit, were greatly encouraged by the Red Army's "retreat."

"The Chinese are indeed utterly pathetic!"

"The Imperial Japanese Army is invincible!"

"Kill them all, and Fuzhou will be ours!"

"The money and the women are all ours!"

The roars rose and fell, revealing a ferocity unique to wild beasts.

The ronin, armed with rifles and samurai swords, strode forward, their steps quickening, as if the path ahead were not a battlefield, but a feast within easy reach.

Then, they plunged into a nearby narrow street.

At that very moment, a barrage of gunfire erupted simultaneously from both directions.

The Red Army troops who had been "retreating" suddenly stopped, lay down on the spot, set up machine guns, and opened fire.

The troops that had outflanked from the rear had already completed their encirclement at the alley entrance, their guns spitting fire, completely blocking any escape route.

But the reaction of the Japanese civilian militia was surprisingly calm.

On the contrary, many of them had expressions of extreme excitement on their faces.

Someone laughed loudly as they pulled back the bolt, firing and shouting:

"They're catching up! They can't escape!"

"How could the samurai of the Great Japanese Empire be afraid of these peasants!"

"Kill them all! Leave no one alive!"

They leaned against the walls along the street and poured fire in both directions. Some even shouted for a counter-charge, charging towards the Red Army's positions with bayonets at their heels.

Bullets flew through the narrow streets, sparks flew, and blood splattered.

Engaging in a firearms duel in such a confined area would result in an astonishing rate of casualties.

However, the Japanese soldiers, who clearly lacked cover, immediately suffered heavy losses.

On the Red Army's side, light and heavy machine guns were successively set up.

In terms of the quality of professional soldiers and firepower, these hastily assembled Japanese civilian militia were clearly no match.

But those Japanese soldiers were indeed ruthless. They fell in droves, and the people behind them continued to rush forward, stepping over the corpses. There was a lot of shouting and screaming, and their eyes were filled with a crazy red light.

The Red Army was clearly on the offensive, but at this moment they adopted a defensive posture.

The machine gunner crouched behind the sandbags, steadily firing, waiting for the Japanese soldiers to walk right into his gun.