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

At the alley entrance, several young people dressed in school uniforms walked out.

The scene before them left them all stunned.

"This..." A student wearing a baseball cap swallowed hard. "This is different from what we've heard."

"What I heard is different," another girl with braids whispered. "My dad said the Red Army were communist bandits, and they left no one alive wherever they went..."

"Your dad even said the Red Army soldiers had three heads and six arms." The boy in the baseball cap scoffed, but his eyes were filled with more shock.

The news spread like wildfire through the streets and alleys of Fuzhou.

The shop owners who were rescued from the thugs by the Red Army last night, the elderly and children who were carried out of the fire by the Red Army, and the ordinary citizens who witnessed the Red Army killing Japanese ronin one shot at a time.

They became the Red Army's most loyal supporters.

"Let me tell you, if it weren't for the Red Army last night, those thugs would have robbed my shop clean!"

"That's right, that widow Wang next door, if the Red Army hadn't arrived in time, she probably would have been..."

"Those Japanese devils, always so arrogant, they ran into a brick wall last night! I heard that even the consul was arrested by the Red Army!"

"Good job catching them! Let them run rampant!"

Whispers and exclamations rose and fell in the streets and alleys, but remained very low.

Because there were still Red Army soldiers sleeping on the street.

As the sun gradually rises higher, the morning mist slowly dissipates, and golden sunlight shines on the bluestone road and on those tired faces.

At the alleyway near the school, a group of students gradually gathered.

The tall, thin student stood at the front. He looked around, took a deep breath, and said firmly:

"Gentlemen, I'm going to join the Red Army. Anyone want to go with me?"

A brief silence.

"Me." The boy in the baseball cap was the first to step forward.

"Count me in too." The girl with the braid took two steps forward, her braid swaying behind her.

"I'm going too!"

"And me!"

Count me in!

The sounds grew more numerous and louder.

On a tall building not far away, a man in a gray suit woke up from his daze.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up from the windowsill.

His name is Shen Zhiyuan, and he is a special correspondent for the Central Daily News stationed in Fuzhou.

Strictly speaking, he was a close associate of the Kuomintang military. Last night, he was ordered to infiltrate the city and his mission was to photograph evidence of the Red Army's condoning of the Japanese expatriate uprising.

He still vividly remembers what happened last night.

Those Japanese ronin, armed with guns and swords, were burning, killing, and looting in the commercial street. He hid in the shadows, his hands trembling, but he pressed the shutter button on his camera very quickly.

Then the Red Army arrived. His jaw dropped in astonishment.

The young men in gray military uniforms rushed into the street. They did not loot or kill; they simply fired steadily, one shot at a time, taking down the Japanese who were committing violence.

Several Japanese ronin charged forward with samurai swords, but the Red Army soldier did not retreat or rush forward to fight with bayonets as he had imagined. Instead, he dodged to the sides, revealing the dark muzzles of cannons behind him.

boom.

That shot shattered Shen Zhiyuan's worldview.

Is this some kind of Communist Party?

He took a few photos of the Red Army firing cannons in a daze, and then, still in a daze, hid in the empty commercial building and slept against the wall for the night.

Now that he's awake, he can't explain himself to his superiors!

I thought I'd take a few more usable photos, make do, and maybe I could get away with it.

He caught a glimpse of the scene outside the window out of the corner of his eye, and froze on the spot as if he had been frozen in place.

Down the long street, groups of Red Army soldiers slept under the eaves, the sunlight shining on them and gilding them with a golden light.

Shen Zhiyuan's fingers reacted faster than his brain, and with a click, the shutter was pressed.

Although this was catastrophic news for the Nationalist army, who says bad news has no value?

This one is more valuable than all the "evidence" from last night combined.

He rushed downstairs, feeling anxious and panicked.

As I ran out of the shopping mall, I tripped on the threshold and fell forward, almost dropping my camera.

A hand firmly supported his arm.

"Hey, comrade, be careful."

Shen Zhiyuan looked up and met a young face.

A Red Army soldier, in his early twenties, had a gentle smile on his face. The cuffs of his uniform were worn white, and his hands were rough but strong.

Shen Zhiyuan's heart clenched suddenly, and his throat tightened.

He was a journalist for the Kuomintang.

He came to film "evidence" of the Red Army.

He came to smear the Red Army.

But this Red Army soldier didn't know any of that. All he knew was that a passerby almost fell, and he helped him up.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." The Red Army soldier released his grip, turned, and left.

Shen Zhiyuan stood there, watching the figure walk further and further away, his hand holding the camera trembling slightly.

On the west gate tower, Zhou Zeyuan stood behind the battlements, watching the city gradually awaken. As he listened to the messenger's report, a smile unconsciously crept onto his lips.

All the seriously injured have been transferred to hospitals in the city. The hospitals have stated that they will fully cooperate and mobilize doctors and nurses to treat the injured as much as possible.

At this moment, Fang Zhicheng was seen panting as he climbed the city wall.

"Commander!" Fang Zhicheng, panting heavily, didn't even have time to salute. "You...you go down and take a look."

"What's wrong?" Zhou Zeyuan frowned.

Fang Zhicheng pointed to the streets below the city, "The people in the city... are bringing food and blankets to our soldiers. They're everywhere, we can't stop them."

Zhou Zeyuan paused for a moment, then quickly walked to the edge of the city wall and looked down.

On the main street inside the city gate, dozens of civilians were bending over, carefully placing dry rations and water bottles next to the sleeping soldiers.

An old woman was covering her soldier with a quilt, her movements as gentle as if she were soothing a baby to sleep.

Behind the old woman was a little girl with pigtails, about five or six years old, clutching a sweet potato in her hand, timidly walking toward a sleeping soldier.

The little girl walked up to the soldier, hesitated for a moment, then stuffed the sweet potato into the soldier's hand, turned and ran. After a few steps, she looked back, giggled, and ran back to the old woman.

Standing on the city wall, watching this scene, Zhou Zeyuan suddenly felt a tightness in his throat.

He remembered when he first transmigrated to this world, he was a starving little beggar who was pulled out of the mud by a pair of warm hands.

"Commander," Fang Zhicheng said softly from the side, "the people in the city are all talking about it, saying they've never seen a force like this before."

"They said we were Yue Fei's army, or Qi Jiguang's army."

Zhou Zeyuan remained silent for a moment, then shifted his gaze from the civilians to the sleeping soldiers.

"We are neither Yue Fei's army nor Qi Jiguang's army."

"We are the Red Army."

"It is the people's own team."

Fang Zhicheng paused for a moment, then nodded vigorously, his eyes slightly moist.

"Tell all the troops to register all the items that the people have given them. Return them to them when we leave."

"yes!"

Fang Zhicheng turned and ran down the city wall.

Suddenly, Zhou Zeyuan heard a series of orderly footsteps coming from afar.

He had excellent eyesight and spotted a group of over a thousand people rapidly advancing along the official road toward Fuzhou from afar.