Courtyard House: I only wiped out 30,000 Japanese pirates

None of the workers present knew He Dajun's true intentions.

People have mixed feelings about He Dajun, especially the acquaintances in the courtyard.

At this moment, Yi Zhonghai was carrying a brick when He Dajun walked over.

Yi Zhonghai's back was soaked with sweat, it was hard to tell whether it was from the heat or from fear. He looked at He Dajun with a blank expression.

He Dajun cursed a few times, then picked up the wooden stick in his hand and tapped here and there, behaving like a typical scoundrel.

Then he whispered, "How about becoming my deputy? I'll recommend you to the young...master later."

This guy was so used to saying it that he almost blurted out the words "little devils."

Yi Zhonghai was stunned for a while, not expecting He Dajun to ask such a question, and then he felt conflicted.

I really don't know why He Dajun would say that. After pondering for a while, I need to think about it.

He Dajun immediately became unhappy and said, "No, Master Yi, you're actually disloyal to the Imperial Army? You want to reconsider now?"

Yi Zhonghai was startled and wanted to curse, realizing he had been tricked.

He immediately explained anxiously, "No, Dajun, that's not what I meant. I'm worried I won't do a good job."

He Dajun immediately said, "Master Yi, I only helped you because we live in the same courtyard and it would be beneficial for us. A close neighbor is worse than a distant relative."

Yi Zhonghai had no choice but to agree.

He Dajun said, "Okay, Master Yi, be more proactive now. I'll find an opportunity to put in a good word for you. I hope you can bring Xu Wude along later. The three of us are enough. Any more than that... the Japanese won't agree."

He left right after saying that, which surprised Yi Zhonghai greatly.

All morning, apart from the sounds of hammering and shoveling stones, there was almost nothing else to be heard in the steel rolling mill.

He Dajun kept walking around, stopping and looking at the surroundings, talking to himself.

On the surface, this lackey seemed very dutiful, but in reality, he was surveying the terrain of the steel mill.

After all, we arrived in the middle of the night last night, so we couldn't see very clearly.

We need to thoroughly investigate now, and we'll definitely come back again.

At noon, the whistle blew to signal the end of the workday.

The workers lined up and came out from every corner of the factory, each covered in a layer of dust.

His face, hands, and clothes were covered in brick dust and rust.

Someone wiped their face with their sleeve, but the sleeve was dirtier than their face, leaving a mud stain afterward.

Lunch was provided by the Japanese soldiers: two cornbread buns and a bowl of clear soup with a few vegetable leaves floating in it for each person.

He Dajun sat on the cornbread, took a bite, and almost spat it out.

It's not that I'm being dramatic, I just really can't swallow it.

Going back to 1937 from 2026 and eating this stuff feels like eating pig swill.

He put the cornbread back into the bowl and looked at the workers squatting on the ground outside, eating cornbread.

They ate very carefully, breaking off small pieces and putting them into their mouths, as if afraid of dropping a single crumb.

These people grew up eating this, so they don't know what delicious food is.

He Dajun's system allowed him to exchange rice, flour, pork, and eggs, but he couldn't take them out now. Even if he could, he couldn't feed these people. After thinking for a while, he stood up and walked over to Suzuki, the Japanese soldier in charge of supervising the work.

Suzuki, a sergeant in charge of the factory's logistics and foremanship, was sitting on a broken chair eating a meat bun. He glanced up when he saw He Dajun approaching with a steamed bun in his hand.

He Dajun bent down, a smile plastered on his face, and asked the translator to translate what he was about to say.

The translator paused for a moment after hearing this, glanced at He Dajun, but still translated it.

After hearing this, Suzuki glared at He Dajun, his eyes conveying a clear message: "Are you fucking tired of living?"

He Dajun continued to bend over, but didn't stop talking: "Sir, it's not that I'm complaining about the food the Imperial Army provides. I'm worried that the workers do heavy physical labor, and if they eat this kind of cornbread, how will they have the energy in the afternoon? If they don't have the energy, they'll work slowly, and if they work slowly, it will delay the project."

Suzuki stood up. He wasn't tall, but his presence was imposing. He took a step forward, almost touching He Dajun's face, and said, "Slow and you're dead! Kill them all!"

He Dajun quickly nodded and bowed, his smile becoming even more sincere: "Yes, yes, the officer is right. But officer, even if you execute all the workers, they won't have any strength if they haven't eaten. Executing them will only slow them down."

He paused, then added, "Sir, I'm not doing this for the workers; I'm doing it so the steel mill can be repaired as soon as possible. If it's repaired, the Imperial Army will be happy, and you'll save face too."

Suzuki stared at him for several seconds.

He had just become a foreman and this was the first time he had encountered a Daxia person who dared to talk to him about food.

Normally, he would have slapped him across the face long ago.

But He Dajun was, after all, the security chief personally promoted by Sasaki.

This person is Sasaki's dog now; even when beating a dog, you have to consider its owner.

Besides, if the steel mill can't be repaired, Sasaki will twist his head off and use it as a football; that's more valuable than a worker's life.

He glanced at the workers eating in the yard, recalled what had happened that morning, and finally said, "Okay."

"You can have steamed buns for dinner. But you must finish your work quickly this afternoon. Anyone who slacks off will be shot."

He Dajun immediately bowed even deeper, a bright smile spreading across his face: "Thank you, sir! Your wisdom is truly admirable! I will immediately inform the workers of this good news!"

He turned around, strode into the workers, cleared his throat, and raised his voice a beat higher than usual: "Listen up, fellow workers! I've already spoken to the Japanese commander! Everyone, work extra hard this afternoon, and we'll have white flour buns for dinner!"

The workers looked up at him.

No one spoke, no one applauded, and their expressions barely changed.

If Yue Yunpeng were here, he would definitely say, "How embarrassing!"

The main problem is that people don't believe it.

What nonsense is this traitor spouting now? White flour buns? Do you think the Imperial Army gets their white flour buns for free? He's probably just trying to trick us into working again; he'll probably bring us these black lumps again later.

He Dajun stood there, somewhat embarrassed. He glanced at the translator, then at Suzuki.

Suzuki snorted, walked over, and loudly repeated it in Japanese. The translator quickly translated: "The Imperial Army said that if the work is done well this afternoon, everyone will receive two white flour buns for dinner. The Imperial Army keeps its word."

The workers finally reacted.

There was a moment of silence, then someone started clapping.

More applause followed. They didn't trust He Dajun, but what the Japanese soldier said himself couldn't be a lie.

Many people have discovered that He Dajun, this traitorous dog, doesn't seem to be all that bad.

In short, the emotions are complex.

After lunch, we rested for an hour before continuing our work.

Because everyone hadn't eaten enough at lunch, their work efficiency was low. It's like a skilled cook trying to make a meal without ingredients.

That's true. In fact, everyone present was very scared, especially the Japanese soldiers. When they saw these people, they seemed to have no strength left and started to beat and curse them.

At 6 PM, the afternoon's work finally ended, and this time, sure enough, there were white steamed buns.

After finishing my meal and resting for a short while, I went back to work.

This is absolutely fucking like being in jail.

He Dajun couldn't stand it. This was the most condemned sweatshop in later generations, and it was even worse.

But there's no way around it; if you don't do it, someone will kill you.

By nine o'clock in the evening, it was completely dark, with only a few searchlights at the factory gate illuminating the ruins.

The whistle finally blew, signaling the end of the workday. The 170-plus workers, who had been busy all day, could finally go home together.

Everyone gathered their tools in the tool shed and dragged their leaden legs toward the factory gate.

For the Japanese, the work was quite effective.

The various waste materials, scrap bricks, and broken tiles have been mostly cleared away, and several large pits have been filled with broken bricks. Although the main structure of the factory building still has half of its roof collapsed, the ground is now passable for people and carts.

At this rate, the rubble can be cleared in another three or four days. However, the machinery needs to be transported from elsewhere, and many of the rolling mill's main shafts and gears were destroyed in the explosion.

Everyone walked silently on the road, not daring to talk.

At that moment, He Dajun heard a woman crying. His heart skipped a beat, and he clenched his fists, preparing to come and check if he had the chance.

Tonight, we must kill a few more Japanese devils.

As he walked, He Dajun remembered Tan Zhengyong from that morning. After hesitating for a moment, he decided to go and check on him that evening.

Of course, now we have to go back to the courtyard house with the rest of the group.