Courtyard House: I Rely on Time-Space Trade to Build a Nation

The night was as dark as ink, and the snow had temporarily stopped, but the cold air felt like a knife piercing into the bones.

When Zhao Ping'an and his elder brother Zhao Dongliang returned, they first took Dazhu to the shed where the wounded and sick were housed.

It's hard to say whether the predecessor was lucky or unlucky.

Of the nearly 400 men in the entire battalion, only about 240 survived the battle.

Of the 40 men in my platoon, 37 managed to escape, but it's uncertain whether the three missing men, Zhao Ping'an, surrendered directly to our army.

However, nearly half of those who returned were wounded soldiers, a total of eighteen.

Of the remaining 200 who managed to escape, only 22 were wounded.

In the afternoon, Dazhu had already given medicine to the wounded soldiers on his side. Now Zhao Ping'an came to check on the remaining half of the wounded soldiers in the camp.

The shack smelled terrible, and the groans were faint.

A dozen wounded soldiers lay on the ground, some with red, swollen, and purulent wounds, others with persistent high fevers and unfocused eyes.

Zhao Ping'an felt a pang of sadness. These were his brothers who had been wounded on the battlefield and endured the lack of medical care and medicine.

"Sir..." A lightly wounded soldier saw him and struggled to sit up.

"Lie still." Zhao Ping'an squatted down and took out two bottles of medicine from his pocket.

Inside were the penicillin tablets and pain relievers (paracetamol) he had previously redeemed.

"These are anti-inflammatory and pain-relieving medications, one tablet of each. For severe injuries, take an extra tablet for inflammation."

"Dazhu, find two careful brothers to take turns watching here. Call me immediately if anything changes." Zhao Ping'an instructed while feeding the wounded soldiers medicine.

This is all he can do for now; he'll act according to his own judgment.

Give each wounded soldier two penicillin tablets and one painkiller. As for the possibility of duplicate medication, it might not be good.

Zhao Ping'an can't worry about that now; the most important thing is that he can take the medicine and save his life.

Although the wounded soldiers didn't know what they were eating,

But the fact that the platoon leader personally fed them the medicine brought a bit of life to their ashen faces, and they responded vaguely.

Then Zhao Ping'an arranged for people to feed the remaining dozen or so wounded soldiers some rice porridge and milk candy.

If the injury is minor and the person can eat, ask the kitchen to bring over some hot buns.

After treating the wounded and sick, Zhao Ping'an assigned Dazhu and several absolutely trustworthy soldiers to guard the supply warehouse.

He borrowed more than a dozen soldiers from Zhao Desheng, all of whom had helped him carry supplies before.

Together with the dozen or so people in their platoon, they headed back to the cave they had visited before.

Although the group remained silent, they walked along the familiar path.

A look of joy naturally appeared on his face, especially after a hearty meal and the new military overcoat, shoes, hat, gloves, and other warm clothing he was wearing.

Zhao Ping'an discovered that this team, for the first time in his "memory," had "full of vitality."

Upon arriving at the location, Zhao Ping'an went in first to "make contact." Entering the cave, Zhao Ping'an didn't hesitate. He brought up the system interface and quickly began operations.

Three hundred sets of thick military overcoats, matching cotton Lei Feng hats, thick cotton shoes, cotton gloves, plus some common seasonings from later generations.

Although the soldiers were quite satisfied with their meat buns that evening...

But for Zhao Ping'an, a soul from decades later in an era of material prosperity, the taste was truly mediocre.

Next, he released all the remaining "coal" from the system space.

Suddenly, a small mountain of high-quality coal was piled up in one corner of the cave.

"Leave a few on guard duty, the rest of you come in and move things! Be careful, don't make too much noise!" Zhao Ping'an ordered in a low voice.

This time the amount of work was much larger, requiring several trips back and forth.

By the time the last batch of supplies was delivered back to the compound, it was already around 10 p.m.

As soon as he entered the courtyard, a messenger who was guarding there ran over: "Platoon leader! The regimental commander is back! He's waiting for you at the regimental headquarters and wants you to come over as soon as you arrive!"

Zhao Ping'an nodded and instructed Zhao Desheng, who had rushed over upon hearing the news:

"Company Commander Zhao, these are winter uniforms and coal for all the brothers in the battalion. Please organize the manpower to distribute them to the list overnight, making sure everyone gets a set, and the coal is distributed to each platoon."

Tell the brothers to keep the fire warm tonight and get a good night's sleep, but make sure someone stays behind to keep watch and watch out for smoke poisoning.

Looking at the brand-new military supplies piled up in the yard, Zhao Desheng's Adam's apple bobbed, and he replied heavily:

"Yes! Don't worry, Platoon Leader Zhao!" This time, when he called out "Platoon Leader Zhao," his tone was less critical and more genuinely respectful.

Zhao Pingan patted the snow off his body, took a deep breath, and walked towards the slightly larger mud-brick house that served as the regimental headquarters.

……

Only a dim oil lamp was lit in the regimental headquarters.

Zhao Dongliang sat alone behind the dilapidated table, his back ramrod straight, but his brows were furrowed with weariness and dejection.

He went to headquarters for two days, talking himself hoarse, but he couldn't even get a meeting with the deputy commander.

What they encountered was nothing but shirking responsibility, buck-passing, and the arrogant, cold stares of the Central Army officers.

Even though he had the approval slip from his superior officer, the promised food, medicine, and clothing...

They got nothing, only a blank document that read, "Raise funds locally and stand by."

When he dragged his heavy steps back to the Wayaocun camp, the deathly stillness he had imagined did not materialize.

On the contrary, smoke was rising from the camp, and although the soldiers were still thin, their spirits were noticeably different.

When I saw him stand at attention and salute, there was a light in his eyes, a light filled with hope and gratitude.

He even saw that many of the soldiers on guard duty had changed into brand new, thick cotton overcoats!

The stark contrast left him stunned, almost thinking he had gone to the wrong place.

Until Zhao Desheng rushed over and excitedly reported everything that had happened that day.

How Zhao Ping'an obtained grain and pork, how he traded with the villagers, and how he ensured the entire camp had a full meal.

And how come he just went out again to move supplies...

Zhao Dongliang was utterly shocked.

He sent Zhao Desheng away and sat alone in the regimental headquarters, his mind in turmoil.

His younger brother, Zhao Ping'an? The younger brother who used to be a bit of a troublemaker and gave him a lot of headaches?

In just one day, he accomplished something that even the regimental commander, who had been traveling for many days, could not do.

The door was pushed open, and Zhao Ping'an walked in, exuding a chill, and then closed the door behind him.

"Brother, you're back." Zhao Ping'an looked at his older brother's haggard but undisguised surprise face under the lamp.

"Ping An..." Zhao Dongliang stood up, his sharp gaze sweeping over him from head to toe.

"What exactly happened? Desheng said..."

"Is it all true? Where did you get all that grain, pork, cotton clothing...?"

Zhao Ping'an walked to the table, picked up the kettle, poured himself a bowl of cold water, gulped down a big mouthful, and then looked at his older brother with a calm and serious expression.

"Brother, please sit down first." Zhao Ping'an waited for Zhao Dongliang to sit down again.

He pulled up a stool and sat down, then picked up his backpack, bought a few pounds of braised beef from the system, and took it out.

Zhao Ping'an originally preferred braised pork knuckle, but it didn't taste good cold in the dead of winter, so he simply substituted braised beef.

Furthermore, on my way here, I got a bottle of antidiarrheal medicine for Dazhu, who had heard about me and was looking for me.

Many soldiers had diarrhea today because their stomachs couldn't handle it; they ate too much oily food.

I'm not sure about my brother's health condition, so I can't just "poison" him right away.

"Brother, this was specially given to me over there. I noticed you haven't eaten all day, let's eat and talk."