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

What truly caused an uproar internally was the change in the injury and sick ward.

Zhao Ping'an would go there almost every morning and evening to decide whether to continue administering medication to the soldiers based on his own judgment.

At first, no one knew what Zhao Ping'an was feeding the wounded soldiers. But a few days later, the change was obvious.

An old soldier whose abdomen had been ripped open by shrapnel, whose wound was festering and smelly, and who had been in a daze all day, recovered from his high fever and regained his clarity of mind after Zhao Ping'an arranged for someone to clean his wound and give him medicine.

Although pus still occasionally drains from the wound, the redness and swelling have subsided, and the pus has become thin and clear.

A young soldier who had been shot in the leg, whose calf was swollen and shiny, and whose leg doctors said might need to be amputated, had his leg saved thanks to penicillin tablets.

Although she still cannot walk, the pain has greatly decreased, and she has a smile on her face.

Two soldiers who suffered from severe pneumonia due to frostbite and malnutrition also survived the most dangerous period thanks to penicillin and vitamin tablets provided by Zhao Ping'an. Their coughs changed from being heart-wrenching to being muffled, and their breathing gradually became stable.

The groans in the injury shed have decreased, replaced by hushed conversations and occasional sighs.

"The medicine that Platoon Leader Zhao gave us...it's amazing."

"Last night, Brother Wang was able to sit up and drink his porridge by himself."

"I heard that's... penicillin? A precious thing used by foreigners..."

"Shh! Keep your voice down! The commander ordered that this matter not be spread."

The news spread like an undercurrent within the camp, albeit in a limited way.

There was no public announcement, but the way soldiers who witnessed or heard about it looked at Zhao Ping'an's small courtyard...

There was an added sense of indescribable awe and gratitude.

This is no longer just a simple skill of "getting food and cotton clothes"; it's a means of snatching people from the clutches of the King of Hell!

In chaotic times, what could be more effective at winning people's hearts than this?

Zhao Dongliang silently observed all of this.

As he inspected the camp, the soldiers saluted with high spirits;

He went to the wounded soldiers' shed, where wounded soldiers struggled to sit up and greeted him with light in their eyes;

He even noticed that the firewood piled up in the corner of the camp was more neatly arranged than before.

There have been no further reports of them sneaking out at night to wreak havoc on nearby villages.

The source of all these changes points to his younger brother, who seems to have undergone a complete transformation.

His doubts remained; the "merchant's" channels seemed far too powerful.

But more than anything, it felt a profound sense of relief and a resolute determination to move forward.

This team, which was on the verge of collapse, is recovering its strength and taking shape at a visible speed.

As the leader, he understood better than anyone else what this meant.

No matter how mysterious the younger brother's path may be, it seems, at present, that it's within their group.

It was also the greatest reliance for the two brothers to survive and even achieve something in this chaotic world.

That evening, after finishing his official business, Zhao Dongliang strolled to the courtyard where his younger brother's platoon was located.

The aroma of stew wafted from the courtyard, where soldiers were eating around several large pots. When he entered, they all stood up.

"Commander!"

"Sit down and eat." Zhao Dongliang waved his hand, his gaze sweeping over the faces that, though still thin, had regained some color.

Finally, the focus shifted to Zhao Ping'an, who was inspecting the food in a pot.

Zhao Ping'an looked up and saw his older brother, wiped his hands and walked over: "Brother, have you eaten? There's still some in the pot."

"We'll eat later." Zhao Dongliang pulled him aside to a slightly quieter spot, paused for a moment, then pulled Zhao Ping'an aside and whispered.

"I know everything about the wounded soldiers. Ping An, is the medication you're using the one we mentioned before... penicillin?"

Zhao Ping'an nodded, not denying it: "Yes, I got it through someone. There's not much, so we can only use it for the heaviest supplies."

"This thing... is too conspicuous." Zhao Dongliang frowned slightly. "Luckily, it's in our own camp. We need to be more careful when using it in the future."

"I understand," Zhao Ping'an replied, then changed the subject.

"Brother, I think the brothers' spirits have returned. What we lack most right now isn't food, but 'energy'."

We need to get them practicing, to help them regain their lost skills, and to strengthen their bodies.

"Just having enough to eat and wear makes you a fat sheep."

A glint flashed in Zhao Dongliang's eyes; his brother's words had struck a chord with him. "What are your thoughts?"

"Starting tomorrow, I want to lead our platoon, along with some other platoons who are willing to come, to resume basic training."

Let's skip the fancy stuff and start with the most tiring tasks: mountain climbing, cross-country running, and digging fortifications.

Then when I get tired, I practice marching and tidy up my belongings.

If you're eating well, you should use your energy in the right way.

"To prevent some restless people from causing trouble for the villagers!" Zhao Ping'an paused,

"Also... I got some good gun oil and tools from that 'friend.' We need to take good care of our old guns. Only when the guns are in good working order can we feel at ease."

Zhao Ping'an originally wanted to directly upgrade to the top-of-the-line Type 38 rifles of this era. The system only charged 300 yuan per rifle. Zhao Ping'an even felt that the system was giving him a "preferential price" based on the material cost. After all, who would believe that a single yellow croaker could be exchanged for 1000 guns?

But Zhao Ping'an still felt it best to play it safe. After all, he wasn't in "our army" anymore. Who knew if there were one or two traitors hiding among these two hundred-plus people? Providing clothes and food could be excused by the fact that Lou Bancheng was providing assistance. But if he were to bring in hundreds of guns, things would get complicated.

So, as a second-best option, I decided to get some small tools for maintaining firearms, like gun oil.

Anyway, our army hasn't made any big moves recently, so Zhao Ping'an can at least stay in the village obediently for a year or two.

Zhao Dongliang gave his younger brother a deep look and patted him on the shoulder:

"Okay. You take the lead on the training, and I'll talk to the company commanders."

"Firearms maintenance...start with your platoon, get it right. Be steady, be quiet."

"Don't worry, brother."

The two brothers had a brief conversation and set the tone for the next step.

There were no grand, earth-shattering plans, only the most pragmatic and fundamental efforts to restore and consolidate the economy.

The wind still blew from the north, carrying the chill of deep winter, but at this campsite in Wayaocun,

It seems that a different aura is emerging from within.

In the distance, wisps of smoke rise from the village chimneys.

Occasionally, villagers would glance in the direction of the camp, their eyes filled with complex emotions, but lacking the pure fear of the past.

They might not understand what changes had occurred in the army, but they could sense that something was different behind those intimidating fences and walls.