Courtyard House: Drunk and tipsy, the whole courtyard exposed at the start.

But what Zhang Dabiao said...

Even Yi Zhonghai, who was listening nearby, turned pale.

Strategic analysis?

What strategy are you analyzing, a vocational school student majoring in fine arts?

But they were right, and more accurate than anyone else.

Now, everyone's gaze towards Zhang Dabiao became even more complex—a mixture of awe and curiosity, and within that curiosity, a hint of something indescribable...

fear.

It was an instinctive tremor when faced with the unknown.

Everyone's hair stood on end.

Incredible.

That's incredible.

------------

Time flies, and it's already late October.

The battle reports from the front lines are becoming more and more inspiring each day.

The front pages of the newspapers were filled with headlines about great victories—"The Great Victory of Walong," "The Battle of Xishankou," "The Counterattack at Bomdila," and so on.

The PLA's offensive was like an autumn wind sweeping away fallen leaves; the Indian elite troops were as fragile as paper and collapsed at the first touch in the face of our iron torrent.

The entire city of Beijing was immersed in immense joy and pride.

But everyone also has a huge question – why did the Indians attack us?

I can't figure it out.

That's just plain crazy!

What's even more shameful is that they couldn't even win a sneak attack!

In this courtyard house number ninety-five, Zhang Dabiao's prestige had reached an extremely terrifying peak.

This wasn't achieved through punches.

This is truly "foresight".

Yan Bugui was beaten up by his students a while ago for impersonating Zhang Dabiao's mentor. The bruises on his face hadn't completely faded yet, but now he shamelessly stepped forward again.

He strolled around the courtyard with his hands behind his back, giving everyone he met a thumbs-up: "See that? That's what you call a family tradition! Back in the day, Zhang Banxian was known for his uncanny predictions, and now Da Biao has surpassed him!"

"After the fortune teller, another fortune teller has appeared!"

These few sycophantic words of flattery surprisingly didn't provoke ridicule from the neighbors this time.

Everyone, on the contrary, nodded in agreement.

after all--

Facts speak louder than words.

They talked about war, and war really came.

They said it would be a swift victory, and it truly came.

They say they can reach the vicinity of the capital...

Although we haven't reached that point yet, judging from the fierce momentum on the front lines, it's not impossible!

The front yard has a connecting hall.

The Jia family.

The heavy cotton curtains blocked out the light, making the room somewhat dark.

Jia Zhangshi sat cross-legged on the kang (a heated brick bed), holding a half-finished shoe sole in her hand. The needle tip hovered in mid-air, unable to pierce the sole for a long time.

As she listened to Yan Bugui's flattery outside, her old face turned deathly pale, and her whole body trembled uncontrollably.

"Huai Ru..."

Jia Zhangshi lowered her voice, her tone revealing an undisguised fear:

"You mean this little bastard... no, Da Biao... what kind of person is he exactly?"

"How can he even predict war so accurately?"

Qin Huairu was chopping pickled vegetables on the cutting board in the outer room when the clanging sound of the knife stopped.

She walked to the doorway of the inner room, lifted the curtain, and looked at Jia Zhangshi expressionlessly:

"Mom, are you scared now?"

"You used to badmouth people behind their backs a lot, and even had effigies stick needles in their mouths to curse them."

Startled, Jia Zhangshi trembled, and the needle in her hand pierced her fingertip, drawing a bead of blood. Ignoring the pain, she quickly put her finger in her mouth and sucked it out.

"I...I was just being silly!"

"Huai Ru, do you think he might casually make a prediction about our family one day? Like saying our family line will end or something... What should we do then!"

Qin Huairu snorted coldly, taking this opportunity to give her mother-in-law a good dressing down:

"That's hard to say."

"You've seen Da Biao's abilities now; even a senior reporter from the People's Daily comes to listen to him."

"If you dare to cause trouble again, or make him unhappy again—if you anger him, he won't even have to lift a finger. He can just point a way and our Jia family will be completely ruined."

"For example, what you said, what if he really publicly said that our family line would end?"

"Will Bang Geng still be able to get a wife in the future?"

"From now on, you'll stay inside and behave yourself. Don't go out into the yard and cause trouble!"

Surprisingly, Jia Zhangshi did not throw a tantrum this time.

He nodded his head vigorously, like he was pounding garlic.

They were completely terrified by Zhang Dabiao's mystical and intimidating power.

Qin Huairu understood what she was saying. Regardless of whether it was true or not, once Zhang Dabiao spoke up, the neighbors would remember it. That guy would become famous when he got married and found a wife—and that's how the story would spread.

Who would dare to marry into the Jia family?

This time, Jia Zhangshi was truly afraid from the bottom of her heart.

------------

In the east courtyard.

Zhang Dabiao ignored the gossip outside.

He was lying on a deck chair sunbathing, with an enamel mug, half a plate of peanuts, and a magazine or newspaper with only a couple of pages turned before being placed face down on the small table next to him.

Recently, the school and publishing house commissioned him to draw comic strips—something about "keeping up with the times and praising heroes."

Zhang Dabiao rejected them all.

Having two basic books is enough.

[Draw it again?]

Drawing is so tiring.

In his past life, he was an illustrator who worked like a slave, revising drafts every day. Now that he's finally achieved financial freedom, he's still working 996 (9am-9pm, 6 days a week).

No way!

Besides, even if he were to paint, he would have to paint what he wanted to paint.

How about Saint Seiya?

Is Dragon Ball any good?

Sailor Moon... well, let's forget about that for now, we can't handle the shoujo manga style.

The most crucial question is—

Painting alone is slow and tiring.

There's no need for that!

He has almost saved another 100,000 in savings in mainland China, and his milk tea shop and magazine publishing house in Hong Kong are making money. He also has nearly 100,000 antiques piled up in his cultural relics warehouse—he can't even spend all the interest alone.

What are you drawing?

Isn't it better to just lie down and relax?

"Da Biao." He Yushui came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of hot soy milk and placed it on the small table. "What are you thinking about? Why are you smiling so lewdly?"

"Who's being perverted?" Zhang Dabiao took the soy milk, blew on it to cool it down, and said, "I'm just contemplating life."

"Is it about contemplating life or contemplating laziness?"

"Both aspects should be taken into account."

Qin Jingru straightened up from the vegetable garden, her face still covered in dirt: "Brother Da Biao, do you think... that war can really reach their capital? It sounds like a storyteller to me."

Zhang Dabiao took a sip of soy milk and said slowly:

"Don't worry about it."

"This time, if we don't teach the Indians a lesson they won't learn."

Don't worry.

No sooner had he finished speaking than another cheer erupted from the Intermediate Court.

On the radio, the announcer was broadcasting the latest battle report—

"Our vanguard has advanced to—"

Zhang Dabiao didn't catch the specific place name.

But the reactions of the people in the compound told him that he was getting closer and closer to his goal of "fighting to the outskirts of the Indian capital."

He put down his soy milk and squinted at the azure sky above.

The sun is shining brightly.

warm.

He remembered that song.

How do you sing it again?

Five words floated down from the sky—

That's no big deal.