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

Zhang Dabiao extended his first finger.

"Do you know how high the altitude is there? Over four thousand meters! The road into Tibet, is it even a road? It's just a crack that God carved out of the mountain with a knife."

"Let me tell you, what is war all about? It's all about logistics. For every soldier fighting on the front lines, there have to be at least a dozen soldiers carrying his food and ammunition. They have to carry it by people and oxen. As for cars? Cars simply can't go up those mountain roads."

He patted his leg.

"Even the local Tibetan yak, there are places that people won't go to—the slopes are too steep, and the yak are afraid of falling to their deaths."

"Think about it, if we really march on New Delhi, tens of thousands of mouths will be there, how much will we need to eat every day? A truckload of oil will be burned halfway through if we send it to the front lines. You do the math?"

"You all know how tight our country's finances were a few years ago. We didn't have much surplus grain at home, not even the landlords."

"Reaching that position is the lowest cost and highest return; going any further is a losing proposition—only a fool would continue."

Xu Damao paused, his hand holding the bowl still. "Well... we can't let them get away with this, can we?"

"No rush, no rush, there's more."

"Secondly—killing someone by destroying their spirit is a more sophisticated method than simply killing them."

Zhang Dabiao extended his second finger.

"Cheap? You beat someone up until they're black and blue, then just walk away, and that's considered cheap?"

He scoffed.

"I ask you, are they lacking food or ammunition? Neither! What they lack is—face!"

"Our retreat has made it clear to the whole world: Wow, this rabbit can fight, but it doesn't bully people. It knows when to hold back and when to let go. What do you call that? That's called having a sense of proportion, that's called having dignity!"

"Those military observers are crazy—they've never seen this kind of fighting before. They beat you to a pulp and then left! What do you call that? That's the demeanor of a great power. That's what you call destroying someone's spirit."

He squinted and gestured in the tone of a military exercise commentator, saying, "This move not only makes India unable to hold its head up for a hundred years, but also slaps its backer, the US, hard across the face—look at the kind of bastards you've raised, what use are they?"

"Plus their caste system, their messy religions, their filthy rivers and sanitation system—frankly, what's the point of taking that clutter and occupying it?"

"Besides, if we back down, their domestic opposition will definitely jump out and yell: 'Look what Nehru has done to the country!' Then they'll start fighting amongst themselves, and we can just sit back, eat sunflower seeds, and watch the show. Isn't that better?"

Sha Zhu scratched his head: "Da Biao, you're too cunning..."

Zhang Dabiao glared at him: "This is called strategy! Do you even understand strategy? When playing chess, you have to think three moves ahead. Someone like you who can only think one move ahead deserves to be outmaneuvered."

"Thirdly, on the international chessboard, we must learn to 'quit while we're ahead'."

Zhang Dabiao held up his third finger, lowered his voice, and made a gesture as if he were sharing a secret.

"Do you even know when we chose to attack India? We chose the Cuban Missile Crisis!"

"During those days, the US and Russia had both set up missiles in the Caribbean Sea, tensions were high, and they were ready to overturn the table. Their eyes were all on the warships floating on the high seas, and they couldn't care less about South Asia."

"We seized this opportunity and gave that Indian a clean and tidy beating."

"But once the crisis in Cuba was resolved, and the two superpowers, the US and the Soviet Union, had recovered and wanted to intervene—hey, we've already finished fighting. We've ceased hostilities and withdrawn our troops."

"The two big shots rushed over with their weapons, only to find, 'Hey, where are they? They've finished off the rabbits and retreated.'"

He spread his hands, a cunning smile on his face.

"What's this called? This is called—precise timing, so precise that it didn't even have time to intervene and break up the fight."

"If you were to wage guerrilla warfare against the Indians in New Delhi, or even directly capture New Delhi, and the US and the Soviet Union were to send troops, we would be in a passive position. They are now caught in a dilemma of how to handle this situation, and they can't very well ignore it either."

"Let me tell you, military strategists around the world are still studying it today."

"Fourth—be scientific, we call this a strategic buffer."

Zhang Dabiao then extended his fourth finger.

"Let me tell you, war isn't a video game. You can't just take one city and start a new mine. If you take New Delhi, the whole world will be watching you, and you'll become the target of everyone's criticism."

"We drove the Indians away, gained benefits abroad, and can then pat ourselves on the back and say, 'I came to maintain world peace; I acted in self-defense; you attacked first.' What is that? That's called—'justification of the regime.'"

"If we leave New Delhi there, and they try to cause trouble again, we'll just go over and give them another beating. What do you call that? You call it 'eternal pain.' Make sure that every time the Indians think about it, they'll shudder and live in your shadow for the rest of their lives."

He took a sip of tea and gave his concluding remarks.

"So, the reason for not continuing the fight isn't because we can't win, but because we don't want to fight. That's the great wisdom of a leader."

After saying that, Zhang Dabiao stood up and patted the cigarette ash off his military overcoat.

As he was leaving, Yi Zhonghai and the other two suddenly asked, "Isn't our country afraid of retaliation from India for playing these games? Aren't we afraid Nehru will fight to the death?"

Zhang Dabiao looked up at the sky, then pinched it with his fingers—he had this habit when thinking.

When did Nehru die? I can't remember...

[I think he passed away a few years later, right?]

He shook his head one last time: "Why risk your life? What's the point of revenge?"

"He won't live for more than two years."

But when Zhang Dabiao said that, especially with the gesture he made with his hands—everyone thought he was calculating with his fingers, just like when Zhang Banxian was alive!

Zhang Dabiao said Nehru wouldn't live more than two years.

Then he definitely won't live more than two years!

Packaged!

Jia Dongxu is a cautionary tale!

So everyone took a step back in unison.

His heart started racing. He had predicted Jia Dongxu's death date before, but it was just a lucky guess.

But what if this calculation is correct too...?

They looked at each other, and could all see the fear in each other's hearts.

That would truly be a demigod reborn!

"Alright, stop overthinking and go do what you're supposed to do."

He strolled over, heading back inside, but as he reached the threshold, he remembered something. He turned and glanced at his neighbors, who were deep in thought, and casually remarked, "By the way, don't spread this around. This is just my personal strategic analysis, just casual banter."

"It's not feudal superstition, it's reasoning! Reasoning based on the international situation! It may be accurate or it may not be."

"Who the hell calls me feudal and superstitious? I'll slap them across the face!"

After saying that, Zhang Dabiao returned to the small courtyard, scratching his head as he walked—[Have I been talking too much lately?]

"Never mind, I'll be more careful next time."

[Analysis of the international situation by the general public is something everyone likes to talk about; it's discussed on every street corner. It's one of the biggest hobbies of the Chinese people; even Yan Bugui likes to talk about it every day.]

So, I'm saying this, is it taboo?