Bright Sword: I built Italian cannons for Li Yunlong

Zhou Zhen showed no impatience whatsoever, patiently answering the soldiers' various strange and unusual questions.

He moved his hands gently and continued, "There's also a kind of sugary drink called 'Cola.' It fizzes when you drink it, and it's refreshingly cool. A sip of it in the summer is incredibly comforting."

"Hey, that sounds delicious..."

The soldiers chattered amongst themselves, creating a rare moment of relaxation in the simple wounded soldiers' camp.

The day Zhao Gang reported to the Independent Regiment was a gloomy morning.

When Zhou Zhen first met this legendary political commissar, he was changing a soldier's dressing in the wounded soldiers' camp.

Looking up, I saw a short, somewhat thin young officer standing at the door.

The man was about twenty-five or twenty-six years old, wearing a faded but exceptionally clean military uniform, and had a handsome face.

Standing there, he possessed both the scholarly air characteristic of intellectuals and the unwavering resolve unique to soldiers.

"Excuse me, which one of you is Consultant Zhou Zhen?" Zhao Gang's voice was gentle and clear.

Zhou Zhen put down the bandage in his hand and stood up: "That's me. And you are?"

"The newly appointed political commissar of the Independent Regiment is Zhao Gang." Zhao Gang stepped forward and gave a solemn salute.

"After reporting to the regimental headquarters, Regiment Commander Li said you were here. I heard about your deeds on the way and came here specifically to pay you a visit."

The two men clasped hands together. Zhao Gang's palms were not as rough and strong as Li Yunlong's, but his grip was very steady.

"Political Commissar Zhao, you're too kind. Just call me Zhou Zhen." Zhou Zhen gestured for Zhao Gang to sit down and continued his work. "The conditions in the wounded soldiers' camp are simple; I apologize for the poor conditions."

Zhao Gang did not sit down, but instead looked around the temporary ward that had been converted from an ancestral hall.

Dozens of wounded soldiers lay on straw mats on the ground, the air thick with the smells of blood, medicine, and a faint stench of decay.

Several medics bustled about, the harsh conditions were shocking.

"I heard about you on my way here." Zhao Gang walked to Zhou Zhen's side and watched him skillfully clean the wound, apply medicine, and bandage it.

"Boric acid solution, new-style cotton clothing... these are all real innovations that solve major problems."

"Especially as a scholar who returned from studying abroad, your willingness to personally take care of the wounded is even more admirable."

Zhou Zhen paused for a moment, then shook his head slightly: "Compared to the soldiers fighting on the front lines, what I'm doing is nothing."

"But... sometimes I feel that there's still too little we can do."

Zhao Gang keenly sensed the deep sense of powerlessness hidden in those words.

He was silent for a moment, then said in a low voice, "Comrade Zhou Zhen, to be honest, on my way from headquarters, I've been thinking about one question—given the current material resources and industrial base of our base area, just how difficult is the road to completely defeating Japan?"

Zhou Zhen raised his head and looked at Zhao Gang.

The young political commissar's gaze was frank and serious; he wasn't just being polite, but genuinely exploring this weighty issue.

"Political Commissar Zhao, you've hit the nail on the head." Zhou Zhen finished treating the wounded soldier's wound and gestured for Zhao Gang to come outside to talk.

The two walked out of the wounded soldiers' camp and stood under the old locust tree in the courtyard.

The clouds hung low, and the mountain breeze carried a chill.

"When I was studying abroad, I learned about the models of some industrialized countries," Zhou Zhen said slowly.

This was the explanation he had been thinking about for many days—to package his knowledge from later generations as "experiences from abroad."

"For example, the United States can unleash amazing production capacity in a short period of time because of a complete industrial system, energy base and scientific and technological support."

Zhao Gang listened attentively and pulled a small notebook from his pocket: "Please continue."

"In the end, war is actually a contest of national strength."

Zhou Zhen carefully considered the wording.

"Japan's industrial base is far stronger than ours; they have a complete industrial chain encompassing steel, chemicals, and machinery manufacturing."

"And we... are extremely short of even the most basic steel, fuel, and medicine."

"This is exactly what worries me the most," Zhao Gang said, his brow furrowed.

"Chairman Mao said that the War of Resistance Against Japan was a protracted war, and I completely agree with that."

"But the premise of a protracted war is that we must continuously develop and strengthen ourselves in the process, rather than being exhausted."

"Therefore, we must start now and focus on building our own industrial base." Zhou Zhen's tone became firm.

"Even the most basic things like increasing grain production, establishing small-scale chemical plants to produce basic chemicals, and developing basic metallurgy to provide materials..."

"Do these things one by one, and they will accumulate and lead to a qualitative change."

Zhao Gang's pen moved quickly across the notebook, and he would occasionally look up, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

Although it was just a few simple words, he saw in this scholar, who was clearly much younger than himself, an understanding far ahead of his time.

"You're right! We can't just focus on the immediate battle; we also need to prepare for the long term. But Comrade Zhou Zhen, this work requires a large number of professionals, equipment, and technology..."

"We started almost from scratch, this..."

"Talent can be cultivated, equipment can be acquired, and technology..." Zhou Zhen paused.

"I am willing to contribute all my knowledge without reservation."

"Moreover, I believe that there will be more and more comrades like Political Commissar Zhao who are knowledgeable and visionary."

Zhao Gang closed the notebook and let out a long breath.

He looked at Zhou Zhen with a sense of relief in his eyes, as if he had found a kindred spirit.

"Comrade Zhou Zhen, today's conversation has been very enlightening for me."

"You not only have technical skills, but also strategic vision."

"To be honest, before I came here I was very worried about the current situation of the Independent Regiment, but now... I feel like I see hope."

Upon hearing this, Zhou Zhen also laughed.

And aren't I the same?

The Zhao Gang before me was indeed just like the image in my memory.

Upright, steadfast, and principled.

It possesses both the idealism of intellectuals and the pragmatism of revolutionaries.

Although limited by the times, his understanding of industrialization and modern warfare was still limited, but his learning ability and foresight far surpassed that of most people of his time.

"Political Commissar Zhao, let's communicate more in the future," Zhou Zhen said sincerely.

"I have many ideas that I need to discuss and implement together with comrades like you."

"I couldn't ask for more." Zhao Gang reached out his hand again.

With their hands clasped together, thoughts from two different times and spaces resonated deeply at that moment.

However, even the grandest ideals cannot mask the harshness of reality.

In the following days, the situation in the wounded soldiers' camp worsened.

Due to the extreme shortage of medicines, the only sulfonamides available in the regiment could only be given priority to the seriously wounded, and even then, the dosage was far from sufficient.

A young soldier named Hu Zi, only seventeen years old, was injured in the right arm by a Japanese grenade.

Although the military doctor performed debridement and suturing, the wound inevitably became infected.

He developed a high fever and remained in a coma for most of the day, occasionally waking up only to ramble incoherently.