Did he trick the young marshal into becoming sworn brothers and then go south to Huangpu Military Ac

In early 1924, at the border of Fengtian.

The snow was falling heavily, and the strong wind swirled up large clumps of ice that slammed into people's faces like cutting flesh with a dull knife.

The sky darkened and pressed down, and the wind tore at several withered trees in the wilderness, making them scream as if being ripped apart.

Zhang Hanqing reined in his warhorse and irritably tugged at the collar of his fur coat.

The weather was eerily cold. As the brigade commander of the guard and the director of the aviation department, he braved the wind and snow to inspect the defenses, his mind filled with the tragic scenes of the frontline defeats and collapses.

More than a year ago, the Fengtian Army lost the First Zhili-Fengtian War, and it was a crushing defeat.

The old marshal flew into a rage in his residence, smashing seven or eight Ru kiln teacups, and the atmosphere was frighteningly tense.

The entire Northeast Army was seething with anger, and Zhang Hanqing was no exception. He had been thinking about it for over a year but still couldn't understand why the well-equipped Fengtian Army couldn't defeat Wu Xiaogui's Third Division.

Suddenly, dozens of people appeared out of the snowstorm ahead.

He wore a tattered padded jacket and a dog-skin hat, and carried an old-fashioned rifle and a Hanyang rifle, as well as several rusty homemade muskets.

The burly man at the head of the group had a scar across his face. He opened his mouth and exhaled a breath of white air, shouting something like, "Leave your toll!"

A tuft of hair.

The heavy snow must have obscured their vision, causing them to mistake them for merchants traveling through the snow and foolishly stumble upon them.

Zhang Hanqing didn't even think about drawing his gun; his eyes were as cold as a stone at the bottom of an icy lake.

"They were all wiped out, not a single one was spared."

The guard captain suddenly waved his hand.

Two Maxim heavy machine guns were quickly set up in the snowdrift.

The chain was pulled, and a bright red tongue of fire instantly tore through the snow curtain. A series of explosions drowned out the wind whistle, and brass cartridge cases slammed into the frozen yellow earth like a flowing stream, bouncing and emitting pungent white smoke.

Before the enemy could even let out a proper scream, the heavy machine gun fire didn't just create a few holes in their bodies; it tore them to shreds.

Severed limbs and blood shot into the sky before crashing heavily onto the snow.

The battle was over in less than the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea.

The captain of the guard ran forward through the sticky blood, his leather boots crunching in the snow.

He saluted and reported to the brigade commander: "They've all been wiped out. However... we found one survivor among the corpses."

Zhang Hanqing frowned. How could anyone survive under the crossfire of heavy machine guns?

"He's a greenhorn, dressed very strangely. He speaks fluent English and insists on seeing the highest-ranking officer."

The captain of the guard scratched his head, his expression extremely strange: "He really doesn't look like a beard."

Zhang Hanqing's heart stirred, and he squeezed his legs against the horse's flanks, slowly trotting over across the snow.

At this moment, Lin Qi's mind was buzzing in the snow pit.

Ten minutes earlier, he had been attempting a high-difficulty aerial maneuver on the highest-level ski slope in Changbai Mountain.

One mistake, and a feeling of weightlessness came over me, and everything went black.

When I opened my eyes again, all that remained in the world was the deafening sound of gunfire and flying bits of flesh.

The other half of his body was still convulsing, the strong smell of gunpowder mixed with the stench of intestines and internal organs rising straight to his head, and warm blood splattered on his waterproof jacket, a shocking sight.

Lin Qi felt a churning in his stomach. He bit his tongue hard, using the excruciating pain to force himself to calm down.

No one would use real bullets to turn the actors into mincemeat. The broken gun butts on the ground, the limbs scattered everywhere, the white breath exhaled from the snorts of warhorses in the distance—all the details are screaming out one fact.

crossed.

As a top-tier PhD in science and engineering, he is accustomed to using rigorous logic to deconstruct all crises.

His current situation is extremely dangerous; dozens of dark gun barrels are pointed at him, and his ski suit and goggles make him look like an alien in the eyes of these soldiers.

Just now, after hearing the soldier's accent, which was pure Northeastern Mandarin, and combining it with the gray military uniform and the five-star cap badge, Lin Qi quickly matched it with the historical database in his mind.

Fengtian Army.

The sound of horses' hooves drew near, and the crowd dispersed.

A tall, magnificent horse stopped in front of us.

The young officer on horseback wore a heavy woolen overcoat, his brows and eyes cold and stern, exuding an air of naive arrogance and the imposing presence cultivated from years of issuing orders.

He was not very old, only in his early twenties.

Fengtian.

Elite guard.

Young senior military officer.

The corners of her eyebrows looked somewhat familiar.

Lin Qi instantly locked onto a name: Zhang Hanqing, the young marshal of the Fengtian Army.

They managed to tear a glimmer of hope out of a seemingly hopeless situation.

Lin Qi knew very well that begging for mercy would only hasten his death when facing this second-generation warlord who had bandit habits to his core and was extremely arrogant.

Such people are inherently drawn to strength and must demonstrate irreplaceable value in united front work.

He brushed off the snow and blood stains from his body and slowly straightened up.

Faced with the intimidating sight of guns being cocked and loaded all around him, his eyes remained unmoved, even revealing a hint of disgust.

Staring at Zhang Hanqing on horseback, he pulled off his goggles and uttered a sentence in fluent Boston English.

"General, is this how your army treats an American investor?"

His tone was arrogant, with a condescending and accusatory air.

The surrounding soldiers were all stunned.

They barely know any words, let alone foreign languages.

Zhang Hanqing was also taken aback. He had been learning English from a foreign teacher since he was a child and could understand this sentence.

What surprised him even more was the man's attitude. With hundreds of gun barrels at his feet, the man not only showed no fear, but instead looked at a group of crude barbarians.

Zhang Hanqing squinted and looked Lin Qi up and down.

"Who are you?" he asked in Chinese.

Lin Qi sneered and switched to Chinese with slightly stiff pronunciation.

"My name is Lin Qi, courtesy name Tuozhi. My grandfather went to Southeast Asia in his early years and operated several rubber plantations in Malaya. My father moved the business to San Francisco, USA."

Lin Qi spoke calmly, as if he were talking about something trivial: "I myself graduated from MIT with dual doctorates in chemistry and mechanical engineering. I brought the blueprints back to China this time, intending to build a large chemical plant in Northeast China. Little did I expect that, just after entering the pass, I would almost become a victim of your army's guns."

The lies were woven so perfectly.

Overseas background, top academic achievement.

In the Republic of China era, these two labels were like a pass that allowed you to go anywhere.

Zhang Hanqing was shocked, but outwardly he pretended to remain calm.

The Fengtian Army had just suffered a major defeat, and the old marshal was searching everywhere for talented people, especially those who were knowledgeable in Western affairs and military industry.

If he really is a money-making god returning from America, killing the wrong person would be a huge loss.

"Words are meaningless." Zhang Hanqing scoffed. "You claim to be a PhD, but judging from your attire, you look more like a con artist or swindler."

That's exactly what Lin Qi wanted to hear.

He ignored the guns pointed at him and walked straight to the body of a bandit.

The snow was soaked with reddish-brown blood. He bent down and picked up a rifle covered with half-dried brain matter.

The surrounding soldiers simultaneously pulled back their rifle bolts with a clatter, shouting in alarm.

Zhang Hanqing raised his hand to stop him, watching Lin Qi make his move with a cold eye.

Lin Qi skillfully ejected the remaining bullets from the chamber, his fingers professionally stroking the wooden stock and the metal texture of the barrel, his eyes revealing the disdain typical of a technician.

"It's a copy of the Type 38 rifle. Didn't the Fengtian Arsenal just produce the Type 13 rifle a couple of years ago?"

Lin Qi didn't even glance at Zhang Hanqing, and began disassembling the bolt on his own, his movements so fast it was dazzling: "The bolt locking tenon is extremely poorly machined, the cutting tools are severely worn, and it's still being forced onto a machine tool. The heat treatment annealing process is even worse; the steel is too brittle. This kind of scrap metal, if fired more than fifty rounds in a row, will have a barrel explosion rate of at least fifteen percent."