On the eve of the fall of Liaodong, he led his troops in a remonstrance against the young marshal.

"Commander Chang, this is the Commander's order."

"These prisoners are all yours to deal with; he trusts you won't let him down."

Chang Yuchun's eyes lit up instantly.

His greatest hobby in life was dealing with prisoners of war.

No sooner had the messenger finished speaking than Chang Yuchun flicked his cigarette butt onto the ground and stomped it out.

He straightened his uniform, unbuttoned one of the top buttons on his collar, stretched his neck, and then waved to his adjutant behind him.

"Li Wenzhong!"

"arrive!"

"Take two companies and come with me."

The two companies of soldiers quickly assembled and followed Chang Yuchun toward the prisoner-of-war area.

The military boots rustled as they stepped on the blood-soaked mud and rubble.

The detention site was located on an open space outside the west gate of Fengcheng.

This place was originally a distribution center for Japanese supplies, but now it has become a temporary camp for holding prisoners.

More than 10,000 prisoners of war were encircled in an open area, surrounded by soldiers of the First Brigade, with guns at the ready and bayonets cocked, and sentries every three or five steps.

The three hundred Japanese prisoners were kept separately on the other side, guarded by Yuan Lang's thousand elite soldiers.

Chang Yuchun strode over, and the soldiers guarding the gate snapped to attention and saluted. He casually returned the salute and walked straight into the prisoner-of-war camp.

On the open ground, prisoners were squatting or sitting in dense crowds.

Some people were shivering, some were sobbing softly, and others were whispering among themselves.

When Chang Yuchun entered, all sounds ceased, and more than ten thousand pairs of eyes stared at him.

In those eyes, there was fear, despair, pleading, and a barely perceptible glimmer of hope.

Chang Yuchun stood in front of the prisoners, hands on his hips, and looked around.

His gaze swept across the faces of each prisoner, his expression blank, as if he were looking at a pile of goods.

After a few seconds of silence, he suddenly grinned.

"They all look quite energetic!"

No one dared to answer.

Chang Yuchun didn't mind, turned around, and waved to the soldiers behind him.

"Distribute the shovels."

shovel?

The prisoners looked at each other, wondering what this burly Northeast Army division commander was up to.

Soon, the soldiers carried over dozens of bundles of shovels and iron shovels, which they threw in front of the prisoners with a clatter.

The shovels were requisitioned from villagers in the city, and many of them were already rusty.

The prisoners' expressions gradually changed as they looked at the shovels.

"He...he's going to bury us alive!"

Someone in the crowd shouted.

This statement was like a bomb dropped into calm water, instantly causing an uproar.

The prisoners became disorderly.

Someone stood up and tried to run, but was knocked to the ground by the sentry's rifle butt.

The man knelt on the ground, kowtowing repeatedly, crying out, "Spare me!"

Some people were trembling, some were screaming, and some were hugging each other and crying.

The entire prisoner-of-war camp was in complete chaos, and panic spread rapidly like a plague.

"Quiet!"

Chang Yuchun let out a loud roar, his voice like a thunderclap, drowning out all the noise.

But the panicked prisoners wouldn't listen to a word.

The commotion at the back of the crowd grew louder, with some people pushing and shoving, and others trying to break through the sentries' blockade.

Some people even shouted encouragement in the crowd:

"Since we're going to die anyway, we might as well fight!"

"We have over ten thousand men, while they only have a few thousand. If we break through, we might survive!"

"We can't just sit here and wait to die, brothers!"

The commotion was spreading rapidly from back to front, like a pot of boiling water about to overflow.

Chang Yuchun didn't even frown.

He raised his right hand and made a gesture to the assassins behind him.

The gesture was very light and casual, like shooing away a fly.

The next second, a barrage of gunfire erupted.

"Rat-a-tat-tat!"

"Rat-a-tat-tat!"

Fifty suicide soldiers equipped with Type 95 automatic rifles opened fire simultaneously, bullets spewing like fire dragons towards the direction of the most intense commotion.

The muzzle flash was particularly glaring in the twilight, the orange-red flames flickering incessantly.

The bullets hit people, making a series of "thud" sounds.

The people in the front row fell down instantly, and before they could react, the people in the back row also fell down.

Some were screaming, some were wailing, and some, before they could even utter a sound, became convulsing corpses.

The gunshots lasted for about twenty seconds.

Twenty seconds later, more than five hundred corpses lay scattered on the ground in the direction of the commotion.

Blood flowed everywhere, forming small red streams that soaked the frozen soil.

Some of the corpses were still twitching, while others were completely still.

The deceased's eyes were wide open, his face frozen in the terror of his final moments.

There were indeed accidental injuries.

Bullets don't have eyes; when firing in a dense crowd, it's impossible to be accurate enough to only kill the instigator.

But that's precisely why it's so impactful.

Chang Yuchun walked slowly to the prisoners, stepping on the blood-soaked ground.

He looked down at the corpses, then looked up, his gaze sweeping over the prisoners who were pale with fright.

The prisoners were so frightened they couldn't even cry anymore; they just squatted there blankly, their eyes vacant.

Chang Yuchun spoke, his voice as cold as ice.

"If I wanted to kill you, a few heavy machine guns would be enough. I could wipe you all out in a few minutes."

"Why bother giving you shovels?"

Why waste time?

He bent down, picked up a blood-stained shovel from the ground, weighed it in his hand, and then threw it back in front of the prisoner with a thud.

"I'll tell you again, I told you to dig the hole to bury the bodies of those Japanese devils."

"What if the corpses of over 20,000 Japanese soldiers and their comrades are piled up on the battlefield, rotting and causing plague? Do you expect me to dig them up myself?"

He straightened up, and his voice suddenly rose in pitch.

"Listen up, all of you! Dig a hole and bury all the Japanese soldiers' corpses."

"The one who digs fast and does a good job, I'll let him go home."

"Although you have become traitors and collaborators, I understand your situation. I will not kill you today and will give you a chance to atone for your sins."

"This is my promise, do you understand?"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the trembling prisoners.

"But if anyone dares to cause trouble again, that's what will happen to those people."

The prisoners finally began to move.

They reached out with trembling hands and picked up the blood-stained shovel from the ground.

Soon, all the prisoners picked up shovels, lined up, and, escorted by soldiers, headed towards the wasteland north of Fengcheng.

Chang Yuchun stood there watching them, a sinister smile slowly creeping onto his dark face.

His deputy, Li Wenzhong, came over:

"Commander, these people..."

"What?" Chang Yuchun glanced at him sideways.

Li Wenzhong hesitated for a moment:

"What you just said, that you'll release it right after digging... is that true?"

Chang Yuchun did not answer, but simply smiled and patted Li Wenzhong on the shoulder:

"Go, find the commander."

"Tell him we need to modify a few tanks. Let the commander decide the specifics, and say I'll be of great use to him."

Li Wenzhong was stunned for a moment, then realized what was going on, and a chill ran down his spine.

He snapped to attention and saluted:

"yes!"

Then he turned around and ran quickly toward the city gate tower.

.........

On the city wall of Fengcheng, several people stood quietly, watching everything that was happening on the wasteland to the north of the city.

The view from the city wall is excellent.

On the wasteland, more than 10,000 prisoners were wielding shovels and digging in the frozen ground.

The shovels rose and fell, soil flew everywhere, and huge pits were taking shape.

The prisoners worked extra hard because no one wanted to die.

In the distance, soldiers were using horse-drawn carts and trucks to transport the corpses of Japanese soldiers from the battlefield, one cart after another.

The mangled corpses were piled up around the pit, emitting a strong stench of blood, attracting flocks of crows to circle overhead.

As the sun set, it dyed the entire wasteland blood red.

There are four people standing on the city wall.

Zhang Xueming stood at the very front, hands behind his back, looking at the scene below with a blank expression.

The north wind blew the hem of his military overcoat, but he remained motionless, like a nail driven into the city wall.

Standing beside him was Zhang Xueliang, the young marshal's face filled with reluctance and hesitation, his brows furrowed, his lips moving and then closing again, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't.

Beside him was Chen Cheng, the Vice Minister of Military Affairs who had just arrived to oversee the battle; his expression was even more complicated.

His lips twitched several times, as if he wanted to say something, but each time he swallowed the words back.

At the very back was Yu Zhishan, who stood a little further away with his hands folded in front of him, looking extremely respectful, but a hint of unspoken apprehension flashed deep in his eyes.

Zhang Xueliang finally couldn't hold back any longer. He watched the prisoners toiling like ants on the wasteland in the distance, watched cartloads of corpses being dumped into pits, and finally turned to Zhang Xueming and whispered:

"Xueming, isn't this a bit too much..."

He carefully considered his words.

"Is that too cruel?"

Zhang Xueming did not answer immediately.

He slowly turned around, his eyes coldly fixed on Zhang Xueliang.

"cruel?"

Zhang Xueming spoke coldly.

"When they killed our Northeast Army soldiers, when they killed our Northeast civilians, how could you not feel their cruelty?"

Zhang Xueliang's face turned pale.

"When they massacred villages, when they tied living people to trees to practice bayonet fighting, when they raped women and then ripped open their bellies with bayonets, when they impaled children on the tips of guns and played with them..."

Zhang Xueming's voice grew colder and colder.

"Why don't you go and tell them? This is too cruel!"

Zhang Xueliang was speechless, his lips moving, his face turning pale and then red.

"Your Zhang family is large and powerful; you have your own bigger picture and your own considerations, which I understand."

Zhang Xueming took a step forward, staring into Zhang Xueliang's eyes, "But don't pretend to be cruel in front of me."

"Those who are not of our kind will surely have different hearts."

"Now you're starting to play the saint? What? You only care about the people of other countries, but have completely forgotten about the people of China?"

"Don't force me to slap you when I'm happiest!"

Zhang Xueliang opened his mouth, but ultimately said nothing.

He looked away, gazing into the distance, and fell silent.

Chen Cheng stood to the side, his palms sweaty.

He wanted to say something; as the Vice Minister of Military Affairs, he felt he should say something.

After all, such acts of massacring prisoners would have a negative international impact if word got out.

But Zhang Xueming's words just now were like poisoned knives, completely blocking any possibility of him speaking.

He glanced at Zhang Xueming's profile; the young face was expressionless, as indifferent as if he had just finished an ordinary meeting.

This indifference is more frightening than anger.

Chen Cheng wisely kept his mouth shut.

Standing at the very back, Yu Zhishan was more shocked than anyone else at that moment.

He had always thought that Zhang Xueming was just a young upstart who knew how to fight, but only at the tactical level.

Zhang Xueliang invited him to command the battle only because he valued his military talent.

After all, the Northeast Army in the three northeastern provinces needed a victory to boost morale in this war against the Japanese.

But at this moment, standing on the city wall, watching the carnage unfolding on the wasteland below, and seeing Zhang Xueming's calm and composed face, Yu Zhishan suddenly felt that her previous judgment was utterly ridiculous.

This second commander was not only a skilled warrior, but also had a heart as hard as iron.

More than 10,000 prisoners were killed without hesitation, without even blinking an eye.

When his own brother questioned him to his face, he retorted without holding back.

Even with the Vice Minister of Military Affairs present, he still killed him without hesitation, not even bothering to offer an explanation.

This ruthlessness, this decisiveness, this coldness that completely disregards anyone's opinion—Yu Zhishan suddenly felt a chill run down his spine, from the soles of his feet all the way to the top of his head.

He secretly made up his mind:

From now on, no matter what, you absolutely must not offend Zhang Xueming, not even in the slightest.

Otherwise, given the methods and ruthlessness of this second commander, he would definitely die without a burial place.

Yu Zhishan took a deep breath, carefully took a step forward, cupped his hands in greeting, and lowered his voice by three points compared to usual.

"Second Commander."

He used this form of address, his tone almost humble, "What should we do next?"

Zhang Xueming did not turn around, but continued to look at the desolate plains below the city.

The sun had already sunk below the horizon, leaving only a dark red afterglow on the sky.

On the wasteland, the prisoners were still digging pits with shovels, and one Japanese soldier's corpse after another was thrown into the increasingly deep pits.

The air was filled with the smell of freshly turned earth, mixed with a faint odor of blood.

A brief silence fell over the city wall.

Zhang Xueliang turned his head away, no longer looking at the scene below the city.

Chen Cheng looked down at the tips of his boots, remaining silent.

Yu Zhishan remained in a bowing posture, waiting for Zhang Xueming's reply.

After a long silence, Zhang Xueming slowly uttered two words.

"wait."

Wait?

The three of them were stunned at the same time. They looked at each other, not knowing what Zhang Xueming was waiting for.

The Japanese 37th Brigade has been completely wiped out. Shouldn't Chen Sheng be the one to pursue and drive all the Japanese out of Dandong and protect the three northeastern provinces?

"Wait for what?" Zhang Xueliang asked, frowning.

Zhang Xueming finally turned around, gave a cold laugh, and slowly said:

"Waiting for someone."

"Waiting for someone who deserves to die a thousand deaths."