A courtyard house; Li Yunlong, a subordinate of the deputy director of Harbin Military Engineering I

Zhang Rende's first reaction was, "So fast?" He almost dropped his pipe, but quickly grabbed it, shaking off the ash that covered his trouser leg.

But thinking about it, that makes sense. That's how it is in the military. They can set off whenever they want. Military orders are like mountains, and they don't allow you to dawdle.

Besides, the whole country hasn't been liberated yet. His brother, a division commander, can't just stay in Beiping and never leave.

Thinking it over, he suppressed his reluctance: "Alright, go ahead, I won't stop you. You're a commander; the army can't do without you."

Zhang Renfeng looked at his elder brother's feigned nonchalance and knew perfectly well that although his brother said he would agree, the knuckles of his fingers gripping the pipe had turned white.

He didn't expose it, he just nodded.

"You know," Zhang Rende flicked his cigarette ash, "Qingming Festival is just around the corner. If we could really liberate Guangxi Province, I want to go back to pay respects to our ancestors, repair my parents' graves, and erect a proper monument. We left in such a hurry back then that we didn't even get a monument, and it's made me uneasy all these years."

For people from Guangdong and Guangxi, their lifelong aspirations boil down to two things: returning home in glory and repairing ancestral graves to pay respects to their ancestors.

While alive, one should live a glorious life; after death, one should bring honor to one's ancestors.

The Zhang family was considered an old household in Baise. His parents were buried on the hillside behind the village. He remembered that he left in a hurry that year. His older brother was conscripted into the army, and he was only ten years old when he left with the old political commissar. The villagers helped with his parents' funeral arrangements, and the graves were probably leveled long ago.

"Alright, once our troops liberate Baise, I'll repair our ancestral graves immediately." Zhang Renfeng agreed readily, but his voice was lower than before. "Erect a good monument, inscribe my parents' names, and also ours, so they know that both of their sons are alive and well."

He said that, but something else was churning in his mind.

He longed to return to his hometown, to Baise, a place he had dreamed of countless times, yet he was always filled with dread upon waking.

When the entire Guangxi province marched north, the Seventh and Eighth Red Armies together numbered more than 7,000 people, many of whom were uncles, elder brothers, or other relatives he knew.

They fought their way from Youjiang to Hunan and Jiangxi, engaging in the bloody battle of Meihualing and the breakout at Lechang River. The mountains were high and the roads were steep, with blockades in front and pursuers behind. When they reached the Soviet area and counted their numbers, only about a thousand people remained.

Then came the Long March. Commander Li led them in a bloody battle at the Xiang River. In that battle on the banks of the Xiang River, countless soldiers from Guangxi Province fell into the river, their corpses blocking half of the river's surface.

After the Long March ended, he could count on his fingers the number of people who made it to northern Shaanxi; there were probably less than a hundred left.

Even now, only a few dozen remain alive. Although they are in different positions and places, none of them want to see each other, because seeing their comrades from Guangxi Province inevitably reminds them of those who sacrificed their lives...

His older brothers fell one by one before his eyes.

Uncle Huang who shielded him from bullets on Plum Blossom Ridge, Brother Li who gave him the last bite of fried noodles while crossing the grasslands, and Old Chen who carried a bomb and charged ahead during the forced crossing of the Dadu River.

He dared not go back, dared not stand on that land of Baise, for when he closed his eyes he would see their faces, all smiling, saying, "Renfeng, don't be afraid, we're here for you."

Zhang Rende, being the older brother, immediately noticed the torment his younger brother couldn't hide.

He waved his hand, knocking out his pipe on the stone table leg: "Forget it, you shouldn't go back. When I talked to Commander Huang the other day, he told me that after your uprising, when you marched north, out of a force of seven thousand, only a few hundred remained when you reached the Soviet area. Then came the Long March, and probably less than a hundred survived. Renfeng, that place is too arduous; you can't handle it."

As he spoke, his eyes were filled with tears, his lips were turned down, and his voice carried the heaviness of a veteran.

too difficult.

Those days of struggling to survive in the cracks, with encirclement from the front and pursuit from the rear, lacking food, medicine and ammunition, and a simple cold or fever could be fatal, are unimaginable to most people.

Looking at his elder brother's face, etched with the marks of time, Zhang Renfeng felt as if the stone that had weighed on his heart for over a decade had been lifted a little, then lifted a little more.

"Thank you for understanding, brother." Zhang Renfeng shook his head painfully, rubbing his face with his hand. "Those brothers, I owe them, I can never repay them in this lifetime."

The two brothers remained silent for a while, and the only sound in the yard was the occasional bubbling from the water vat in the corner.

Just as Zhang Renfeng was about to say something more, the door to the next room creaked open a crack, and a figure poked half its head out.

Zhang Guilin was wearing a worn-out cotton jacket, and his hair was disheveled, clearly indicating that he had just crawled out of bed.

He clung to the doorframe, his eyes sparkling as he looked at Zhang Renfeng, his lips moving as if he wanted to say something but hesitated.

Zhang Rende, with his sharp eyes, turned his head and saw it immediately. He slapped his thigh and said, "What are you doing? Go back to sleep! What are you doing, kid, meddling in adults' conversation?"

After being scolded, Zhang Guilin didn't back down. Instead, he pushed the door open a little more and stood in the doorway.

He puffed out his chest, raised his chin slightly, and looked at Zhang Renfeng, saying, "Second Uncle, could you take me with you? I also want to go south and help you make a name for yourself, I..."

"What do you mean, 'what are you talking about'?" Zhang Rende stood up and was about to chase him away. "What kind of fun is fighting? Do you think this is a temple fair? Do you know what it feels like to be hit by a bullet? Do you know that when a shell explodes, you can be deaf for half a month? Go back to sleep!"

Zhang Guilin stubbornly refused to move, muttering, "I'm not afraid of death. Dad, didn't you join the army when you were just a teenager? Why can you go but I can't?"

Looking at the boy's stubborn expression, Zhang Renfeng couldn't help but smirk.

This kid is just like his older brother when he was young; once he's made up his mind, nothing can change it. He waved to Zhang Guilin:

"Come here and sit next to your second uncle."

Zhang Guilin glanced at his father, Zhang Rende snorted and didn't stop him anymore. He quickly strode over and sat down on the stone bench next to Zhang Renfeng, his back ramrod straight.

Zhang Renfeng looked him up and down. The boy was only fourteen years old, but he was already 1.7 meters tall, with a thin, long face and heroic features. He looked exactly like his father when he was young.

He reached out and patted Zhang Guilin on the shoulder: "I don't agree with you joining the army, at least not now."

Zhang Guilin became anxious: "Why? I'm in great shape, I can run faster than most people my age—"

"It's not a physical matter."

Zhang Renfeng interrupted him, his tone becoming serious, "If you join the army now, your potential is too low. Fighting a war isn't something you can do with just enthusiasm."

If you, a kid who didn't even finish junior high, join the army, the best you can do is become a regular soldier, or if you're lucky, a squad leader or platoon leader. That's the highest you can go.

But if you study first and build a solid cultural foundation, you can go to military academy and become an officer, leading troops in battle, serving as a staff officer, or doing political work. Isn't that more promising than carrying a gun and charging into battle?

He paused for a moment, looking directly into Zhang Guilin's eyes, "Our generation has suffered enough. What your generation needs to do is study and build the country."

Think about it, once the war is over, when the country needs to build infrastructure, repair factories, and develop industry, who will we rely on then?

"Relying on a young man like you who's educated and cultured. For you to join the army now is like trading a watermelon for a sesame seed—a huge loss."

Zhang Guilin opened his mouth, but for a moment he didn't know what to say.

He turned to look at his father, Zhang Rende, who was sitting there silently smoking, his expression clearly showing complete agreement with his second uncle's statement.

Zhang Rende knew exactly what was going on.

He was conscripted when he was a teenager, and he endured all kinds of hardships during those years in the Guangxi Clique.

He almost lost his life during the Central Plains War.

Knowing the cruelty of war, he was even less likely to let his son take that risk.

Besides, the military has its rules. Only children usually can't even get into the assault team, let alone make any contributions.

Without military achievements, promotion is just empty talk. In the end, you'll come back empty-handed after serving for several years, which isn't worth it.

Zhang Renfeng also saw the unwillingness in his nephew's eyes. He was all too familiar with that kind of desire of young people to prove themselves. Back when he followed the old political commissar, he had the same fearless spirit.