Southern guerrilla warfare: I led the Red Seventh Army Corps to amassed a million troops.

"Oh dear, that's not good. Wouldn't that steal the limelight from you political comrades?" Zhou Zeyuan feigned refusal.

"Don't be shy! We're all contributing to the revolution, so why differentiate between us? If you speak well, everyone benefits; if you don't, no one will laugh at you. Practice makes perfect!"

"Since the political commissar has said so, then I'll make a fool of myself..." Zhou Zeyuan straightened his collar and strode towards the platform.

He whispered a few words to the dry-mouthed propagandist on stage, who then stepped aside with a sigh of relief.

Zhou Zeyuan stepped to the front of the stage. He didn't speak immediately, but remained silent for a few seconds, his gaze sweeping over every face below the stage, whether curious or indifferent.

This brief silence involuntarily drew the attention of the otherwise somewhat noisy scene to him.

People realized that this newly appointed young leader seemed to have something different to say.

Instead of shouting slogans, he looked at a sallow-faced, thin man in a tattered short jacket at the front of the crowd.

"Excuse me, sir, how old are you this year? Is your father... still alive?"

The man paused, not expecting his superior to ask that. He scratched his head. "Twenty-seven? Hey, old man? He's long dead!"

"Oh!" Zhou Zeyuan nodded, then asked calmly, "May I ask... how old was he at the time? And how did he pass away?"

"What old lady! Thirty-two! She was perfectly fine this morning, working in the fields, when she suddenly fell ill. We didn't have the money for treatment, and after two days in bed, she was gone."

"Thirty-two years old..." Zhou Zeyuan repeated, his voice filled with a heavy regret, "That's really... young."

He then turned his gaze to an elderly man with gray hair and a wrinkled face beside him: "Sir, you look quite old. May I ask your age? Is your father still alive?"

The old man sighed, "I'm already in my forties, it's not easy to live to this age. My father? How could he still be alive? He was even worse off than me. Before he was forty, he offended the landlord, got beaten up by those lackeys, and lay in bed for half a month before he passed away."

A low murmur arose from the surrounding crowd.

Zhou Zeyuan looked at the old man and said slowly, "Uncle, you are lucky. At least you lived longer than your father."

Then he asked four or five more people in succession. The questions were all the same: How old are you? How old was your father, and how did he die?

The answers were largely the same, except for a very few who mentioned their fathers lived to be around fifty years old.

Most people's fathers passed away in their thirties or forties, in the prime of their lives, due to illness and lack of money for treatment, excessive labor, bullying by landlords, or oppression by government officials.

There was even a teenager who choked up and said that his father was conscripted in his early twenties and died outside, and his remains were never recovered.

The more questions were asked, the more unsettling the atmosphere became. A profound sense of sorrow and helplessness permeated the crowd.

Putting ourselves in their shoes, their fathers mostly only lived to their thirties, so what about themselves? In this cannibalistic world, how many more years could they possibly live?

Zhou Zeyuan waited until the emotions at the scene had built up to a certain point before speaking again, his voice slightly higher than before:

"I've just heard so much from everyone. To summarize roughly, in these days, as long as a person isn't arbitrarily humiliated and beaten by local tyrants and bullies, isn't forced to work to death by arbitrary conscription by the government, has access to medicine when sick, and has enough to eat to avoid starvation during famine years... then they can basically live to be over forty. Those with good health can easily live to be over fifty."

These words were like a spark that fell into a pile of emotions already covered with dry grass.

"Commander, it's easy for you to say! But none of our ancestors for eight generations have ever lived such a good life!" a middle-aged man shouted excitedly.

"That's right! You don't know what Datian is like, it's a living hell! Every county magistrate has been worse than the last! Those landlords and rich people are even more ruthless than jackals in the mountains!" More people chimed in, their voices filled with long-suppressed resentment.

"My family's three mu of paddy fields were forcibly taken away by the Li family of Fuchanghao! My father went to reason with them and had his leg broken!"

"The Zhao family's lackeys were collecting rent, driving my sister to jump into the river!"

Public sentiment was outraged, and accusations rose and fell.

The long-suppressed suffering and hatred erupted at this moment.

Just as these emotions reached their peak, Zhou Zeyuan suddenly took a step forward and, with his voice infused with the power of [the power of words], asked in return:

"Then why don't you join the Red Army?!"

These words, like a resounding bell, instantly silenced the noisy scene.

Everyone was stunned, staring blankly at the young Red Army commander on the stage.

Yes... why not join the Red Army?

When the Red Army arrived, they distributed salt, seized local tyrants, and reasoned with them.

The Red Army commander said that by following them, they could overthrow those corrupt officials and landlords, ensure that the sick would have medicine, and that the hungry would have food.

Then you can... you can live like a human being, live to forty or fifty!

But what if the Red Army leaves? Those white dogs and those old men will come back. The dark days will continue.

Who can guarantee they'll live to see next year?

No, even next month? The next market day?

Why not join the Red Army?! Are you just going to wait to be bullied and die young like your fathers?

The deathly silence lasted only a few seconds.

"Damn it, let's do it!" The 27-year-old man who was the first to be questioned suddenly swung his fist, pushed through the crowd, and squeezed towards the recruitment registration area. "I'm going to take up arms and fight! I'll kill these white dogs!"

"Yes! Let's follow the Red Army to conquer the world!"

"Without the landlords riding roughshod over us, we'll definitely be able to live a good life!"

Count me in!

"I want to join the Red Army too!"

The crowd erupted like ignited explosives. Those who had been hesitating and observing just moments before now surged towards the recruitment registration office.

The officials in charge of registration were immediately busy, but their faces lit up with delighted smiles.

Le Shaohua stood there, watching the bustling scene, his expression extremely complex.

He never expected that Zhou Zeyuan's lack of revolutionary slogans and his simple questions about his age and father would cause such a huge uproar.

His heart felt like a jumble of emotions, a mixture of sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, and salty flavors all surging up at once.

What's frustrating is that after working hard for more than a day with mediocre results, Zhou Zeyuan's few words ignited a prairie fire.

The good thing is that the breakthrough in recruitment ultimately benefits the revolutionary cause.

What's infuriating is that her earlier desire to see Zhou Zeyuan embarrass himself seems to have been directly humiliated by him.

But in any case, this is a great thing.

He suppressed his complex emotions and immediately threw himself into the intense organizational work.

With a surge in new recruits, it is necessary to immediately arrange registration, conduct basic enlistment education and discipline briefings, and coordinate accommodation and meals.

He was so busy he barely had time to breathe, working until nightfall.