Courtyard House: I only wiped out 30,000 Japanese pirates

Sasaki kept his word.

He turned around and whispered a few instructions to the military police captain behind him.

The military police captain stood at attention, bowed his head, and turned to leave. A moment later, the sound of leather boots clattering on the bluestone slabs echoed in the courtyard, mixed with the harsh scraping of chains dragging on the ground.

He Dajun stood behind Sasaki, watching as the four young resistance fighters were dragged out of the torture chamber.

Their wrists were bound behind their backs with thick hemp ropes, and their feet were dragged by heavy iron shackles. With each step they took, the shackles scraped against the bluestone slabs with a harsh sound.

The four men were beaten beyond recognition, their bodies covered in scabs and fresh wounds, their clothes torn to shreds and hanging as tattered strips of cloth.

The youngest one, who looked to be only seventeen or eighteen, was walking at the very back. His legs were trembling, but his chin was held high.

There were three trucks and Sasaki's jeep parked in the yard.

The military police threw the four resistance fighters one by one onto the back of the first truck, their movements as rough as if they were throwing sacks.

The four men fell into the truck bed, their bodies hitting the metal floorboards with a dull thud.

They were ordered to stand in the truck bed, facing the back of the truck, with their hands tied to the railings of the truck bed.

A few ordinary people on the street occasionally saw this scene from afar, and quickly turned back and closed their doors and windows.

The convoy set off.

Sasaki's jeep was in the middle, with three trucks in front and behind it, moving at an abnormally slow speed.

Like being paraded through the streets.

The truck driver ahead had been specifically instructed to press the accelerator very lightly and keep the speed at a walking pace.

The jeep followed behind, its engine chugging like a wild beast showing off its prey.

He Dajun sat next to Sasaki. The leather seats in the jeep were hard, the roof was open, and the wind blew past his ears, carrying a burnt smell.

He remained silent, his face maintaining a respectful and calm expression.

Sasaki didn't say anything, just leaned back in his seat, occasionally glancing up at the truck carrying the prisoners in the rearview mirror. A faint smile always lingered on his lips, like a fisherman watching a bobber on the water.

After a while, there were a few more people on the street than usual, and the bolder ones stuck their heads out to look at the street.

Upon seeing four young men kneeling in the truck bed, their skin torn and bleeding, he quickly looked away, quickened his pace, and walked away with his head down.

Some people took a second look and memorized the four faces.

The convoy was moving at an unusually slow pace.

It usually takes no more than twenty minutes to drive from the edge of Shangcheng District to the entrance of the vegetable market, but today it took almost an hour.

He Dajun knew what Sasaki was doing.

This is both a public humiliation and a way to cast a wide net.

Four resistance fighters were tied up in the back of a truck and paraded through the city like four pieces of bloody meat thrown into water.

If they had comrades-in-arms, could they refrain from taking action?

Sasaki was fishing. He Dajun tapped his fingers lightly on his knee, his face remaining expressionless.

We've finally arrived at the entrance to the vegetable market.

This is a spacious square, with smooth bluestone slabs on the ground, and green grass growing in the cracks between the slabs.

The square was surrounded by low-rise houses and shops, all with their doors and windows tightly shut, but He Dajun could sense countless eyes peering out through the cracks in the doors and windows.

This is Shangcheng District, which has been the place where criminals were executed since the Ming and Qing dynasties. The cracks in the bluestone slabs have been soaked with the blood of countless generations.

The convoy stopped, and the military police jumped off the trucks and began setting up the execution site.

Soon, more than 30 Japanese soldiers and more than 20 puppet troops surrounded the entrance to the vegetable market, their bayonets gleaming coldly in the morning light.

Military police stood on the perimeter of the square, their Type 38 rifles pointed at the crowd, their eyes scanning the people like wolves.

The puppet soldiers stood even straighter than the Japanese soldiers, gripping their guns tightly, their faces showing both fierceness and tension.

When the four resistance fighters were dragged off the truck, their legs buckled and they almost knelt down.

The one at the very front managed to stand up by bracing his knees against the ground.

He was very tall, his face was covered in scabs, making it impossible to recognize his original features, but his eyes were surprisingly bright.

After he stood up, he glanced at his companion beside him.

The youngest soldier, who was seventeen or eighteen years old, finally couldn't hold back his tears, which rolled down his cheeks.

But he quickly lifted his chin, rubbed his face with his shoulder, and wiped away his tears.

He Dajun looked away. He couldn't look anymore.

These four people could barely walk; the torture they had endured was too severe.

There's another point, and I might also be a little scared. After all, we're all human, and everyone gets scared.

Even if they are afraid, these warriors will go without hesitation.

That is true courage.

Sasaki got out of the jeep, straightened the collar of his military uniform, and then glanced down at his watch.

He looked up and glanced around at the houses surrounding the square, a slight smile still playing on his lips.

He raised his hand to signal, and a captain walked to the center of the square, followed by a translator.

The captain's boots clattered on the flagstones. After stopping, he looked around and began to speak loudly.

The translator shouted in a shrill voice, "The Imperial Army is friendly and benevolent to the peace-loving people of Great Xia! Those who help the Imperial Army maintain order will be richly rewarded!"

"But the Imperial Army will never tolerate or spare rioters who maliciously resist and undermine the Great Prosperity Sphere; they will be severely punished!"

The captain began reading aloud the crimes of the four men, detailing their attacks on Imperial Army transport convoys and sabotage of military facilities. He then announced that the four thugs were sentenced to death and to be executed immediately by firing squad.

He Dajun stood behind Sasaki, knowing it was his turn to go on stage.

Thinking that he would soon be shooting them, He Dajun was torn between his own mind and his own, but in the end he made up his mind and fired.

Of course, he will definitely go on a killing spree tonight to avenge these four brave and passionate compatriots.

Forcing himself to calm down, He Dajun took a step forward, bent down, and said in a calm but firm voice, "Sir, let me do it."

Sasaki turned his head, looked at He Dajun, and suddenly smiled.

The smile was faint, but it carried a profound and indescribable meaning.

He looked at He Dajun and said softly, "He Dajun, the Imperial Army knows your loyalty. But you will be given another important role."

After saying that, he waved his hand and summoned four military police officers.

Four military policemen carrying Type 38 rifles stepped forward and stopped behind the four young soldiers kneeling on the ground.

The bayonets were already mounted on the gun barrels, but they were removed during the execution.

Four guns were raised, their muzzles pointed at the backs of the four men's heads.

The sound of insurance being pulled was strangely clear in the noisy square.

Just then, gunshots rang out in the distance.

The bullet struck the bluestone slab next to the military police, sending up a shower of sparks.

Missed.

In reality, sharpshooters are very rare.

Immediately afterwards, gunfire rang out from another direction. It was a rifle, and the bullets came from the roof on the side, finally hitting a military policeman.

The square instantly erupted in chaos.

He Dajun immediately lunged at Sasaki, shoving him down by the shoulder, the two of them crashing to the ground. He covered Sasaki with his body, shouting, "Protect Major! Protect Major!"

Two guards quickly stepped in front of Sasaki and fired their guns toward the roof.

The Japanese soldiers in the square immediately dispersed, and the Type 96 machine guns, mounted on sandbags, began to fire, spraying bullets wildly towards the rooftops and alleyways.

More than twenty puppet soldiers were either lying on the ground firing their guns randomly, or huddled behind sandbags, too afraid to raise their heads.

The onlookers erupted in chaos, with screams, cries, and gunshots mingling together.

Some people rushed into the alley, but were pushed to the ground and trampled by the crowd that surged in behind them before they could get up.

Someone lay on the bluestone slab, holding their head in their hands, their whole body trembling like a leaf.

Several older civilians who were slower to run were hit by stray bullets and fell into pools of blood.

The attackers opened fire simultaneously from several directions, their firepower scattered, with rifle and pistol bullets coming from rooftops, alleyways, and windows.

Someone shouted "Charge!" and seven or eight young men in plainclothes rushed out of the alley, carrying rifles and pistols, firing as they charged toward the center of the square.

He Dajun lay on Sasaki's body, turned his head to look at this scene, and knew that something was wrong.