The solar system is broken

"I am Huo Shan!"

"Huo Shan?" The writer touched his nose and paused.

You, a military leader, why are you looking for me? I am just an ordinary person.

"Mr. Writer, are you in need of a job?" Huo Shan said in a very unfamiliar tone.

"?"

Work, when did Huo Shan become an intermediary?

However, based on the writer's understanding of Huo Shan, there must be a monster when things go wrong, "Ah~ should I be lacking or not?"

...

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

"The thing is like this, I hope you will join our expeditionary force." Huo Shan said seriously.

"Expeditionary Force?" This is the first time the writer has heard this name.

"Well," Huo Shan said firmly, "I think you can be qualified as a staff officer."

"Advisor?"

War is no joke. It is impossible for a veteran in Huoshan not to know this.

It would be a disaster for a person without any military background to participate in the entire war.

Before the Battle of Qamdo, Mao Sui had some advice to King Zhao. An inch is short and a foot is long. A horse can travel a thousand miles with a day. Catching rats is not as good as a snake or a cat. I can only use a three-inch tongue, but I cannot handle a three-foot sword. How can I do that?

The danger of the country tests my shortcomings. The king of Zhao did not stop, and Mao Sui fought against the Yan general Li Fu and was defeated. He was ashamed to see the Zhao people and committed suicide in the mountains and forests.

The story is false, but the truth is true.

It's impossible for Huo Shan not to know what would happen if a stupid staff officer stayed by his side.

"Yes, Mr. Writer, you will be the staff officer from now on,"

"But I don't understand anything. I am an idiot when it comes to fighting," the writer said anxiously.

Military affairs are important matters of the country, the way of life and death, and the principles of survival and destruction, which must be investigated.

I don't understand military affairs, but that doesn't stop me from understanding principles. You can't let me die.

"Relax, it's nothing, at least I won't ask you to actually take command," Huo Shan said happily, he actually wanted to command the army, what a joke.

"I..."

"Stop talking, agents from the intelligence department should have already come to pick you up. You will know when they arrive." Huo Shan hung up the phone without talking nonsense to the writer.

"Blank!"

Going to the battlefield, what kind of international joke is this? Fighting a war, what bastard thought of this.

The writer threw everything on the table to the ground.

"Dang Dang Dang!"

Knock on the door.

The writer is angry and doesn't want to see anyone.

"Master, someone wants to see you~" Xiao Li's voice was soft and sweet.

"not see!"

"Crunch!"

The door opened and a man came in.

He has a high nose, blue eyes, curly hair and white skin. He is a man.

When walking, I habitually swing my left hand forward and my right hand tightly against the seam of my trousers.

A pair of eyes as vicious as a hawk scanned the room meticulously.

"Master...I didn't stop you, I'm sorry."

"Go out~" The writer waved to Xiao Li at the door.

"Private Marseille~" Xiao Li nodded and closed the door gently.

Eugene looked at the target man. His face was pale, his figure was thin, and he looked a little sick, but his eyes were very bright.

The room is very tidy, but there is a pile of things under the desk, scattered books and notebooks.

Unlike all the blue-blooded people he had met, there was not a single book in his bookcase.

(In fact, many bluebloods have books gathering dust on their bookcases.)

From the moment he came in until now, this young man has been very cold and not at all flustered.

"Agent Eugene," Eugene dragged a chair and slowly sat across from the writer.

"Oh," the writer replied coolly.

The atmosphere instantly fell into a cold mood.

"You don't want to know which department I am in?" Eugene gently picked up a book.

The book was wrapped in a red outer envelope, and three large gilded characters read, "Das Kapital."

"Then what?"

This person was probably the agent who came to take him to the military headquarters. He seemed very cold and a bit professional.

"The counter-espionage team is now used to escort some useless war waste~"

Eugene couldn't read German, so he naturally gave up, closed "Das Kapital" and threw it on the table with a clang.

"Then what?"

The writer doesn't know what to say. Arguing with him? There's no need.

Swearing a few words won't cut off a piece of meat, and it seems like you'll suffer a loss if you argue with him.

Aren't agents the kind of people who can take action and never compete?

"No more," Eugene shrugged and said nothing, "Now you need to follow me."

"Okay, let me tidy up the room."

Just now, in a fit of rage, I knocked down the entire tabletop, which was a bit careless.

The writer leaned down and picked up those notes and sketches.

When packing up a notebook, the writer glanced at Eugene, and then carefully closed the notebook.

"Mr. Writer, what is this?"

Eugene asked very kindly and curiously.

He pointed at the writer's notebook.

The writer straightened the paper and said dullly, "Personal personal notes."

"May I take a look at it?"

"Can't."

"Give it to me! The counter-intelligence agent suspects that there is something wrong with your notebook. If you don't give it to you, you are a spy and you are planning to subvert the rule of the city-state!"

...

The writer silently handed over the notebook in his hand, with a look of contempt on his face.

Eugene laughed in his heart, this man is tough but not soft.

However, when he got the note, he was dumbfounded.

Apart from the pictures, he didn't know a single word.

Naturally, it is impossible to recognize him. This is the Russian version of the simplified notes of the complete works.

"They are all spy codes. You have to take a closer look, otherwise I will subvert the rule of the city-state," the writer snatched it away.

Even if I give you a chance, you won’t be able to use it!

"you!"

"There is no slander in the city-state, otherwise you would have started in three years!" The writer put some sketches on the table.

Then use a storage box to put them all together and pack them up.

"Let's go, Mr. Agent!" The writer looked at the deflated Eugene and clapped his hands with a relaxed look on his face.

"Walk!"

This writer is very responsive, has very clear ideas, and is very cunning.

When he went out, he met Xiao Li carrying a Coke. The writer said hello and followed Eugene.

Eugene, with a dark face, took the lead.

The place where the writer went was not a military camp, but an industrial area.

It took more than an hour to get on the train from the city train station and get off at the industrial area.

As soon as we landed, our own military jeep was waiting at the station for a long time.

Eugene took the writer into the car and drove all the way to the industrial area.

It was also the first time for the writer to come to an industrial area, and he was deeply attracted by these industrial scenes from the 19th to 20th centuries.

Tall condensation towers, chimneys emitting black smoke, and bumpy roads.

The aesthetics of industrial violence are fierce and fierce.

Dirty streets, low-rise shanty towns, factory employees wearing dirty work clothes, and garbage dumps everywhere.

The environment in the industrial area is not very good.

But there is no way around it. The cost of early environmental prevention and control is still too high and the technology is immature. Green development is simply impossible.

In the swaying carriage, the writer's brows furrowed slightly.

Eugene remembered the expressions of this blue-blooded man one by one.

This is a very special blue-blooded person, calm and kind.

"Crunch!"

The jeep made a sharp turn and turned into a long alley.

Mottled cement kept passing in front of the window, making the scenery outside the window dull.

As soon as the writer turned his head, Eugene was in the swaying carriage, firmly holding on to the horizontal bar, closing his eyes and concentrating.

Along the way, the writer didn't ask what he was going to do, and Eugene didn't say anything.

The two of them maintained this kind of tacit understanding.