The beacon fire starts from the number
Wang Liang, who had entered the War of Resistance, realized that as long as he killed the Japanese, he could obtain weapons, equipment, a basic arsenal, a clothing factory, an advanced pharmaceutical factory, and other rewards.
Therefore, the codename of one of them was "Wolf Fang", which made the devils terrified.
The army was born.
Li Yunlong: "Mountain Cannon Battalion, Machine Gun Battalion, Cavalry Battalion, Armored Battalion, Rocket Cannon Battalion, Aerial Unit, Military Dog Unit, Communication Unit, Anti-Fraud Unit, Field Hospital, Munitions Factory, Farm…You, Crazy Wang, are really a rich man. But what does this anti-fraud team do?"
"A Japanese regiment was wiped out?" Beautiful! Which division did it? What was that? The Wolf Fang Regiment of the Eighth Route Army?"
Wang Liang: "Let me introduce you. Our Wolf Fang Regiment's political commissar (in charge of intelligence) Zheng Yaoxian, deputy regiment commander (in charge of military) Zhou Weiguo, chief of staff Li Daineng, and logistics director Ding Abacus."
"Wang Sang, I've seen your sincerity. I welcome you to join us." You are now appointed as the Chief Financial Advisor of the Ministry of Finance and the Department of Economics of the General Administration of Public Security of Jin Province, the Inspector of the Police Department and the Chief of the Security Section, and the Inspector General of the Third Group of the Public Security Army."
There is something in us, as storytellers and as listeners to stories, that demands the redemptive act, that demands that what falls at least be offered the chance to be restored. The reader of today looks for this motion, and rightly so, but what he has forgotten is the cost of it. His sense of evil is diluted or lacking altogether, and so he has forgotten the price of restoration. When he reads a novel, he wants either his sense tormented or his spirits raised. He wants to be transported, instantly, either to mock damnation or a mock innocence. Flannery O'Connor, Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose