Volume One, Chapter 21: The Special Forces Soundly Defeated, Yamamoto Kazuki in Disgrace!

The gunfire at Eagle Sorrow Ravine finally subsided. In the valley, a thick mixture of gunpowder smoke and the stench of blood choked the air, causing everyone to cough incessantly. The ravine had been transformed into a living hell.

Li Yunlong stood on the ridge, reluctant to put down his binoculars, a dry, unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth as he puffed on it rhythmically.

"Damn it... that was goddamn satisfying!"

Zhang Dabiao, standing beside him, was drenched in blood, yet his face wore an expression of wild excitement. He reported in a gruff voice, "Regimental Commander! The cleanup is complete! Aside from Yamamoto Ichiki and a dozen or so bastards who slipped away through the gullies, the rest of the Yamamoto Commando unit... they’re all left behind here!"

"A dozen got away?" Li Yunlong frowned, spat fiercely, and cursed, "Damn it, that old thief Yamamoto, the dog-son has luck on his side this time! Let him go back and report to that old devil Yoshio Shinozuka—tell him his grandfather, Li Yunlong, is waiting for him right here!"

He turned his head to look at Lin Mo, who stood beside him with a calm expression. His gaze was incredibly complex—filled with admiration, appreciation, and a trace of awe that even he himself had not yet realized.

"Brother Lin, how exactly is your brain wired? You planted mines, coordinated artillery strikes, and even calculated exactly where this grandson Yamamoto would crawl out from. In this battle, aside from shouting 'fire,' I didn't have to lift a finger!"

Lin Mo smiled faintly. "The Commander’s leadership was steady and decisive; I merely offered a few immature suggestions."

"Bullshit!" For once, Li Yunlong didn't take the easy way out. He slapped Lin Mo on the shoulder. "If this is what you call 'immature,' then there isn't a single person in our Eighth Route Army who could be called mature!"

At the other end of the valley, Duan Peng was leading the guard platoon, dragging Zhu Ziming and his two subordinates—bound tightly like dead dogs—toward them. Zhu Ziming’s face was ashen, and his entire body shook like a sieve. He could not fathom how his supposedly flawless plan had failed. How could those men have avoided eating the drugged food? How could they have set an ambush so perfectly in advance?

When he saw Li Yunlong and Lin Mo approaching, the terror in his eyes reached its peak.

"Commander... Commander, spare my life! I was forced! It was the Japanese... they used my family to threaten me!" Zhu Ziming began to beg, his face streaming with tears.

Li Yunlong walked up to him, squatted down, and with a blank expression, drew his captured Nambu pistol, weighing it in his hand.

"Zhu Ziming, let me ask you: the bombing of the Hongya Cave arsenal—did you have anything to do with it?"

Zhu Ziming’s body jerked violently. His eyes darted around as he tried to argue, "No... no! Absolutely not! I... I was just a messenger..."

"It seems you won't shed tears until you see the coffin." Li Yunlong stood up and gestured to Duan Peng.

Duan Peng understood immediately and took a water-soaked whip from a nearby soldier.

"Don't... don't hit me! I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!" Zhu Ziming completely collapsed.

Half an hour later, a long list was spilled from Zhu Ziming’s lips. From peddlers lurking around the base area to informants in the county seat, and even specific individuals he had recruited within other units... a massive spy network targeting the entire Eighth Route Army in Northwest Shanxi was torn open.

After hearing the interrogation results, Zhao Gang’s face turned grim. He had never imagined that such danger had been lurking right beside them.

"Old Li, this must be reported to the Brigade and Headquarters immediately! This web must be completely eradicated!"

"That goes without saying!" Li Yunlong’s eyes were cold as ice. "Anyone who dares to pull tricks under my nose—every single one of them—I will dig them all out!"

He looked back at the retreating figure of Zhu Ziming and said to Lin Mo, "Brother Lin, I have to thank you again. If it weren't for your keen eye, we would still be kept in the dark. If the leaders from Headquarters had arrived, the consequences..." Li Yunlong didn't dare to finish the thought; a chill ran down his spine.

Meanwhile, in Ping’an County, Yamamoto Ichiki, supported by a dozen remnants, staggered back to the Ping’an County Gendarmerie Headquarters.

"Yamamoto-kun! You... how could you..." Hirata Ichiro’s jaw nearly hit the floor as he looked at the blood-soaked, one-armed, and disheveled Yamamoto. In his mind, the Yamamoto Commando unit was synonymous with invincibility. Yet now, this razor-sharp blade of the Empire had been beaten into such a state!

Yamamoto shoved the soldier supporting him aside, grabbed Hirata by the collar with his only remaining hand, and roared like a wounded beast, his eyes bloodshot: "A trap! It was a massive trap! Li Yunlong... and that man named Lin Mo... they calculated everything!"

The earth-shattering explosions and the overwhelming rain of bullets at Eagle Sorrow Ravine played on a loop in his mind. It wasn't a battle; it was a one-sided slaughter.

"We... we were like fools, charging headfirst into a slaughterhouse..." Yamamoto’s voice was filled with despair and resentment. He, Yamamoto Ichiki, a top graduate of the Imperial Army Academy and an expert in special operations, had actually... actually been defeated by a group of "dirt-poor" Eighth Route soldiers! Defeated so thoroughly, so humiliatingly!

Hirata Ichiro watched the broken Yamamoto, his own heart sinking. It was over. This defeat was simply too disgraceful.

At the Independent Regiment headquarters, the kerosene lamp illuminated the room brightly. A unique battle summary meeting was in full swing. Or rather, it was a commendation ceremony, and there was only one protagonist—Lin Mo.

Li Yunlong slammed the captured officer's sword of Yamamoto Ichiki onto the table with a loud *clatter*, his face flushed with excitement as he spat while speaking.

"Tell me! Everyone, tell me! How did this battle go?!"

Zhang Dabiao, the commander of the First Battalion, was the first to stand up. Though still bandaged, his voice boomed louder than anyone else's: "Commander! It was satisfying! Goddamn, it was so satisfying! In the past, when we fought the Japanese, we had to trade our lives for theirs. But this time? The Japanese elite—Yamamoto’s commando unit—were like paper under our minefields and artillery fire! I saw it with my own eyes: one shell, and seven or eight Japanese soldiers were blown straight to the sky!"

Duan Peng, the guard platoon leader, also stood up, his eyes filled with worship as he looked at Lin Mo.

"Commander, Political Commissar, Director Lin, I used to think that fighting meant having good aim, running fast, and being willing to risk your life. But after following Director Lin’s trap layouts, I finally realized that a brain is more useful than a fist!"

"The tripwire mines, the bounding mines, and that thing... the directional mine that Director Lin designed—they were miraculous! The Japanese would step on one, *boom*, and a whole row would go down! Our brothers, using submachine guns from the high ground, it was exhilarating!"

"The Japanese didn't even catch a glimpse of our shadows before they were all sent to meet the King of Hell!"

The soldiers chimed in one after another, reliving the details of the battle at Eagle Sorrow Ravine. The core sentiment was unanimous: Lin Mo was a genius! Absolutely godlike!

Li Yunlong was overjoyed. He cleared his throat, waved his hand, and delivered the concluding remarks.

"You've all heard it, right? Who deserves the most credit for this battle? It’s Brother Lin!"

He walked over to Lin Mo, patted his shoulder firmly, and addressed the group: "In the past, I always thought that fighting meant the commander leading the brothers to charge forward—that in a narrow path, the brave win! Now I realize that’s just reckless brute force!"

"What is true warfare? This—what Brother Lin did—is what you call warfare!" Li Yunlong pointed to his own head. "He had it all calculated right here: how the little Japanese would come, and how they would die! And us? We were just there to cheer and wave flags, fire a few shots, launch a few shells, and collect the Japanese heads! That, goddamn it, is art!"

He grew more excited as he spoke, eventually giving up his own seat and pushing Lin Mo into it.

"From now on, whenever our Independent Regiment fights, Brother Lin is the commander-in-chief! If he says go east, we never go west! If he says hunt the dog, we never chase the chicken! Do you all understand?!"

"Understood!" the soldiers roared in agreement, laughing together.

Zhao Gang stood to the side, a smile on his face. He knew that Li Yunlong was using his own way to express the highest level of recognition for Lin Mo. This victory was not just military; it was ideological. For the first time, it allowed the cadres and soldiers of the Independent Regiment to recognize the power of knowledge and technology so vividly.

Lin Mo was left somewhat amused and exasperated by Li Yunlong’s theatrics. He stood up and said, "Commander, comrades, please, enough with the praise. We won this time because of everyone’s concerted effort, the fearlessness of the guard platoon, and the heroic fighting spirit of the entire regiment. I only thought a little bit more before the battle."

He shifted his tone, his expression turning serious: "However, this battle also exposed many of our problems!"