Quickly wear the fishing style beauty be again

"Teacher, not many people read the newspapers that have been put in the newspaper office recently." A child-like clerk held the recent data and said to Yan Qingning with a frown.

Yan Qingning pushed up the glasses on the bridge of his nose and pressed the back of his hand to his lips to suppress his cough: "In the era of warlords, people were running around for a living. If you have time to read the newspaper, let's talk about it. Maybe you don't even know the words in the newspaper. ."

"We can distribute the newspapers to the mailboxes of some wealthy people, and then disseminate the contents of the newspapers in the form of broadcast propaganda in relatively stable areas first, and then let the people in the stable areas publicize it to the outside world. , disseminate relevant information to the people through the people.”

Although the clerk didn't want to disturb Yan Qingning's interest, he still had to tell the truth: "But teacher, Marshal Qin has rushed to Wencheng for support and is currently outside the jurisdiction. We did not ask for permission. There’s no way to use the radio.”

"Get me a telegraph machine, and I'll send a telegram to Marshal Qin." Yan Qingning calmly covered the blood seeping from his lips with his sleeves, looking indifferent.

The clerk looked troubled: "Teacher, but...the telegraph machines are all in the hands of the military, and we can't get them."

"It's okay, I'll get it." He rubbed his sore temples, calmed down a little, and held on to his energy.

Those peach blossom eyes were now black and blue, especially when printed on that fair face, they looked even more haggard.

He hadn't closed his eyes for three days. Ever since his wild night with Qin Zhuo'an that day, his mood had been a lot messed up.

Qin Zhuo'an thought it was just a contract where everyone got what they needed. He thought so at first. It wasn't until Qin Zhuo'an led his troops to Wencheng without warning that he discovered the feelings he shouldn't have.

He told Qin Zhuo'an that he couldn't love a little bit, because his love was not inferior to Qin Zhuo'an's, but he was too reserved and unwilling to say it openly or frankly.

The love of a dying person is a burden, so he chooses to hide all his love and is unwilling to give Qin Zhuoan half a chance. This is a kind of cruel tenderness.

It was also the last affection he could give Qin Zhuoan.

Yan Qingning held his chin with one hand, sleepiness sweeping over his brain, making him feel dizzy.

His eyelids were so heavy that he bit the tip of his tongue, letting the pain stimulate his brain to prevent him from falling asleep and causing trouble.

He bit the pen holder, dipped the pen in ink, and wrote:

"Nowadays, the newspaper office needs to spread its thoughts through broadcasting. I would like to use the telegraph machine. I sincerely ask for permission. - Yan Qingning."

He was so tired that the thoughts in his head were condensed into a ball of mush, making even the words he wrote crooked, like ghost drawings.

Fatigue swept through his body, forcing him to blur his vision. He took off his glasses and tried to rub his eyes, but the wound on his chest that Qin Zhuoan kicked at that time began to hurt again.

He clutched his chest and coughed hard, dazzling blood spilled from the corners of his lips, and his mouth was constantly filled with a bitter, salty smell, forcing him to bend down to catch his breath.

The light-colored cuffs were stained with blood again, and the pen dipped in ink was pressed under his arm, printing dark ink marks on the sleeves.

And the letter of request that he laboriously wrote was soaked in the rendering ink and turned into a mess, wasted in vain.

-

The front line of the Wencheng front.

The smell of gunpowder has not completely dissipated. The strong smell of gunpowder mixed with the disgusting smell of blood spread silently in the air. Countless metal warheads fell to the ground. Young corpses lay in piles on the ground, but No one was there to bury him.

Qin Zhuo'an got out of the car and walked silently among the piles of corpses. He leaned over and closed the eyes of the guards who had not closed their eyes along the road with a heavy look in his eyes.

In this chaotic era, the more you want to survive, the more determined you must be to die.This is the inevitability of the world, and no one can do it alone.

A bloody hand crawled toward Qin Zhuoan with great effort. He grabbed Qin Zhuoan's ankle and said in a hoarse voice: "Qin... Marshal Qin, Jiang Qi... Jiang Qi's stronghold is in the northeast..."

"I know." Qin Zhuo'an knelt down and looked at him. The young man was only twelve or thirteen years old. His lost deciduous teeth had not yet fully grown in, and his words were leaky.

His face was obviously covered with blood and he couldn't see his true face, but his eyes were so bright. He smiled and looked at Qin Zhuo'an, baring his missing teeth: "Commander... we... we defended... Wencheng...we held it..."

His eyes were bright, and his voice was a little blurry because of the blood in his mouth. He vomited a mouthful of blood with every word he spoke.

"You are great, you are all great heroes!" Qin Zhuo'an touched his head and praised seriously: "You guarded Wencheng. You are the eternal heroes in the hearts of the people of Wencheng."

"We...can we...be heroes too?"

Perhaps because of excessive blood loss, he always spoke intermittently, but his voice was full of pride.

"Martyrs who died on the battlefield will always be heroes in the hearts of the people." Qin Zhuoan said to him softly like coaxing a child.

"Then... can I also... have a name?"

He began to have difficulty speaking, and his gaze towards Qin Zhuo'an became a little erratic, and his eyes gradually became unfocused.

"Cang Xiaowu, after the war is over, I will erect a monument for you so that your name will go down in history and your relatives will know that you are a hero."

"Commander...remember...me?"

"I remember every hero's name."

"...Well...I am a hero...I want to protect my sister...I want to protect..."

The boy's voice gradually became weaker, until the hand holding Qin Zhuoan gradually became looser, and even his fingertips became cold.

Qin Zhuoan sighed and slowly closed Cang Xiaowu's eyes: "My child, this era will get better."

In this era of excessive chaos, young children are forced to pick up guns, and at an age when they should be having fun, they reach the battlefield where they cannot return.

The overly tense battle situation weighed down Qin Zhuo'an's nerves. He could not spare the energy to collect the corpses of these young people. He could only watch the young and fresh lives passing away on the most ruthless battlefield.

He comforted himself countless times that the sacrifices of these young people were for a better country, but after all, he was not a machine and could not be so cold-blooded.

People are praying in low voices on this sunless night, hoping for the light from tomorrow. However, this light is destined to be exchanged for the blood and sweat of heroes, and for fresh young lives...