Anti-Japanese War: My strategist joins the game and awakens the small map!

It was cold, breezy, and the night was as dark as ink.

Pudong.

As the sun sets, the bustling scene ends, and many shops on the street begin to close.

At night, except for the concessions, many places in Pudong are under curfew.

In a painting shop on the corner, a man in his thirties took a wooden board, put it into the card slot at the door of the shop, and began to close the door.

Han Qingmo closed the door with a sad look in his eyes.

"Did Mr. Xu really go to the North?"

The sunset glowed, rendering it a light red.

After being worried for a few days since the demise of the Qingyun Gang, I discovered that the Qingyun Gang had not revealed its identity.

Han Qingmo admired Xu Jingqiang of the Qingyun Gang. In troubled times, having a heart that serves the country and the people is as precious as gold among the sand.

But things are unpredictable. The entire Qingyun Gang was destroyed overnight, and Xu Jingqiang's life or death was unknown.

People in the Pudong underground passed on the story from mouth to mouth. Some said that he was hit by several bullets that night and jumped into the Huangpu River, and his blood dyed the entire river red.

Some also said that he left by boat overnight and headed for Southeast Asia.

But what Han Qingmo agreed with the most was that Xu Jingqiang returned to his hometown that night with his confidants and fought in the Northern Expedition with the Tiger Brigade.

Looking at the sunset, Han Qingmo was a little dazed. At this moment, a voice sounded behind him.

"Qingmo, although the sunset is beautiful, ink paintings can never capture its vibrant colors. Why don't you join me in oil painting? With your talent, you can definitely show your skills in oil painting. Let's go to Daying Country. I heard that Daying Country has a great artistic atmosphere."

Behind Han Qingmo, a young figure stood in the store, wearing a suit and with a handsome face.

He prefers brightly colored oil paintings to black and white Chinese paintings. The current domestic situation has made him a little tired of pursuing art.

The students he taught put down their pens one by one and started to leave. Most of them chose to go north to join the army. He didn't really understand why.

Han Qingmo on the side shook his head and sighed softly, but did not say that any idea was wrong. After all, there is a saying that everyone has their own aspirations.

"My roots are here." Han Qingmo shook his head seriously.

Ink paintings may not have colors, but they can capture the charm with just a few strokes.

Han Qingmo was about to close the window when suddenly a low voice sounded from the dim alley.

"Master Han, would you like a newspaper? The latest report from the Tiger Brigade."

"want!!"

Han Qingmo's eyes twitched slightly, and he immediately took out money from his pocket and took the newspaper.

After taking the newspaper, Han Qingmo put the last door panel in place and walked to the table with a kerosene lamp.

But this time the newspaper was obviously different. After opening the newspaper, what caught my eye was not the headline, but a newspaper about the battle situation, and one-third of it was a group of photos.

Seeing this, Han Qingmo couldn't help but brighten the kerosene lamp a little and look at each of the six photos very carefully.

What met the eyes was a mountain of blood and a sea of ​​corpses, with flesh and blood frozen under the ice and snow.

As soon as this picture appeared, Han Qingmo felt that the picture of vast rivers and mountains appeared in front of him, and this picture of vast rivers and mountains was burning.

Someone is using blood to destroy the burning landscape of vast rivers and mountains.

As if traveling through time and space, he saw the battlefield filled with smoke, where every battle was a fight to the death.

Han Qingmo looked at the photos one by one, his face full of heaviness. Unlike before when he saw the newspaper and shouted excitedly, he was silent instead.

Because a great victory is never just two simple words.

"Mr. Wu, you think ink paintings lack color. Look at this photo. Does it have color?"

After reading it, Han Qingmo turned to look at Mr. Wu who was a little curious, and handed the newspaper to him.

Mr. Wu took the newspaper and looked at it.

The soldier was standing under the snow-covered sky. He seemed to see blood everywhere, and the red blood was staining the earth.

Mr. Wu was silent for a moment.

"Ink painting emphasizes meaning rather than form..." Han Qingmo spoke in a serious tone, staring at the flame of the kerosene lamp in a daze.

"I have a vow in my heart that is deeper than the ocean, and I am willing to see China sink to the ground."

Han Qingmo murmured to himself, saying that he had once stood proudly in the world.

It is the center of culture. In the history of our country for thousands of years, there has never been such a broken place except during the Five Barbarians' Invasion.

Even if he could live in peace by going to the Great Eagle Country, how could he dare to give up his vast mountains and rivers? Han Qingmo was unwilling to leave. Like Xu Jingqiang, he would choose to return to his hometown to extinguish the flames burning on the map of vast mountains and rivers.

"Your students went north, they see it better than you. Family and country are above art. Give up the pen in your hand and pick up the gun to kill... Your ink painting is no weaker than anyone else's." Han Qingmo looked at Wu Fu, whose eyes were a little confused, and spoke in a deep voice.

As he spoke, he picked up the brush in his hand, and when the tip of the brush touched the rice paper, with a few strokes, the green bamboo grew taller and taller, which made Mr. Wu feel its tenacity.

Mr. Wu suddenly fell silent.