Republic of China: German-equipped divisions massacred as warlords guarded the nation's borders

Midnight.

The crystal chandelier at the Paramount Ballroom suddenly flickered three times.

This is a code.

Most people in the hall did not notice this detail.

But Shen Li noticed it.

Zang Keping noticed it.

The two hundred guards in black suits on the second-floor circular corridor also noticed it.

Click.

The four iron bolts on the main entrance of the Paramount fell almost simultaneously.

The back door, side door, and fire exit were all locked from the outside at the same time.

closed.

On stage, Feng Chengcheng had just finished singing her last encore song. She smiled, bowed to the audience, and retreated backstage.

The band didn't stop.

With a turn of the baton, the melodious tango music began to flow.

Several well-dressed couples stepped onto the dance floor and began to dance gracefully. The lights were soft, the aroma of wine was intoxicating, and everything seemed so perfect.

Ding Baoshan sat on the sofa in the corner, his fingers nervously tapping the rim of his wine glass.

The four "bodyguards" standing behind him exchanged a glance.

One of them slowly stood up. He reached inside his suit jacket and touched the grip of the Browning pistol hidden under his arm.

His target was clear—the young man in military uniform directly in front of the stage.

Chen Zijun.

Just one shot.

One shot is enough.

The assassin took a deep breath and stood up from his seat. He walked unhurriedly to the edge of the dance floor, like a gentleman looking for a dance partner.

He pulled his hand out of his suit jacket.

The muzzle of the gun appeared.

But the instant the gun barrel was revealed, a very faint muffled sound came from above his head.

puff.

It's not much louder than the buzzing of a mosquito.

The assassin paused for a moment. He looked down at his chest.

A small hole. A deep red bloodstain rapidly spreading across the shirt.

He didn't even have time to pull the trigger.

Puff. Puff. Puff puff puff puff!

On the second-floor circular corridor, six gunners from the Imperial Guard Regiment opened fire simultaneously. MP18 submachine guns, equipped with silencers, spat out strings of silent fire from the shadows.

The eight assassins in the hall activated their abilities simultaneously.

Six of the eight men didn't even have time to draw their guns.

The bullets came from a 45-degree angle above their heads, piercing their skulls, their chests, and their arms as they tried to draw their guns.

An assassin collapsed onto the dance floor, his splattered blood mingling with the swirling tango. The dancing ladies were momentarily stunned, then noticed the expanding pool of dark red liquid on the floor.

"ah--"

The screams finally rang out.

But it's all over now.

From the first smack to the fall of the eighth assassin, no more than fifteen seconds elapsed.

A brief moment of chaos ensued in the hall.

The ladies screamed and hid under the table. Several timid compradors from foreign firms collapsed into their chairs.

But the chaos did not last long.

Two hundred guards dressed in black suits had appeared simultaneously from the second-floor corridor, the stage curtain, and the four corners of the hall.

Everyone was holding a submachine gun. The muzzles were drawn low, aimed at every corner of the hall.

The scene fell silent instantly.

A deathly silence.

Zang Keping, accompanied by four soldiers, dragged the corpses of eight assassins from the dance floor to the sofa area in the corner.

The eight corpses were neatly arranged at the feet of Ding Baoshan and Zhou Qinian.

The bloodstains left eight long red streaks on the marble floor.

Ding Baoshan looked at the still steaming corpses at his feet and began to tremble uncontrollably.

These people were brought by him.

These people are his killers.

They didn't even touch a hair on Chen Zijun's head before they were silently dealt with, like swatting a fly.

He slowly raised his head and saw Chen Zijun walking towards him with a wine glass in his hand.

Chen Zijun's military uniform was spotless. Not a single drop of champagne was spilled from the glass in his hand.

He walked up to Ding Baoshan and glanced down at the corpse on the ground.

"Commander Ding."

The voice was very calm.

"Look, the people you brought aren't very skilled."

Ding Baoshan's lips trembled a few times, as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn't squeeze out a single word.

Zhou Qinian, standing beside him, was more composed. This cunning old fox, who had served as an advisor for decades, forced himself to stand up and bowed slightly.

"Young Marshal Chen, this...this must be a misunderstanding. These people aren't us—"

"Not yours?"

Chen Zijun interrupted him. He bent down and pulled a bronze token from the body, on which were clearly engraved the words "Fujian Special Forces".

He waved the token in front of Zhou Qinian.

"You're going to say this is a misunderstanding too?"

Zhou Qinian's face instantly turned ashen.

Chen Zijun casually tossed the token onto the ground.

He turned to look at Ding Baoshan.

"Ding Baoshan. What did you smiling tigers tell you before we came? You came to Shanghai to cause trouble, but have you considered the worst possible outcome?"

Ding Baoshan finally knelt down with a thud.

"Young Marshal Chen, spare my life! This wasn't my idea! It was Commander Yuan's—"

"It's too late."

Chen Zijun's eyes turned cold.

He slightly raised his chin towards Zang Keping.

Zang Keping drew his Mauser pistol from his waist and walked behind Ding Baoshan.

boom!

Gunshots rang out in the lobby of the Paramount Ballroom.

Ding Baoshan's body lurched forward, landing squarely in the middle of the eight assassin corpses. A smoking bullet hole was visible on the back of his head.

Blood slowly trickled from under his head, pooling on the marble floor to form a small red mirror.

In the hall with over four hundred people, not a single person uttered a sound.

Even their breathing stopped.

Chen Zijun turned around and looked at Zhou Qinian, who was slumped on the sofa.

He bent down and brought his face close to Qi Yingcai's chief of staff.

"Chief of Staff Zhou."

The voice was so soft it sounded like chatting with a friend.

"You're still alive. Do you know why?"

Zhou Qinian's lips trembled. He couldn't speak.

"Because I need someone to go back and relay the message."

Chen Zijun straightened up.

"Go back and tell Scholar Qi. His head is on his neck..."

He glanced down at Ding Baoshan's still bleeding corpse.

"I'll keep this for now."

After half an hour.

The Paramount Ballroom returned to calm.

The body was cleaned up. The bloodstains were wiped clean. The band resumed playing.

But the atmosphere had completely changed.

All the guests sat quietly in their seats, drinking. No one whispered or wandered around.

British Consul Barton pulled his deputy into a corner.

His face was as pale as paper.

"Listen carefully," he said in a low voice.

"Go back and tell London that the British Empire should not interfere in the matter of Ma'anshan any further."

"What about Zhou Qinian's proposal?"

"Screw the proposal."

Baldun gritted his teeth.

"Didn't you see? He shot a division commander in front of four hundred people. A division commander!"

He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Never go to Ma'anshan. Never."

Chen Zijun stood on the balcony on the second floor of the Paramount Ballroom, watching the guests below leave in twos and threes.

Cao Qingdi walked to his side.

"it's over?"

"it's over."

Chen Zijun turned to look at her.

"Sister Qingdi, the production capacity of sulfonamides should be increased tenfold."

Cao Qingdi raised an eyebrow.

"Tenfold? The current production lines are already operating at full capacity. To increase it tenfold, we'd need to build at least three more production lines."

Money is not a problem.

Chen Zijun gazed at the dark night sky in the distance.

"We're going to have a big war."