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

It's 6:30 in the morning.

Chen Zijun sat in his study on the second floor of the headquarters, a stack of newly delivered telegrams spread out on the rosewood table in front of him.

The leaves of the sycamore trees outside the window rustled in the autumn wind.

He picked up his enamel mug, took a sip of strong tea, and casually glanced at the system panel in his mind.

……

[Unlimited Pay-to-Win System - Day 397]

Current fund pool: £4,271,836

Real-time deposit rate: +1 pound/second (basic)

Technology tree unlocked:

√ Industrial-scale production line for sulfonamides (exclusive worldwide)

√ Krupp 75mm infantry gun (bulk procurement rights)

√ MG34 general purpose machine gun (licensed for imitation)

√ Heavy armored train (1 train/in service)

To be unlocked:

105mm howitzer production line (requires £800 million)

Junkers Ju 52 transport aircraft (requires £1200 million)

……

£4.27 million.

It seems like a lot, but to expand the 10th Division into a fully German-equipped division, we still need at least ten million more.

Not to mention the tough battle against Qi Yingcai that follows; without the heavy artillery brigade, they'd be risking their lives to make up for it.

He put down his teacup and his gaze fell on the purple-covered report on the corner of the table.

It was sent from Cao Qingdi's lab. The cover only has four words: Mass Production Ready.

Footsteps came from the doorway.

Mo Huixin walked in carrying a bowl of red date and white fungus soup.

"Young Marshal, news of what happened at the Paramount last night has spread."

She placed the bowl on the table, a slight smile playing on her lips.

"At six o'clock this morning, all twelve Chinese merchant associations in the concession rushed to subscribe to national defense bonds. Four hundred and seventy thousand silver dollars. Three silk shops in the French concession even voluntarily delivered a year's worth of overdue taxes."

Chen Zijun chuckled.

"Scared?"

"I'm scared."

Mo Huixin said softly, "You executed a division commander in front of four hundred people. Those who did business with you made money, while those who opposed you even saved money on their coffins."

Chen Zijun didn't reply. He picked up the purple report and flicked it.

"We have an even bigger deal today. Sister Qingdi's first batch of 100,000 doses passed the final testing last night. All the pharmaceutical representatives from the foreign firm will be here by 2 PM."

Mo Huixin's eyes lit up.

How much do you plan to sell it for?

"Let them see the results first."

It was exactly 2 p.m. The compound of the United Pharmaceuticals plant was full of cars.

A black Rolls-Royce, a dark green Buick, and a silver-grey Mercedes, each bearing the license plates of the British Concession, the French Concession, and the German Consulate, respectively.

Cao Qingdi, dressed in a white doctor's coat, stood at the entrance of the laboratory building, with two uniformed guards behind her holding submachine guns.

Kurz, the representative from Bayer Germany, jogged up to greet him, his face flushed.

"Miss Cao! A telegram just arrived from Berlin headquarters! Bayer is willing to make an offer—"

"Mr. Kurz," Cao Qingdi interrupted him with a smile. "We'll discuss the pricing when Commander Chen arrives."

Kurz swallowed hard and glanced back at the Englishman who stepped out of the Rolls-Royce behind him.

Weber, the Far East representative of GlaxoSmithKline. A balding middle-aged gentleman, wearing a custom-made three-piece suit and leaning on an ivory-handled cane.

The two exchanged a glance, and Weber snorted and walked straight past without even saying hello.

When Chen Zijun's military jeep drove into the compound, the lobby of the laboratory building was already full of people.

Bayer (Germany), GlaxoSmithKline (UK), Rhône-Poulenc (France), and Merck (USA). All four major pharmaceutical giants are represented.

Cao Qingdi stood beside the experimental table in the center of the hall. On the table was a row of white medicine bottles, each containing one hundred pale yellow pills.

"Gentlemen, you have probably already read the technical summary."

Her voice was clear and crisp. "Sulfanilamide, 97.3% in vitro bactericidal rate—"

"Enough with the nonsense!"

Weber slammed his fist on the table and stood up. "Anyone can fabricate data. I want to see real people!"

Cao Qingdi glanced at Chen Zijun. Chen Zijun nodded slightly.

A glass partition was temporarily erected in the backyard of the laboratory building.

Inside lay a man in his thirties, his face sallow, his lips purple, his right leg swollen like a winter melon, and yellowish-green pus oozing from the wound.

In the late stages of purulent sepsis, in this day and age, it would be a death sentence.

Cao Qingdi entered the cubicle, poured out three pills, dissolved them in water, and injected them into the patient's vein.

"It's 2:15 now. Please wait for four hours."

No one left.

The representatives from the four countries all moved chairs and sat outside the glass, staring intently.

In the first hour, the body temperature dropped from 39.8 degrees to 38.5 degrees.

In the second hour, the pus significantly decreased, and the lips regained their color.

In the third hour, the patient opened his eyes.

"I... am thirsty."

Outside the glass, all was silent.

Kurz's hands were trembling.

Weber's mouth remained open for a long time, unable to close.

The Frenchman Leblanc suddenly stood up, his chair overturning to the ground.

"Impossible! Late-stage sepsis! Fever subsided in three hours?"

"Sulfanilamide."

Cao Qingdi stepped out of the cubicle and gently placed the medicine bottle on the table.

"What you see is an anti-infective drug developed and mass-produced by the Chinese themselves. The initial production capacity is 100,000 doses per month."

There was a three-second silence. Then it exploded.

"100,000 pounds! All-inclusive for the first batch!" Kurz was the first to jump up.

"Bullshit!" Weber shoved him aside and rushed to Cao Qingdi. "The British Empire offers 150,000! Granting exclusive agency rights in the Far East—"

"Exclusive agency?" LeBron sneered. "Your drug patents were won through the Opium Wars, and you still have the nerve to talk about exclusivity?"

The two almost came to blows on the spot.

The American representative in the corner silently pulled out an envelope and placed it on the table. "Merck. Two hundred thousand dollars in advance. No terms."

The situation was completely out of control.

Chen Zijun stood in the corner with his arms crossed and watched for five minutes as the group of foreigners tore at each other like mad dogs.

Only after Webber's tie was pulled askew and LeBron's cufflinks flew to the ground did he slowly walk to the lab table.

"That's enough."

Two hundred attendants and guards outside the building simultaneously cocked their rifles with a loud bang, which was more effective than any language.

"I'll set the price for sulfonamides. Ten pounds per bottle of one hundred tablets."

Everyone gasped. The most expensive bottle of aspirin in the world, from Germany, costs only three shillings. Chen Zijun's price is more than thirty times that.

"This is outrageous!" Weber exclaimed, his face turning red.

"Mr. Weber," Chen Zijun looked at him. "I'm the only one in the world whose medicine can cure sepsis. How much do you think a life is worth?"

Weber opened his mouth, then closed it.

"This is still a friendly price." Chen Zijun scanned the room. "Those who want to buy, pay in full before five o'clock. Those who don't want to buy, turn left and go back to explain to your soldiers why they can only wait to die after being injured."

"The British Empire will not accept this—"

"Uncle Zang, Mr. Weber isn't feeling well. Let's take him outside for some fresh air."

Zang Keping grabbed Weber by the collar with one hand, lifting both feet off the ground.

Bang! The door burst open, and Weber was thrown out, rolling twice before his ivory cane snapped in two.

The hall was silent for two seconds.

Kurz was the first to raise his hand. "Bayer accepts! Ten thousand bottles for the first batch! One hundred thousand pounds!"

LeBron followed closely. "Ronaplank! Eight thousand bottles! Eighty thousand pounds!"

The American representative pulled out his checkbook. "Merck. Five thousand bottles. Fifty thousand pounds."

"Huixin, keep the accounts."

Mo Huixin signed three contracts within ten minutes, earning £230,000.

Cao Qingdi moved closer to Chen Zijun. "You threw Weber out; the British won't let this go."

Chen Zijun scoffed. "Once the news gets back to Europe, the British will crawl back on their own."

He was right.

When they returned to headquarters in the evening, Mo Huixin pushed open the door again, her face showing rare excitement.

"Young Marshal, Consul Barton's private secretary has arrived. He's representing GlaxoSmithKline headquarters to order an additional 20,000 bottles, worth two hundred thousand pounds."

Chen Zijun picked up his teacup, his expression unchanged.

"What did I say again?"

Mo Huixin opened the account book and pointed to the last line with her fingertip.

"Today's total income—430,000 pounds. After deducting costs, the actual net profit exceeds 350,000 pounds for one day."

Her voice trembled slightly.

"How do you plan to spend this money?"

Chen Zijun stood up and walked to the window. Several cargo ships were slowly sailing by on the Huangpu River in the distance.

"Starting today, the heavy artillery brigade's budget will be accounted for separately. Sixty percent of the sulfonamide revenue will be injected into the 10th Division's German-equipped expansion fund. Exchange 105mm howitzer blueprints from the system and send them to Ma'anshan. Tell Shen Li that the first batch of steel produced in the blast furnace should be used to make gun barrels."

Mo Huixin took notes at lightning speed.

Just then, hurried footsteps came from outside the study.

The communications soldier rushed in, his face ashen, and slammed a telegram on the table.

"Young Marshal! Urgent telegram from Jiangyin Fortress!"

The telegram contained only two lines:

"Jiangsu Qi Yingcai's troops have moved. Two British-built Yangtze River frigates, carrying a mixed infantry brigade, are advancing at full speed along the Yangtze River towards our waters. The flagship has entered firing range and is conducting live-fire exercises!"

Mo Huixin's hand trembled, and the pen fell onto the table.

Chen Zijun laughed.

He knew that with Qi Yingcai's scheming nature, how could he possibly fight to the death for the Zhili clique after its downfall?

At the very moment when Ma'anshan was attacked by the Fengtian clique, he had already guessed that Qi Yingcai of Jiangsu Province had defected to the Fengtian clique.

You should know that in his previous life, Zhang Jialiang, the young marshal of the Fengtian clique, fought his way from north to south and eventually occupied Shanghai.

Now, however, he can only stay in Bengbu.

It was only natural that Zhang Jialiang of the Fengtian clique and Qi Yingcai, a traitor of the Zhili clique, would join forces!

He picked up the telegram, glanced at it, and casually tossed it back onto the table.

"They've arrived."

The voice was very calm.

"Huixin, today's earnings look good. Next, we're going to spend a lot of money..."