Selling the Production Line?

The night was deep, and in the corridor of the command compound, Zhang Xueliang walked with a wobble, muttering incessantly under his breath.

"Commander... Commander of the Eastern Route Army... Did Father drink too much?"

He grabbed hold of Zhang Xueming, who was still relatively sober beside him. "Second Brother, tell me, can I really do this? That's tens of thousands of troops, going head-to-head with that old bastard Cao Kun! I... I just don't feel confident at all!"

"Brother, you're the Commander now. Can you at least act like one?" Zhang Xueming supported him, his tone tinged with helplessness. "You haven't even set foot on the battlefield yet, and you're already chickening out?"

"I'm not chickening out! I know my limits!" Zhang Xueliang stiffened his neck, the alcohol surging up. "On paper, I'm unbeatable, but when it comes to real swords and guns... I'm afraid of disgracing Father, afraid of leading our Brothers into a ditch!"

Zhang Xueming patted him on the back, not lightly.

"Being afraid is right. Those who aren't afraid are fools. Just remember, behind you, there's still me, and the entire Feng Army."

After stuffing his drunken Eldest Brother back into his room, Zhang Xueming finally let out a sigh of relief and turned to walk toward his own courtyard.

Pushing open the door, Yu Fengzhi was sitting under the lamp, needle and thread in hand, but she hadn't yet made a single stitch.

Seeing Zhang Xueming enter, she immediately put down her things and hurried over, scrutinizing him closely to confirm he was unharmed before chiding softly, "Drinking again? You reek of alcohol."

"Today was a special occasion." Zhang Xueming let her take off his cold-weather coat, then pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on the top of her head, breathing in her familiar fragrance.

Only here could he shed all his pretense and vigilance.

"There's going to be a war," he murmured.

Yu Fengzhi's body stiffened noticeably, but she quickly relaxed, only holding him tighter.

"I figured as much," she said softly. "You... are you the Commander?"

"Deputy. Eldest Brother is the main one."

Yu Fengzhi didn't ask further. She knew what to ask and what not to. She simply lifted her head and looked into her man's eyes. "Then, that new production line at the Anshan Armaments Factory—shouldn't it be put to use now? You've been so secretive, pouring in all that money. What kind of Treasured One did you actually build?"

A smile curled at the corner of Zhang Xueming's mouth.

"An Iron Turtle that can change the face of warfare."

He Paused, then asked, "Has it... come out yet?"

"Mm, one unit was assembled the day before yesterday. The factory sent you a telegram, but I guess you were too busy to read it," Yu Fengzhi replied. "They're waiting for you to go over and inspect it."

"Good!"

Zhang Xueming's eyes sparkled with excitement.

The gears in his mind were turning fast.

Those two Prussian Military Advisors, Manstein and Lucas, were always going on about deep breakthroughs and mobile warfare, but they didn't even have a decent teaching tool—just talking out of their mouths.

Now, the real deal had arrived.

Time to see if it's a horse or a mule—take it out for a spin!

The next day, before dawn had even broken, Zhang Xueming was already in his special car heading for Anshan.

Anshan was rich in minerals and had a solid heavy industry base—it was the site of the Feng Army's largest Armaments Factory. Tall chimneys belched black smoke, and the entire plant was filled with a unique smell of steel and Machine Oil, exuding a sense of raw power.

On the factory's dedicated training ground, Zhang Xueming saw the "Treasured One" that had cost him a full six million Silver Dollars.

It sat there quietly, like a dormant Steel Behemoth. A boxy Vehicle Body, sloped front armor, a wide track, and a rotating turret mounted with a small-caliber cannon.

Though, with Zhang Xueming's perspective from a later era, this "Type 1 Armored Combat Vehicle" looked a bit crude and primitive, in this age, it was a Dimensional Strike.

"Gott im Himmel!"

"Unglaublich!"

Manstein and Lucas, who had come along, completely lost their composure when they saw the tank. The two meticulous Prussian Officers rushed forward, circling the tank again and again, running their hands over the cold steel plates, their eyes a complex mix of fervor, shock, and obsession.

"General Zhang, this... did you build this?" Manstein's voice was hoarse.

"Who else?" Zhang Xueming handed him a pair of gloves. "Want to get up there and drive it? Experience what it feels like to be a Land Cruiser."

"Of course! Of course we do!"

The two Germans scrambled up onto the tank without a second thought.

With simple guidance from the Technicians, true to their nature as top-tier military experts, they quickly grasped the basic operating principles.

With a roar, the Steel Behemoth awakened. The engine let out a deep growl, the tracks churned the ground, kicking up dust as it began to race across the training ground. Accelerating, turning, crossing trenches, flattening obstacles... the movements were still a bit rough, but the unstoppable momentum had already made every onlooker hold their breath.

Half an hour later, the tank came to a stop, and Manstein and Lucas climbed out of the turret, their faces flushed red with excitement.

"General!" Manstein grabbed Zhang Xueming's hand, his emotions running high. "If... if back then at the Somme River, the German army had possessed even a hundred such vehicles, the outcome of the war would absolutely have been rewritten! We would not have lost!"