"Wang Yan!"
In Zenda, Yu Xiaoqing furiously slammed the telegram onto the table. He gritted his teeth, his eyes wide with rage, veins bulging across his forehead.
"Oh, my worthy nephew, why are you angry again? Too much anger harms the body. Not good, not good at all."
Tang Ji began to counsel him again. At the same time, he picked up the telegram from the table, then let out a long breath and set it back down.
The telegram's contents were simple; telegrams had to be concise.
'We have trapped the Japanese for over two months. Why do you not break South Heaven Gate?' Those fourteen characters were the entirety of the telegram. Yet the meaning they conveyed enraged Yu Xiaoqing so badly he nearly lost his mind.
Wang Yan had led his troops to South Heaven Gate and spent more than two months fighting around it.
At first, the Japanese would send reinforcements. Later, after repeatedly failing to break through, they gave up. Their battles with Wang Yan's troops spread farther and farther from South Heaven Gate. The most distant battlefield was already fifty kilometers away, while even the closest was more than thirty kilometers out. Wang Yan's headquarters had moved over twenty kilometers forward.
Without resupplies of weapons, ammunition, food, medicine, and other materials, a regiment of troops had simply held onto the mountaintop. This time, they truly had been trapped until they were out of bullets and food. In less than another month, those little devils would starve to death.
That was why the little devils were bound to make a move soon. A desperate gamble was better than waiting to die. Whether Japan's spirit of ritual suicide was useful or not, now was the time for them to summon it.
"Worthy nephew, the wording may