Chapter 351: War, The Public Opinion War

It's been five years.

Since the gunfire at the Lugou Bridge, since Nanjing was stained with blood, since Wuhan fell… how many soldiers have been buried in the green hills? how many civilians are displaced? how many times have we thought the rivers and mountains would collapse?

Now, a fortified city has been reclaimed, and the key is the gateway Yichang leading into Sichuan; it is a strategic stronghold. In the Zao‑Yi battle, the Little Devil seized the chance to capture Yichang, and now it has finally been taken back.

The backbone of a nation stands upright in blood and fire as before.

"Issue the order," he opened his eyes, his gaze like a torch, "Broadcast nationwide! Yichang reclaimed! Reward the three armies! Comfort the heroic martyrs!"

"Also summon the foreign reporters gathered in Chongqing, so they know that we China are still fighting!"

International propaganda is very important, and he also needs more supplies; Song Ziwen has already been discussing with Roosevelt in the United States how to transport supplies from India to Huaxia, which will take time.

Once the Americans see the strength of the Huaxia army, Huaxia will receive more United States aid.

"Yes! Principal!" Dai Li solemnly obeyed.

Principal turned around, looking at the four characters "All under heaven are for the public" on the wall.

He was immensely relaxed; since the end of the Myanmar Campaign, this was the most good news he had heard.

First, the Japanese Army abandoned the Zhejiang‑Jiangxi battle; then the th War Zone's Xue Yue organized a counterattack on Yueyang and succeeded in taking it.

Now Yichang, the key stronghold entering Sichuan, has been taken; the Zao‑Yi battle let the Japanese capture this stronghold, and the side of the throne cannot tolerate outsiders!

One can imagine how great a threat Yichang posed to the Principal, who had already retreated into Chongqing—like a fishbone stuck in his throat!

The Principal wanted to hear how that youngster captured Yichang; the documents sent over are only briefings, and the detailed battle report still needs to be compiled before it can reach Chongqing.

Dai Li walked out of the official residence, the mountain city's dawn just breaking.

A thin mist swirled over the Jialing River, and the locomotive whistle lingered long.

At the street corner, a paperboy ran shouting: "Extra! Extra! Yichang great victory! The Little Devil's 13th Division annihilated!"

Citizens surged onto the streets, embracing and weeping.

In the Ciqikou teahouse, the storyteller clapped the hall's wood with a "Clap" and forgot to recite the *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*, instead reading the battle report aloud. All the tea guests rose in unison, some wiping tears, some slapping hands; the owner said nothing more, lifted the steamer: "Today's tea is free! Plus ten baskets of buns to reward the elders!"

From street to alley, firecracker sounds rose and fell. Households without firecrackers banged basins, smashed iron pots, and rattled bronze bells.

Students flooded the streets, waving homemade Blue Sky, White Sun flags; vendors pushed carts of sugar paintings, freely making the characters "Victory" for children; even refugees from the air‑raid shelters crawled out, planting wildflowers at the entrances as a celebration.

The most moving scene was at an elementary school on the south bank. The children couldn't write "Yichang", so they used chalk to draw a great river on the playground, placed a red dot in its center, and sang in unison: "Yangtze River long, Yichang bright, drive the Little Devil back to their homes!"

A blind old woman sat on the doorstep, listening as the neighbor finished the battle report, feeling her way to pull a polished copper coin from under her pillow. It was left by her son when he went to Sichuan to fight in 1937. She pressed the coin to her chest and murmured: "Abao, can you hear? Yichang has been retaken; if your spirit watches the heavens, you may finally rest!"

Summer 1942, the hall of the Zeng Jiayan official residence in Chongqing.

Noon sunlight streamed through the high windows, casting the red velvet carpet in a blood‑hot glow.

The hall was packed; not only were domestic media such as the Central News Agency, *Ta Kung Pao*, *Xinhua Daily* present, but also reporters from the Associated Press, Reuters, Agence France‑Presse, and even an observer from the Japanese Alliance News Agency was exceptionally permitted to attend.

Of course, the Japanese newspaper was placed in a corner, its staff's faces ashen.

Long spears and short cannons lined the room, magnesium lights flickered like sparks, and the air was thick with tense anticipation.

The Principal's speed was indeed extremely swift.

The news of Yichang's reclamation only reached Chongqing at dawn; at ten o'clock this morning, the event titled "Western Hubei Great Victory and Yichang Reclamation Press Conference" had already convened.

Its purpose was clear: not only to announce the victory, but to proclaim it to the world. China is shifting from defense to counter‑offensive.

At exactly ten o'clock, the side door opened.

The entire audience stood.

The Principal walked in slowly, dressed in a dark Zhongshan suit, his shoulder insignia crisp, a Blue Sky, White Sun medal on his chest. His face was thin, yet his gaze burned like a torch, his steps steady, and a long‑missing smile tugged at his mouth. Since the defeat in the Myanmar Campaign, he had never looked so vigorous.

Behind him, on the left stood the Minister of Military and Political Affairs He Yingqin, in full military dress, chest adorned with multiple medals, his expression solemn; on the right was the Minister of Propaganda Chen Lifu, holding a folder, his eyes sharp as an eagle.

"Please sit," the Chairman said, his voice not loud but clear throughout every corner of the hall.

He took the main seat, surveyed the room, his gaze lingered a moment on the foreign reporters' seats, seemingly to emphasize: "Today's meeting is not to boast, but to set the name right—the name of the indomitable Chinese nation, the name of Huaxia soldiers who bleed, the name of the inevitable victory of the anti‑Japanese war."

Then, he personally read the "Yichang Reclamation Battle Report":

"Since the 30th of this month, the Senary War Zone's main force, under the brave fighting of Hu Lian's 11th Division, Jiang Anguo's Independent Regiment, Xu Guozhang's 150th Division and other units, after three days and nights of bloody combat, completely crushed the Japanese 13th Division entrenched in Yichang. The enemy suffered over ten thousand casualties, its main force annihilated, the remnants fled north in panic, and Yichang was fully reclaimed! The Yangtze River shipping line reopened, the protective barrier of the companion capital stabilized, and the crisis in Western Hubei was turned around in one stroke!"

Before his words finished, thunderous applause erupted throughout the hall.

Chinese reporters rose emotionally, some shouting "Long live the Chinese nation!"; foreign reporters quickly recorded, their flashlights forming a white‑day glare.

An American reporter was the first to raise his hand: "Chairman, there are reports that your forces used American‑made P‑38 fighters and 150 mm howitzers in this battle; does this signify a new stage in Sino‑American military cooperation?"

It must be said, the news indeed spread quickly; Jiang Anguo's troops certainly weren't that fast, so the information must have come from the 11th Division.

In fact, the Principal also didn't know where his nephew got the ability to obtain the fighter planes and howitzers.

In reality, the fighter planes were American, and the howitzers were German.

The Principal smiled and nodded: "Allied aid to China is like firewood in snow. But I must stress, without soldiers risking their lives and the people united, even thousands of machines and cannons cannot conquer a fortified city!"

Another British reporter asked: "It is reported that the commander of the 13th Division, Nei Shan Yingta Lang, has 'died for the country', do you confirm his fate?"

He Yingqin took the reply, his tone cold: "The enemy chieftain either fled or died, which does not affect the overall situation. What matters is that the invader's flag has been permanently lowered from Yichang's city walls."

He Yingqin had read the battle report; without definite information, he dared not speak recklessly.

At this moment, Chen Lifu unfolded a document, adding: "According to battlefield statistics, over three thousand Yichang civilians voluntarily assisted our army, providing intelligence, transporting ammunition, and caring for the wounded. This is not merely a military victory but a model of the people's total resistance. Our government has ordered funds to rebuild Yichang, comfort the heroic martyrs, and resettle the displaced."

The press conference entered its climax.

The Principal stood, walked toward the hastily arranged massive battle map. He held a pointer, pointed to Yichang's location, and his voice rose:

"Everyone, look here: this spot is the Yangtze River throat; this spot is the nation's backbone! Three years ago, the enemy held this, threatening the companion capital and cutting supplies; today, our army has reclaimed it, not only regaining lost land but also showing the world: the Chinese battlefield is no longer a passive mud pit, but an eastern stronghold at the heart of the counter‑offensive!"

He paused, his gaze flashing across the hall, lingering a moment on the Japanese observer's face:

"I wish to use this opportunity to warn Tokyo: if you persist in the delusion of a 'Greater East Asia Co‑Prosperity Sphere', you will end like the enemy of Yichang—your flag will fall, the city will be destroyed, and your souls will be broken far from home!"

The whole hall boiled again.

Chinese reporters' eyes welled with hot tears, foreign reporters nodded repeatedly. Even the Japanese observer bowed his head, scribbling rapidly, his face pallid.