Chapter 757: The Editor Thought It Over, Still Decided to Celebrate

The old soldier smiled.

"It's right to be happy. Be as happy as you can. When we get ashore, there will be a moment for your joy."

The ship steadied, and the gangway was lowered. The sailors lined up and stepped onto the dock, and the moment they set foot, they were swallowed by the cheering crowd. Some handed them flowers, some gave them food, some clung to them. A young sailor was surrounded by a few girls, his face flushed bright red, at a loss for what to do.

In the distance, a black car rolled slowly forward. The crowd automatically cleared a path.

The car door opened, and Wang Wenwu stepped out.

He wore a brand‑new Zhongshan suit, a red silk flower pinned to his chest, and a rare smile on his face. He walked to the center of the dock and waved his hand toward the crowd.

The crowd fell silent in an instant.

"Everyone!" Wang Wenwu's voice boomed, "The President has issued an order: today, the whole city gets a holiday! All taverns are free! Tonight, we won't return until we're drunk!"

The crowd boiled again.

The cheers roared to the heavens and kept going for a long time.

Wang Wenwu stood there, watching this boiling sea, and suddenly felt a bit dazed.

Where was he a year ago today?

A year ago, he was in Dubai's provisional government, staring blankly at an empty office. At that time, no one believed Lanfang could win. Everyone said the British were too powerful to provoke.

A year later, the British lost.

Four hundred thousand people, the entire army wiped out.

He shook his head, shaking off those thoughts.

In the distance, more cheers came. They came from the direction of Borneo, from the direction of Kuwait, from the direction of Hordasa, from the direction of every Lanfang person.

We won.

We really won.

Borneo Naval Base.

The dock was equally packed. Soldiers from the Sakura Nation and Lanfang stood together, hugging each other, patting each other's shoulders. They didn't share a language, but their smiles were mutual.

A Sakura Nation soldier said in halting Chinese, "Congratulations! Congratulations!"

A Lanfang soldier answered in even more halting Japanese, "Arigato!"

Both laughed, laughing like two children.

Shanben Yifu's representative stood on the dock, watching the scene. He held a freshly received telegram—the latest statistics of the Dhaka battle. Fifty‑three thousand people had fallen.

He folded the telegram and slipped it into his pocket.

Then he lifted his head, looking at the cheering soldiers.

The dead are dead; the living must keep living.

If you can live, you must be happy.

In Kuwait, Wang Guojian's troops were recuperating.

When the news arrived, the soldiers were having lunch. Someone heard the broadcast on the radio, froze for a second, then stood up and shouted:

"Sinai won! Four hundred thousand British were annihilated!"

The mess hall was silent for a second.

Then the pots, bowls, and pans flew into the air.

The soldiers jumped up, hugging each other, punching each other; some tossed their caps toward the ceiling, some held comrades while crying and laughing. The kitchen masters rushed out with big ladles, asking what was happening, then were hoisted by the soldiers and flung into the air.

Wang Guojian stood at the mess hall entrance, watching that crazy sea, a slight smile curling his lips.

Chen Dalei stood beside him, also smiling.

"Instructor, aren't you happy?"

Wang Guojian nodded.

"Happy. Of course happy."

He looked at the soldiers, at the cheering youths, and suddenly thought of a question.

When the fighting is over, how many of these people will still be alive?

He didn't continue thinking.

In the distance, a soldier ran over, saluting, "Instructor! The President is calling! Please organize the troops to listen to the broadcast; the President will give a speech tonight!"

Wang Guojian nodded.

"Relay to all units: assemble after dinner and listen to the broadcast."

The soldiers turned and ran.

Chen Dalei asked, "Instructor, what will the President say?"

Wang Guojian shook his head.

"I don't know. But it will certainly be great news."

Hordasa, in Zhao Dengyu's command post, was likewise a scene of jubilation.

But Zhao Dengyu didn't go out to cheer. He stood before the sand table, staring at the red and blue arrows, motionless.

Chief of Staff Li Tiejun pushed the door open, his face beaming.

"Instructor! Listen to the commotion outside! Our troops are going crazy!"

Zhao Dengyu didn't turn around.

"Heard it."

Li Tiejun walked to his side, following his gaze. On the sand table, the blue arrows marking the Sinai Peninsula had all vanished, leaving only red arrows pointing toward the canal.

"Instructor, why aren't you happy?"

Zhao Dengyu finally turned, looking at him.

"Old Li, tell me, after Egypt, where else?"

Li Tiejun was stunned for a moment.

"And... Africa?"

Zhao Dengyu nodded.

"Africa. Such a huge territory—how long will it take to fight? How many will die?"

He walked back to the window. Outside, the soldiers were cheering, leaping, and embracing.

"Four hundred thousand people are gone, we won. But we also lost lives. In the Sinai battle, how many of us died?"

Li Tiejun was silent for three seconds.

"Over eight thousand."

Zhao Dengyu nodded.

"Over eight thousand. Over eight thousand brothers who will never return. They are happy, as they should be. But I cannot be only happy."

He looked at the boiling crowd outside the window and said softly:

"I have to think about the next step."

Sinai Peninsula, temporary airfield.

A silver‑white aircraft flew in from the east, circled above the airfield, then slowly landed. The moment the landing gear touched the ground, a gust of sand rose.

The hatch opened, and Chen Feng stepped down.

He wore a dark gray Zhongshan suit, without a hat, his face showing no expression. Sunlight fell on his face, highlighting the fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Zhao Dengyu stood beside the gangway, standing at attention and saluting.

"President!"

Chen Feng descended the gangway and grasped his hand.

"You've worked hard."

Zhao Dengyu shook his head.

"Not hard. The brothers have worked hard."

Chen Feng nodded.

"Take me to see them."

The review platform was hastily erected on a vacant lot beside the airfield. A red cloth covered the platform, with a few chairs placed on it. On the ground below, tens of thousands of Lanfang soldiers formed a square formation, stretching from the platform forward to the distant horizon, endless to the eye.

The troops were disciplined and dead silent.

Chen Feng stepped onto the review platform, stood at the front, and looked at the dense sea of people.

Tens of thousands of people. That was the entire mobile force of the Sinai campaign. There were also troops assisting in various locations!

He stared for a long time.

Then he spoke. Without a microphone, he shouted with his throat.

"Brothers!"

That shout burst across the square like a thunderclap.

Tens of thousands simultaneously stood at attention, chest out.

Chen Feng scanned the crowd below, looking at each sun‑tanned face and each pair of bright eyes.

"In this Sinai battle, you fought splendidly."

The audience below was quiet, yet a restrained excitement could be felt.

"Four hundred thousand Yingguo people, the entire army annihilated. Ai Lun Bi, the veteran who fought four years on the European front, raised a white flag and surrendered."

His voice was not loud, but each word was as clear as if carved in stone.

"Do you know what this means?"

No one answered.