Chapter 311: Interview
“Commander Su, can we begin?”
“Of course.”
Su Yaoyang looked at the slightly plump middle-aged female reporter with a weathered face in front of him and nodded with a smile.
He gestured, and an attendant standing by immediately understood, carrying the prepared tea, stepping lightly, and pouring a cup of steaming clear tea for each of them.
A faint tea fragrance wafted through the simple yet tidy reception room.
Zilan politely nodded her thanks to the attendant, then refocused her gaze on Su Yaoyang.
She then took out a hardcover notebook and a Parker fountain pen from her briefcase, her movements crisp and steady.
“Commander Su, the outside world is full of curiosity and speculation about you and your Shanxi Militia, and I’m no exception.”
Zilan wasted no time and got straight to the first question, “To be honest, I’m very curious. Just a few years ago, you were only a graduate of Changde Normal School, yet now you’ve single-handedly created the Shanxi Militia and become a banner of the national War of Resistance.
It’s extremely difficult for others to reach this point, but you accomplished it with ease.
In your view, what is the true secret behind the militia achieving such astonishing results in such a short time?”
Su Yaoyang picked up his teacup, gently blew on the floating tea leaves, the steam enveloping his face, and instead of answering immediately, he turned his gaze to the window.
Outside the headquarters, slogans rang out in unison from the training ground, and the faint roar of airplane engines could be heard in the sky.
This was a place full of vitality and strength, utterly different from the listless atmosphere of most places in this era.
“The secret?”
Su Yaoyang withdrew his gaze, looked into Zilan’s eyes brimming with curiosity, and spoke slowly, “If there’s truly a secret, I think it’s two words… ‘science’ and ‘faith’.”
He gently set down the teacup, making a crisp sound.
“Reporter Zilan, you’ve traveled far and wide and seen much of the world. What do you think we lack most right now? Manpower? We have four hundred million compatriots.
Vast land? I don’t think so.”
Su Yaoyang leaned forward slightly, crossing his fingertips on the table, an intangible pressure arising.
“What we lack is scientific systems, scientific training methods, scientific logistics support systems, and…”
He paused, then said, “and an unshakeable faith. A steel-like belief that our nation will never perish, that the invaders will surely be driven from our homeland. My militia has simply executed these two things more thoroughly than others.”
Zilan’s fingers tightened slightly on her pen as she quickly jotted notes in her notebook. Su Yaoyang’s answer exceeded her expectations—no boasting of victories, no mystification, but straight to the core of the issue.
“Commander Su, this time you commanded the Shanxi Militia to join forces with the Eighth Route Army and Jin-Sui Army in launching an offensive on Taiyuan, which has shaken the entire nation.”
Zilan’s pen glided across the notebook, leaving rows of fluid handwriting. She looked up, gazing directly at Su Yaoyang, “Now all eyes are on Shanxi. Do you think this operation will succeed?”
“Victory is certain, and I have no doubt about it.”
Su Yaoyang’s answer held no hesitation, as if stating an established fact.
Zilan nodded; this question was within his expectations, but the next one was what she truly wanted to probe.
“So what prompted you to launch this campaign? You know, this is a major battle involving hundreds of thousands of troops, where any tiny decision could affect the entire North China battlefield.”
Hearing this, Su Yaoyang’s lips curved in a self-mocking arc. He leaned back, sinking into the chairback, meeting Zilan’s probing gaze with calm eyes.
“To my shame, the reason I launched this campaign is that the Japanese attempted to assassinate me. In my anger, I resolved to launch a large-scale retaliation.”
The air in the reception room seemed to freeze in that instant.
Zilan’s right hand gripping the Parker fountain pen halted abruptly, the nib hovering over the notebook, a small drop of ink spreading from the prolonged pause, leaving an abrupt black spot on the paper.
She even forgot to breathe, her weathered eyes filled with disbelief.
Shock.
Unprecedented shock.
As a veteran reporter, she had interviewed countless military and political leaders.
When they spoke of reasons for launching campaigns, they were always impassioned, quoting classics, wrapping their motives in glorious shells of “serving the country and people,” “recovering lost territory,” and “national righteousness.”
She was accustomed to those grandiose statements and skilled at finding the truth in the gaps between their words.
But Su Yaoyang—he had just said it so bluntly?
Because of an assassination? Because of personal anger?
It sounded like the petulant act of a spoiled child!
“You can call it petulance or recklessness, but I’ve never regretted it.”
Su Yaoyang’s calm voice echoed in the silent room. He seemed utterly unconcerned about the storm his words might unleash, even picking up his teacup and taking a leisurely sip.
Zilan’s mind raced. She looked at the excessively young man before her, trying to find any trace of lying or boasting on his calm face, but there was nothing. Only frankness, pure frankness.
He spoke of the fuse for a war that could alter the nation’s fate as casually as saying “nice weather today,” attributing it to the most direct, primal personal grudge.
What arrogance was this? And what… honesty?
Zilan suddenly took a deep breath, her chest heaving sharply. She forced herself to calm down, gripped her fountain pen firmly, and said solemnly:
“Commander Su, 《The Art of War》 states: ‘The sovereign must not launch an army out of anger, nor the general fight out of resentment.’
It means a ruler cannot start a war due to momentary anger, nor a general rashly engage battle due to fleeting grudge.
This is the timeless principle of warfare revered by all great generals. You… surely know this principle? Tying the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers and the safety of all North China to your personal anger—this… isn’t this the height of irresponsibility?”
Yet upon hearing her quotation-laden rebuke, Su Yaoyang showed no sign of being persuaded. Instead, he seemed to have heard an extremely amusing joke—first slightly stunned, then unable to suppress a chuckle.
“Heh heh…”
His laughter was not loud but echoed clearly in the reception room, filled with disdain.
“Reporter Zilan, I understand the principle you’re saying, and I understand your feelings.”
Su Yaoyang leaned forward, elbows on the table, a playful smile on his face as he stared into Zilan’s stunned eyes, “But have you considered another question?”
He paused.
“If I can’t act as I please, why should I work so hard?”
One sentence shattered the momentum Zilan had just built. She opened her mouth but couldn’t utter a word.
Su Yaoyang spread his hands in a matter-of-fact gesture, his tone as casual as discussing dinner.
“I am launching troops out of anger, fighting out of resentment.
Why? Because I have the ability and the confidence.
It’s all about killing Japanese devils, all about driving these beasts from our homeland, so why not choose a way that clears my mind and lets me act freely?”
His gaze swept over Zilan’s shocked, somewhat dazed face, his smile deepening.
“Follow those rules and stifle myself with internal injuries, then fight a so-called ‘rational’ victory?
Sorry, I’m not that noble or pedantic.
My people, my soldiers, my guns and cannons obey me.
My anger is their will to fight. When the Japanese displease me, I’ll drag their entire North China Army down with me. It’s that simple.”
Madman!
A complete madman!
Those were the only two words left in Zilan’s mind. She felt the cognition, common sense, and logic she’d built her life on shattered to pieces by this man’s few words.
He placed personal will above the laws of war, seamlessly fusing extreme individualism of “acting as one pleases” with the supreme collectivism of “defending home and country” in a near-sophistic way.
For a moment, she couldn’t thoroughly refute him logically.
“I… I…”
Zilan was tongue-tied; her lips, once eloquent in questioning countless prominent figures, now seemed glued shut, emitting only incoherent syllables.
Her mind was a chaotic mess, countless principles, rules, and beliefs tumbling and clashing, yet unable to form a single effective rebuttal.
Seeing her flustered state, the playful look on Su Yaoyang’s face gradually faded into a faint sigh.
“Reporter Zilan, I understand your feelings.”
He looked into her eyes and said earnestly: “Do you think I’m like a petulant child, recklessly squandering my wealth and capital? Is that it?”
“Isn’t it?” she retorted almost instinctively. In her view, Su Yaoyang’s behavior was essentially just that.
“Heh heh…”
Su Yaoyang laughed again, not refuting directly but tossing out a question leisurely.
“Reporter Zilan, let me ask you… if you were in my position and the enemy tried to assassinate you, what would you do?”
He stared into her eyes.
“Swallow your anger? For the so-called ‘greater good,’ for those military maxims, become a cowardly turtle? Or simply deceive yourself and pretend it never happened?”
His words were not fast, but each struck Zilan’s heart like a heavy hammer.
“Would that save the lives of millions of soldiers? Would that fit your image of a ‘responsible’ commander?”
“I…”
Zilan was speechless again.
Her mind felt force-fed into a high-speed centrifuge, all thoughts churned into mush.
Yes, if it were her, what would she do?
Swallow her anger? An army unable to protect its own commander’s safety—where would the morale be? The prestige? The enemy would only see weakness and become even bolder in future assassinations and sabotage.
Wouldn’t that be even greater irresponsibility to the soldiers?
Not swallow it, but strike back? That would just loop back to Su Yaoyang’s logic… launching troops out of anger?
She realized Su Yaoyang had cornered her in a dilemma.
No matter her choice, she couldn’t escape the circle he had drawn.
With the simplest, most direct method, he deconstructed her prized “righteousness” and “rationality,” showing her how fragile those noble principles were before absolute strength and naked jungle laws.
Seeing Zilan’s bewilderment, Su Yaoyang said mildly: “Reporter Zilan, don’t rush to conclusions.
What is learned from books is shallow after all; true knowledge comes from practice.”
He stood up, walked around the desk, personally picked up the Parker fountain pen that had fallen on the table, and gently placed it beside her notebook.
“I suggest you stay here with us first. Use your eyes to see, your ears to listen. Go see my soldiers, my hospital, my factory, the people living here.
Once you’ve seen and understood, then decide how to write your article—it’s not too late.”
With that, Su Yaoyang called out to the door: “Xiao Zhao.”
The attendant waiting outside pushed the door open and entered, bowing respectfully: “Commander.”
“Take Reporter Zilan to the guest room in the west courtyard and settle her in. Instruct everyone that Reporter Zilan may move freely within the militia base; no one is to obstruct her, and ensure her safety.”
“Yes, sir.” Mama Zhao acknowledged, then walked to Zilan’s side and said: “Reporter Zilan, please follow me.”
“No need.” Zilan stood up, took a deep breath, and said: “Commander Su… I am a reporter with professional ethics. Per newspaper policy, reporters on assignment cannot casually accept care from involved parties, so I appreciate your kindness, but I’ll find my own place outside.”
“Of course, that’s your freedom.” Su Yu expressed understanding.
Minutes later, Su Yaoyang watched her back disappear through the door before turning toward the headquarters.
As soon as he entered the headquarters, he saw several generals in different uniforms gathered together, discussing something heatedly.
Seeing Su Yaoyang enter, they all stopped talking in unison and turned to look.
Bai Chongxi teased: “Hey, our commander is back?
How was it? Did you ‘convince’ that famous female reporter?”
“Your ‘act as you please’ nonsense better not scare that pen-wielding writer into breaking her pen!”
Yang Aiyuan snorted, his tone tinged with sourness: “Wasting words on a woman—what’s the point? That time would be better spent rerunning the city assault plans with us. Taiyuan isn’t taken by lip service.”
Facing the collective teasing from the three big shots, Su Yaoyang was unfazed. He smiled, walked up, and slapped the edge of the sand table.
“Cut it out, you three brothers—don’t tease me. The pen is a weapon too. So, while I was gone, any new changes in the Japanese defenses?”
