Chapter 205: Gift
October 26, 1938, early morning at the airport by the Jiuqu River in Wutaishan County.
The golden rays of dawn gently sprinkled on this yellow earth that had just awakened, also illuminating the three silver DC-3 transport planes that had come from afar, as well as the excited crowd on the tarmac.
While Su Yaoyang and Doolittle were conversing, discussing follow-up arrangements and cooperation details, the other Americans who had successively disembarked from the plane, after a brief rest and the novelty wore off, began to scrutinize this Chinese airport—which was full of mysterious allure to them—with their professional eyes.
“Country bumpkins” entering the city? No… this is the scrutiny of professionals!
John, the fellow serving as the highest commander of the Shanxi Militia armored forces, after hugging his former comrades one by one, now adopted a “host’s” posture, introducing the situation here to them with a touch of pride.
“Hey, guys, welcome to your ‘Eagle’s Nest’ in China!”
John grinned, revealing a mouthful of snow-white teeth, and said in his distinctive Texas drawl, “Don’t mind that it’s a bit rudimentary now, but trust me, this place will soon have the Japanese shitting their pants!”
Beside him, Holder coughed while impatiently saying: “Enough, John. I know you’re doing well here, but even if this place is built up nicely, it has nothing to do with us tankers. Right now, I only care when exactly you’ll make good on what you promised me?”
Although Holder’s tone was very rude, John didn’t get angry. He patted Holder’s shoulder: “Relax, buddy. I’ve already talked to the boss about your matter. He’s agreed, and right after you land, you’ll be sent straight to the hospital for treatment.
Of course, all these treatments are completely free.
But I have to remind you of one thing: once at the hospital, be on your best behavior. Don’t sweet-talk the doctors and nurses there, or even get handsy, otherwise if you get beaten up, don’t blame me for not warning you.
Especially the dean of that hospital—you must respect her, or no one can save you!”
“Shit, John, what do you take me for? Am I that kind of guy?” Holder felt offended, glared at John, then asked: “By the way… is that dean really fierce?”
“She’s not fierce at all—quite the opposite. She’s a very young and beautiful lady.
But that dean is not only our boss’s wife, but also a highly skilled surgeon.
Trust me, you can’t afford the consequences of offending her. You don’t want to wake up one morning from your hospital bed to find your balls missing, do you?”
“Hahaha…”
A burst of uproarious laughter came from the surroundings, and someone even whistled.
“Holder, don’t worry—if it really happens, we won’t tell Valerie about your balls going missing.”
“Fuck off! I ain’t losing my balls!” Holder cursed loudly. A man can be broke, can have no power, but absolutely cannot be without balls.
While Holder and John and the other old comrades were chatting and bullshitting.
The pilots, aircraft mechanics, ground crew, and others curiously looked around, after all, from now on, this was their turf.
“One-Eyed Jack” and Doolittle’s copilot, young Tom King, was curiously looking around. Due to professional sensitivity, he immediately tried to imprint everything in front of him firmly in his mind.
They and the other American pilots and technicians who had just disembarked were like Grandma Liu entering the Grand View Garden, full of curiosity about this airport that was still under construction but already taking shape.
“My God, John, are you building this airport with hoes and shovels?”
Jack stroked the coarse stubble on his chin, looking at the civilian workers still leveling the ground in the distance and those crude rammed-earth tools, his tone carrying a bit of teasing but mostly admiration: “This is simply a miracle! Under these conditions, to create such a flat runway—truly impressive!”
Tom carefully observed the airport’s layout and surrounding terrain: “The geographical location here is well chosen—open view, no tall mountains blocking the surroundings.
However, the navigation facilities look very primitive. Takeoffs and landings at night or in complex weather will be a big challenge.”
Jack was more interested in the runway’s length and material. He even squatted down, pinched some yellow soil from the runway between his fingers, and rubbed it:
“Hmm, the soil is fairly solid, but it’ll probably get very muddy in the rainy season. Still, this main runway is long enough for most medium-sized aircraft to take off and land. Just… the altitude here isn’t low, so aircraft takeoff performance might be affected somewhat.”
Tom was more interested in the busy Chinese soldiers and civilian workers at the airport.
All those soldiers wore German-style uniforms, carried American-made equipment, and exuded a sharp, competent vibe.
And those construction civilian workers, though dressed in ragged clothes and looking malnourished, worked meticulously and with high enthusiasm.
“These Chinese… they look very… um, determined.” Tom pondered for a long time before managing to come up with an adjective.
John listened to his comrades’ discussions, a smug smile on his face: “Hey, don’t underestimate this place. You’ll soon know how many jaw-dropping miracles Commander Su and his troops can create!”
While this group of Americans was critiquing the airport’s “hardware facilities” and sizing up the place where they’d live and work from now on, someone suddenly shouted, “Hey… guys, check out those fellows in the distance!”
Instantly, everyone’s gazes were drawn to the scene at one corner of the distant tarmac, and then, as if their feet were magnetized, they all involuntarily walked toward that direction.
There, under the dawn light, a parking area cleverly camouflaged with netting and branches prominently featured rows of brand-new aircraft gleaming with metallic sheen.
These planes were painted in the standard U.S. Army Air Forces olive green and gray, with prominent Blue Sky White Sun emblems on the fuselages, as well as some unit numbers and totems with a strong Chinese style that they had never seen before—this was naturally something Su Yaoyang had specially designed through his subordinates for distinction and secrecy.
“Oh! My God! What is that?!”
“Look! Those planes! Are they… P-40 ‘Tomahawks’?! No! They look a bit different… but that sturdy fuselage and heavy firepower…”
“And over there! That’s… C-47 ‘Skytrain’! No doubt! Definitely C-47s! And quite a few of them!”
“My God! Dive bombers too! Look at those gull wings! Is it SBD ‘Dauntless’? Or a newer model?”
Exclamations rose one after another, like dropping a series of bombs into a calm lake!
The American experts who had just been slightly “picky” about the airport’s rudimentary facilities were now like they’d been injected with chicken blood, eyes bulging, mouths agape wide enough to fit an egg, faces full of disbelief and ecstatic joy!
Like curious babies, they rushed toward those planes regardless, leaving Su Yaoyang—who was talking with Doolittle—out in the cold.
A mechanic in his forties was the first to rush to a rugged single-engine fighter.
This fighter’s nose was exceptionally bulky, equipped with a high-horsepower radial piston engine, and eight thick gun barrels protruded from the wing roots, emanating deadly chill.
Its overall shape resembled the P-40 “Thunderbolt” somewhat, but the details differed.
“No… this isn’t a Tomahawk; it’s a brand-new fighter!” The mechanic murmured to himself while stroking the aircraft and checking a line of letters printed on the engine.
“P-47N? Or a simplified XP-72? No… this air intake and radiator design…”
The old mechanic touched the cold metal skin as if caressing a lover, muttering to himself, his eyes filled with fascination and confusion. He could feel the surging power contained in this plane.
“One-Eyed Jack” was drawn to several dive bombers parked side by side. These had distinctive gull-folded wings, heavy bombs slung under the belly, and a machine gun turret at the rear fuselage. They sat there quietly, like a flock of raptors awaiting the moment to hunt.
“SB2C ‘Helldiver’? Or A-24 ‘Banshee’—the Army version of the SBD? Look at the aerodynamics and weapon loadouts… absolutely formidable!” Jack circled the planes several times, marveling.
Tom King and the other young pilots excitedly climbed the boarding ladder of a C-47 transport, dove into the spacious cargo hold, then rushed to the cockpit, stroking the familiar control sticks and instrument panels, as if they couldn’t wait to fly them into the blue sky.
“Awesome! Simply awesome! We have so many C-47s! Transporting supplies and troops will be so much easier from now on!
“These planes look very well maintained! Like brand new!”
Even the usually stern technical officers and engineers were shocked by the scene, pulling out notebooks and measuring tools they carried, beginning preliminary observations and records of these aircraft.
They could hardly believe their eyes! Before coming, they hadn’t held high expectations for the air power of this inland Chinese base. They had even prepared to start from scratch, hand-holding the Chinese to assemble and repair the “scrap” from America.
But now, what lay before them was a well-equipped, diverse-model, obviously meticulously maintained “ready-to-go” air strike force!
These planes—whether that unseen fighter P-47, the substantial number of C-47 transports, or those lethal dive bombers SBD—far exceeded their imaginations!
“Commander Su! Where… where did you get all these treasures?!”
‘One-Eyed Jack’ excitedly ran back to Doolittle and Su Yaoyang, his voice trembling.
The other Americans also crowded around, chattering in shock and excitement.
Doolittle looked at his compatriots excited like children, then at Su Yaoyang beside him with a smiling, composed expression, feeling deeply moved.
He knew the “surprises” Su Yaoyang had mentioned in the telegram beforehand were no empty words. But this “surprise” was just too big! So big it caught even him off guard!
Su Yaoyang watched these “tech geeks” thrilled over new toys, feeling secretly smug.
These planes were naturally something he had “conjured” in the past few days using the matter converter, expending massive mental energy.
To avoid seeming too abrupt, he had his subordinates make some “localized” modifications to the planes’ paint and markings, and fabricated a story about obtaining them through special secret overseas channels.
At this moment, he cleared his throat and said with a somewhat stiff English accent, smiling: “Gentlemen, welcome to Wutaishan County. These are just a small ‘welcome gift’ we’ve prepared for you. I hope they make your work and combat here more handy.”
“Welcome gift”?
Hearing this, all the Americans gasped. If these were just a “small” welcome gift, what would the real “main course” be like?
Seeing the stunned looks on these Americans, Su Yaoyang smiled: “Follow me. I have another surprise prepared for you.”
He clapped his hands, drawing everyone’s attention.
The noisy tarmac quieted somewhat instantly, all eyes focusing on this young Chinese commander.
“Everyone, listen up!” Su Yaoyang raised his voice, a faint smile on his face. “You can take your time looking at the planes; there’ll be plenty of time later to disassemble and reassemble them.
But in my view, after your long journey and fatigue, what you need most right now probably isn’t these cold iron lumps.”
He paused, deliberately teasing, watching the puzzled expressions on their faces before continuing: “Follow me. I have another surprise for you.
Trust me, this surprise will absolutely let you forget the travel fatigue and feel the most sincere welcome from the people of Wutaishan County!”
With that, Su Yaoyang turned without further explanation and walked toward a newly built complex at the airport’s edge.
Doolittle, Ford, and the other Americans exchanged glances, faces full of curiosity and anticipation. They had just been “surprised” hard by those advanced planes, and now this Commander Su mentioned “another surprise”—how could they not be curious?
“Hey, Jimmy, what treasure do you think Commander Su will pull out this time?” Ford sidled up to Doolittle, asking in a low voice full of expectation.
Doolittle shrugged, curiosity gleaming in his eyes: “I don’t know, Ford. But from what we’ve seen so far, this Commander Su always does things beyond our imagination.
Let’s go see. I hope it’s not a tour of his armory; right now, I’d rather have a hot coffee and a good sleep.”
Despite all sorts of guesses in their minds, all the Americans involuntarily followed Su Yaoyang’s steps. They passed through the still-busy airport construction area, bypassing several rows of simple barracks and warehouses, finally arriving before a rather distinctive two-story bungalow.
This bungalow was starkly different from the other utilitarian crude buildings at the airport. It had a considerable footprint, about two to three hundred square meters, enough to accommodate over a hundred people gathering at once.
Most eye-catching was its architecture—a classic Chinese style!
Upturned eaves and corners, carved beams and painted rafters—though rushed in construction, the carvings were a bit rough, the paint simple red and black tones, but the charm was already there. Two large red lanterns hung at the door, with “Welcome Pavilion” written in bold, flourishing brushstrokes.
The windows were antique wooden lattice frames pasted with semi-transparent oiled paper, faintly revealing warm light from inside.
If not for the dusty, smoky airport environment, everyone would almost think they’d arrived at a restaurant or teahouse in some southern Yangtze town.
“Oh, my God! What… what is this place?”
“Commander Su, are you sure we didn’t take a wrong turn? This doesn’t look like a pilots’ club!”
The Americans let out waves of amazement and discussion. Some had seen Chinese architecture in concessions in Shanghai or Tianjin, but on this remote yellow earth plateau, suddenly encountering such an Oriental-flavored building still felt very novel and unexpected.
Su Yaoyang smilingly pushed open the heavy wooden door, gesturing “please enter”: “Gentlemen, please come in. This is what I’ve prepared for you—the Shanxi Militia’s ‘Pilots’ Home’, also your future place to relax and entertain.”
The crowd entered half-believing.
Upon entering, a peculiar aroma mixing wood fragrance, faint alcohol, and tobacco hit them. The interior decor was a Sino-Western blend, retaining Chinese elegance while incorporating Western practicality and comfort.
The hall was spacious and bright, floor laid with polished bluestone slabs, walls hung with ink landscape paintings and some captured Japanese flags and command sabers as decorations.
Several uniquely styled horse-lamp chandeliers hung from the ceiling, emitting soft light. In the hall center were several sets of sturdy wooden tables and chairs, covered with coarse tablecloths.
But what drew everyone’s eyes most was the long, dark solid-wood bar on one side of the hall!
The bar was polished to a shine, with neat rows of wine racks behind holding a dazzling array of familiar bottles!
“Whiskey! Scotch! Wait, bourbon instead!”
“One of each… serve in order!”
Flanders, the old boozer, was the first to let out a delighted shriek, practically pouncing to the bar, eyes gleaming at the bottles, saliva nearly drooling.
On the racks behind the bar: from Scottish single malt whiskeys to Kentucky bourbons; French Bordeaux reds to Moët & Chandon and Cook’s champagnes; gins, rums, vodkas… nearly all mainstream liquors and wines of the world! Each bottle clearly labeled, clean—obviously carefully selected and stored.
On the bar’s other side, a fine glass cabinet neatly displayed various brands of cigars and cigarettes!
Cuban Havanans, Dominican premiums, and familiar American soldier brands like Camels, Luckies, Marlboros—everything! Even some finely packaged local Chinese baked tobacco.
“Oh my God! Am I dreaming?!”
“Cigars! Real Havana cigars!”
“Look at that champagne! Is that Dom Pérignon?!”
This conquered all the Americans who had just been novelized by the Chinese architecture!
Anyone familiar with American culture knows that for these American soldiers—or soon-to-be soldiers—far from home fighting in a foreign land, nothing soothes their homesickness and nerves like a bar for boozing, smoking, and bullshitting! “Party” and “Bar” are etched in American genes, indispensable to their lives.
They never dreamed that in this godforsaken, dirt-poor inland Chinese base, they’d see a bar so “luxuriously” decorated and stocked! It was even more exaggerated than some high-end clubs in San Francisco or New York!
“One-Eyed Jack” even excitedly removed his eyepatch, scrutinizing the bottles behind the bar with his good eye, afraid he’d misseen.
Tom King whistled excitedly, threw an arm around Holder’s shoulder next to him, and shouted: “John… you bastard! You knew about this great place all along, didn’t you?! And didn’t tell us!”
John was equally stunned, rubbing his eyes hard, stammering: “I… I swear! I didn’t know Commander Su had this up his sleeve! I thought we’d only have that throat-burning sweet potato liquor from now on!”
Doolittle stood at the back of the crowd, watching his men turn from “professionals” to “wolves pouncing on food” in an instant, a helpless amused expression on his face. But in his heart, his evaluation of Su Yaoyang rose another notch.
This young Chinese commander not only had strong military power and mysterious logistics channels but deeply understood how to win over subordinates, using the most direct and effective ways to capture these white men’s hearts.
Seeing the crowd’s eager monkey-like rush to drain the bar, Su Yaoyang’s smile grew brighter. He went behind the bar, deftly picked up a corkscrew, opened a chilled champagne—”pop!”—the cork shot skyward, golden liquid with fine bubbles surging from the neck.
“Gentlemen! Ladies!” Su Yaoyang raised the bottle, proclaiming loudly: “To celebrate our successful rendezvous, our upcoming joint combat, and to wash away your travel dust! Today, all drinks and cigars here are on me! Enjoy freely!”
“Cheers!”
“Long live General Su!”
“To victory!”
Deafening cheers instantly filled the entire “Welcome Pavilion”!
The Americans could hold back no longer, surging to the bar, grabbing their favorite wines and cigars haphazardly.
Amid the “Welcome Pavilion”‘s male revelry over fine booze and cigars, Su Yaoyang keenly noticed several female figures at the crowd’s edge seeming out of place.
There were about four or five, in simple but neat uniforms with Red Cross armbands, clearly the medical personnel who came with the team.
At the moment, unlike the men rushing the bar, they stood together somewhat restrained, looking around with curiosity and a bit of awkwardness at this testosterone-filled venue.
Though their faces showed travel fatigue and slight novelty toward the new environment, in this male-dominated revelry, their presence stood out awkwardly and overlooked.
Su Yaoyang immediately realized his oversight: in any team, female members often need more respect and care.
Especially in this harsh war environment, these women willing to come to a foreign land for dangerous medical aid deserved admiration.
He held a freshly poured juice—he hadn’t drunk himself; staying sober was necessary—and wove through the noisy crowd straight to the ladies.
“Ladies, welcome to Wutaishan.”
Su Yaoyang smiled mildly and apologetically, saying in English: “Very sorry, due to prior communication oversights, I didn’t know there were such brave and beautiful ladies in this team. This place might be a bit too noisy and… um, rough now. Hope it hasn’t disturbed you.”
His clear, magnetic voice cut through the din right to the ladies’ ears. They looked up at him in some surprise.
The leader was a poised, elegant lady around thirty, blonde with blue eyes. Her uniform was impeccably starched, maintaining poise even after the long trip. She was likely the head of these medics.
“Oh, hello, sir.”
She responded politely, eyes appraising but more weary from travel and cautious of the unfamiliar, “You’re too kind. We just… didn’t expect this place to be like this.” Her gaze swept the boozing men, tone carrying a subtle helplessness.
Su Yaoyang instantly got it: for women, this near-primitive wild party could indeed feel uncomfortable.
“I completely understand.”
Su Yaoyang nodded, his apology deepening: “This is indeed my oversight. Considering ladies need a quieter, more private space to rest and relax, I have a proposal.”
He pointed toward the stairs, continuing: “This building’s second floor has several private rooms. I can immediately have staff clear the largest one for ladies’ exclusive use.
It’ll be quieter there, with better views overlooking the whole airport. And I’ll stipulate no males, including me, enter without ladies’ permission. You can rest assured there, or enjoy tea and drinks we’ve specially prepared for ladies.”
Su Yaoyang’s words were thoughtful and considerate, fully accounting for women’s needs and feelings.
The ladies’ faces lit up with surprise and gratitude upon hearing this. They had thought in this male-dominated military setting, they’d be sidelined or ignored. Unexpectedly, this young Chinese commander was so attentive and respectful.
A warmth flashed in the blonde lady’s eyes; she extended her hand, shaking Su Yaoyang’s proactively: “Sir, you’re so thoughtful! On behalf of Anna, Margaret, Susan, and Katherine, I extend our sincerest thanks. Your arrangements mean so much to us.”
“Just call me Su, or Yaoyang.”
Su Yaoyang smiled, feeling the softness and slight coolness of her palm as they shook: “It’s my honor to serve brave ladies. Please follow me; I’ll personally take you upstairs to see the room. If anything’s unsatisfactory, tell me, and I’ll have it fixed immediately.”
“Su, you’re a real gentleman.” Another young redheaded nurse with cute freckles… Anna, couldn’t help praising, her voice crisp and pleasant.
“Then, if you’ll excuse us, Su.” The blonde lady… Elizabeth, captain of this small medical team and an experienced surgeon, nodded, accepting Su Yaoyang’s invitation.
Thus, Su Yaoyang personally led Elizabeth, Anna, Margaret—a quiet, introverted pharmacist—Susan—a lively, outgoing field nurse—and Katherine—a logistics and records clerk—through the noisy hall, up the wooden stairs to the second floor.
Downstairs men kept reveling, but seeing Su Yaoyang personally escorting the ladies upstairs quieted the noise a bit, some casting curious glances.
The second-floor corridor was much quieter than the first. Su Yaoyang pushed open the door to the largest room at the end.
The room was indeed spacious and bright, about forty to fifty square meters. It had comfy sofas and tea tables, a private bathroom. Large windows faced the runway with excellent views. Green plants in the corner added warmth.
“How’s this?” Su Yaoyang smiled: “I’ll have clean sheets, blankets, hot water, and lady-friendly tea and snacks sent up right away. You can rest here or enjoy the view.”
“Oh, Su! This is fantastic!” Lively Susan was first to exclaim delightedly, rushing to the window to excitedly view the planes on the tarmac.
Elizabeth nodded satisfied, eyes full of gratitude: “Su, this is perfect. We love it. Truly thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
At that moment, shy Anna suddenly did something unexpected to Su Yaoyang. She hurried to him, sincere smile on her face, arms open for a gentle hug.
“Thank you, Su! You’re a good man!” Her voice trembled with emotion.
In American culture, hugs are common for thanks and friendliness, but here and now, a young beautiful Western woman initiating it still surprised Su Yaoyang slightly.
Lively Susan followed with a laughing, more enthusiastic hug, even quickly pecking his cheek.
“Awesome! Commander Su, thank you! You’re our hero!”
Even steady Elizabeth, after a brief hesitation, gave Su Yaoyang a formal hug, whispering: “Su, we’re grateful for everything you’ve done. We’ll do our utmost to provide the best medical care for the wounded here.”
Margaret and Katherine also came forward, hugging to express thanks.
Being hugged in turn by five Western ladies, Su Yaoyang kept calm and smiling outwardly, but inwardly felt a small ripple. He caught their faint perfumes and shampoo scents, felt their soft bodies and sincere gratitude.
“It’s my honor to serve you.” Su Yaoyang smiled again, feeling the distance between him and these female medics had instantly closed through this small gesture.
He knew such seemingly minor cares and respects often played unexpected roles at key moments.
With this professional female medical team, they would undoubtedly provide invaluable support to the airport and Shanxi Militia in future days.
After arranging the ladies’ space, Su Yaoyang instructed arriving orderlies to deliver items quickly and ensure absolute quiet and safety.
Done, he politely excused himself, ready to go downstairs and “handle” the already tipsy “drunkards.”
When Su Yaoyang returned to the first floor, the hall below was utter chaos, Americans clustered drinking and smoking heavily, like an end-of-days bash.
Seeing this, Su Yaoyang shook his head helplessly, walking to Doolittle quietly sipping red tea in a corner.
“Jimmy, may I call you that?”
“Of course!” Doolittle set down his tea, smiling.
“I know most of you came from afar to fight in China for the handsome pay and salary—no issue there. As long as you perform well in combat, I won’t stint on those dollars.
But since it’s war, and Shanxi Militia is a regular combat force, it must have combat force discipline.
I opened this club for pilots to relax in off-duty leisure, not for binge drinking. So I hope you’ll agree to become commander of this air force, thereby reining in those guys to make them qualified pilots again.
Of course, as commander, your salary will naturally be the highest—tentatively $1,000 a month. What do you think?”
Doolittle didn’t agree immediately, curiously eyeing Su Yaoyang: “Commander Su, why do I feel like you know me well, and are very friendly to me and the guys? Can you tell me why?”
“Haha…”
Su Yaoyang chuckled lightly: “Jimmy, you’re spot on. I happen to have your file.
I have to admit, when I saw your resume, I was nearly shocked.
I could hardly connect an outstanding gymnast, boxer, a warrior who drove dog sleds and fought bulldogs, with an aviation engineering master’s and PhD holder.
My intuition tells me you’re the talent I’ve always hoped for. With your help, we’ll no longer fear Japanese planes.”
For Su Yaoyang’s praise, Doolittle showed no false modesty, just smiling faintly in acceptance.
Actually, Su Yaoyang’s praise covered only part of Doolittle’s abilities—this was a true genius.
Other pilots at best flew planes, but this guy, given tools, could whip one up from scratch.
And not just planes—he’d even improved aircraft fuels over the years, boosting combustion efficiency, or Shell wouldn’t have paid big to make him a consultant.
Though Su Yaoyang didn’t know why Doolittle left Shell for China, he wouldn’t miss this chance. With this god’s help, he was confident in building Shanxi Militia’s own air force within a year.
“Alright!” Doolittle finally nodded slowly. “I accept your invitation, and I’ll discipline those pilots to get them in shape quickly.”
“Jimmy, one more thing.” Su Yaoyang said seriously: “I hope you and the guys can train a batch of pilots for me within a year—tentatively five hundred. What do you say?”
“Five hundred?” Even prepared, Doolittle was startled by the number.
“Commander Su, isn’t that too many? We only have forty total, fighting and training new pilots—how could we manage?”
To this, Su Yaoyang calmly tossed out: “Tell the guys: for every qualified pilot trained, I reward them $2,000.
For you, I’ll add a $100,000 annual bonus. How’s that?”
“Damn.” Doolittle rarely swore.
He rubbed his forehead helplessly: “Commander Su, you’ve really given me a tough one.”
Su Yaoyang didn’t reply, just said leisurely: “Jimmy, I live by one creed: to get things done, spend money.
If it doesn’t get done, there’s only one reason: not enough money.”
