Podcasts about Yan

"It's a state of mind. I am choosing to live with joy." Dr. Karna Chana Fox is an educator, speaker, and director of an early childhood center. When she's not wrangling tiny humans, supporting families, or teaching future educators, you'll probably find her out on the trails training for an ultramarathon, drinking great coffee made by her husband, Yan, or at home with their beautifully busy blended family of six children, five of whom still live at home. A breast cancer survivor, Karna is passionate about honest conversations on resilience, simcha/joy, the courage to ask for help, and the life-changing power of community and belonging. In this episode Karna chats with Luis about her first Born to Run experience, her running, marring the wrong person, her dealings with breast cancer, working on her doctorate, and the state of education. Support Road Dog Podcast by: 1. Joining the Patreon Community: https://www.patreon.com/roaddogpodcast 2. Subscribe to the podcast on whatever platform you listen on. 3. Get exclusive RDP merch here: https://roaddogpodcast-shop.fourthwall.com/ GO SLEEVES: https://gokinesiologysleeves.com HAMMER NUTRITION show code: Roaddoghn20 Listeners get a special 15% off at https://www.hammernutrition.com DRYMAX show code: Roaddog2020  Listeners get a special 15% off at https://www.drymaxsports.com/products/ LUNA SANDALS "Whether I'm hitting the trails or just hanging out, LUNA Sandals are my favorite. They're designed by Barefoot Ted of Born to Run and made for every adventure—ultra running, hiking, or just kicking back. Its minimalist footwear that's good for your feet!" Check them out and get 15% off at lunasandals.com/allwedoisrun. Allwedoisrun.com Dr. Karna Chana Fox Contact Info: IG: @trailrumspringa Luis Escobar (Host) Contact: luis@roaddogpodcast.com Luis Instagram Kevin Lyons (Producer) Contact: kevin@roaddogpodcast.com yesandvideo.com Music: Slow Burn by Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/ Original RDP Photo: Photography by Kaori Peters kaoriphoto.com Road Dog Podcast Adventure with Luis Escobar www.roaddogpodcast.com

Last time we spoke about the battle for Dayun Mountain. Chinese forces  under Xue Yue, believed they were encircling an exposed Japanese regiment. Acting on that assumption, Chinese units concentrated attacks to crush the "trapped " force, hoping to annihilate an elite enemy formation. Their pressure briefly seemed to succeed: on the 13th–14th, Chinese assaults compressed the Japanese positions to a small area, and individual fighting around ambush and prepared defenses produced moments where "victory appeared close." But the Chinese command misunderstood the target. The Japanese had layered deception: Dayun Mountain was held to draw attention, then replaced at night with another unit to maintain the appearance of continued occupation. Despite heavy fighting, the Dayun Mountain battle ends in stalemate by Sept. 17, and Chinese attention turns back to the primary offensive around Changsha.   #210 The Miluo River Catastrophe Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. On the morning of September 17, 1941, General Xue Yue, commander of the Ninth War Zone, sat at his desk at the headquarters on Changsha's Yuelu Mountain and fell into deep thought. Spread before him were a series of intelligence telegrams dispatched by the reconnaissance teams of his war zone and by General Yang Sen, commander of the 27th Army Group operating to the north. What they described was unambiguous and alarming. Along the north bank of the Xinqiang River, stretching westward from Yueyang, reconnaissance had identified a massive Japanese build-up: the 3rd, 4th, 6th, and 40th Divisions of the Japanese 11th Army, along with five additional detachments, had taken up positions facing the river. On the afternoon of September 16th, General Kanda, commander of the Japanese 6th Division, had personally toured the north bank accompanied by a retinue of staff officers, training his binoculars across the river for a long and deliberate survey of the Chinese defensive positions on the southern bank. Perhaps most conclusively, Chinese operatives working behind enemy lines had tapped Japanese military telephone lines and intercepted a direct communication from the 11th Army to all of its divisions, ordering them to prepare for an attack on September 18th. On any reasonable reading, the evidence pointed in one direction: a massive Japanese offensive was imminent. Yet Xue Yue, one of China's most celebrated wartime commanders and a man renowned for the tenacity with which he had defended Changsha, arrived at a different conclusion. He had been studying the record of 11th Army Commander Korechika Anami and came away convinced that Anami was a general who habitually used a mix of truth and deception in his operations—a man for whom the most obvious sign was precisely the most suspicious one. The scale of the preparations, their openness, the conspicuous presence of senior officers on the riverbank—all of it struck Xue Yue as too theatrical to be real. He concluded that Anami was feigning a frontal attack on the Xinqiang River in order to draw the main force of the war zone forward, leaving the flanks exposed for a surprise breakthrough elsewhere. Once this interpretation took hold in Xue Yue's mind, it became immovable. No subordinate could dislodge it. When intelligence reports then confirmed that the Japanese had transported the equipment for building pontoon bridges to the very banks of the Xinqiang River—a detail that left virtually no room for doubt about what was being planned—Xue Yue remained unmoved. He told his chief of staff with quiet certainty: "No rush. Let's see tomorrow." He was unaware that he had already lost his tomorrow. At dawn on September 18th, after 11th Army Commander Korechika Anami presided over the routine silent prayer ceremony that opened each day of active operations, he drew his gleaming ceremonial sword and pointed it towards northern Hunan. The battle had begun. On the Chinese side of the Xinqiang River, the first indication that this was no ordinary morning came from the sky. Air raids were a familiar occurrence along the front; the veterans of the 4th Army had grown accustomed to Japanese bombing runs. But this time was different. The number of bombs was greater, the density higher, and the bombs themselves heavier than anything the soldiers on the south bank had experienced before. Two successive waves of air attack struck the fortifications with crushing force, destroying positions that had taken months to construct. Then came the infantry. At Xiaotang, Siliufang, Tongxi Bridge, Shanmu Bridge, and a string of other crossing points along the river, dozens of tanks led the assault, pushing forward with unstoppable momentum, their treads churning up the riverbank mud as the infantry followed closely behind, advancing through fire, forcing their way across the water. On the not-so-wide front in Xiangbei, four Japanese divisions had lined up side by side—like four ferocious beasts pouncing forward simultaneously. Even the veteran soldiers of the defending Chinese forces, men who had been fighting the Japanese for years, had rarely seen such a terrifying formation. The troops defending the Xinqiang River were the 4th Army under Ou Zhen, one of the most distinguished units in the Nationalist order of battle. The 4th Army had earned the reputation of "Iron Army" during the Northern Expedition, where it had demonstrated a ferocious capacity for breaching fortified positions and defending strategic points under fire, and it had fought many of the major battles of the War of Resistance. In theory, the army consisted of four divisions: Zhang Deneng's 59th Division, Chen Kan's 90th Division, Bai Huizhang's 102nd Division, and the 60th Division, which had recently been transferred to the army's command. In practice, however, by September 18th the Iron Army had been hollowed out. During the concurrent Battle of Dayun Mountain, the Ninth War Zone and the 27th Army Group had stripped away most of the 59th and 102nd Divisions to commit them elsewhere, while the 60th Division had followed the army group as a reserve force. What remained at the Xinqiang River was the 90th Division and only a remnant of the 102nd—a fragment of what had once been a formidable fighting force. Xue Yue had planned for the first-line position to hold for three days. It held for two hours. Against a Japanese force that outnumbered the defenders several times over and enjoyed an absolute advantage in artillery and air power, the position could not stand. In just two hours, the Japanese broke through the 102nd Division's defensive line and then swung their forces around to encircle the 90th Division. With no remaining options, Xue Yue ordered both units to retreat to the second line of defense. The Xinqiang River had fallen.  The crisis at the Xinqiang River was compounded by the predicament of Yang Sen, commander-in-chief of the 27th Army Group, who should have been the force most capable of responding to the breakthrough. Instead, Yang Sen found himself trapped far to the east, bogged down in a battle on Dayun Mountain from which he could not extract himself. The situation on Dayun Mountain was one of those military embarrassments that seem almost unbelievable in retrospect. Yang Sen had committed five full divisions to encircle what was supposed to be a single regiment—the 234th Regiment of the Japanese 40th Division, which had dug into the deep mountain. What followed was a sustained humiliation. Two divisions were ground down until their combined fighting strength equalled that of one. Another division was reduced to a regimental shadow of itself. Yang Sen, who had first served in the army in 1906 and had seen virtually every variety of military difficulty in three and a half decades of Chinese warfare, said afterwards that he had rarely experienced such deception. The Shigematsu Regiment, ensconced in the mountains and dense forest, had proved maddeningly resilient. Yang Sen had committed his forces expecting a quick resolution—finish the battle on Dayun Mountain, then redeploy to defend the Xinqiang River—but the regiment would not be finished. He could not advance and he could not retreat. Just as he was preparing to intensify the assault for another day or two, certain that the enemy must finally be near collapse, the news arrived on the morning of September 18th that the Japanese had launched their general offensive across northern Hunan. By nine o'clock that morning, the Xinqiang River's first line of defense was already gone. Yang Sen immediately ordered the abandonment of the Dayun Mountain operation and commanded all divisions to redeploy back towards the Xinqiang River. But the Japanese had moved too fast. Between the first and second lines of Chinese defense there were only scattered guard units; the main force was simply not in place. The second-line troops, moreover, had been configured according to the defensive setup used during the First Battle of Changsha and were wholly unsuited to withstand such a massive, concentrated enemy thrust. The defending forces were too weak and too thinly spread to mount any gradual, coordinated resistance. The Japanese advanced through the gap as if they were in an empty field. The five divisions of the 58th Army and the 4th Army now found themselves in a desperate race against the Japanese, studying maps as they marched, trying to reach blocking positions before the enemy could. No matter what they did, they could not outrun the 11th Army. It was not merely the front-line units of the 4th Army that were endangered by the speed of the Japanese advance. Even the army headquarters itself, positioned forward in the proud tradition of the Iron Army, found itself running for its life. Army Commander Ou Zhen had been directing the battle from his headquarters in a small village called Lintang, located on the south bank of the Xinqiang River—a mere twenty kilometers behind the front line. The proximity was deliberate and characteristic of the Iron Army's ethos, a visible declaration that its commander would live or die alongside his men. On this day, it nearly proved fatal. Among those at the headquarters was Li Rupin, a native of Jing County in Anhui Province, who served as a sergeant squad leader in the 2nd Company of the 4th Army's Guard Battalion. Years later, reflecting on the events of that day, Li said without hesitation that of all his eight years fighting in the War of Resistance against Japan, that one battle was the most humiliating he had ever experienced. "The army headquarters was located in a small village called Lintang, south of the Xinqiang River, only about 20 kilometers away from the front lines," Li recalled. "The army headquarters was located in the front, which was a tradition of the 'Iron Army' to show that the commander was not afraid of danger and would live and die with his brothers. In that battle, we did not expect the enemy to break through the position so quickly. Not long after the battle started, the army headquarters had to move. Our guard battalion's task was to follow the army headquarters and serve as guards." Li described how Company Commander Chang Mingli assigned his platoon to help load the army headquarters' equipment onto trucks—huge, heavy boxes that required real effort to shift. While the loading was underway, Li caught sight of Army Commander Ou Zhen himself, speaking intently on the telephone. Li noted that Ou Zhen was ordinarily a man of few words, always seeming lost in thought, serious with the troops but not given to the kind of arbitrary reprimands that characterized lesser officers. What struck Li most vividly about the Army Commander, even in the midst of that morning's chaos, was a detail almost absurd in its incongruity: a pair of leather shoes that were always so perfectly polished they reflected light. "I heard he had studied abroad," Li added simply. Before the loading was even complete, the sound of machine gun fire erupted from the southwest of the village. A sentry reported: enemy attack detected, number unknown. Company Commander Chang, still pulling on his leggings, turned to Li and said without breaking stride: "Quickly take your squad and follow the deputy company commander. You must keep the enemy out of the village." Li took evident pride in the character of the guard battalion, comparing it unfavorably to what he saw in later years. "I see that nowadays, officers choose bodyguards who are fair-skinned and delicate, like little girls. I don't know why," he reflected. "Back then, our guard battalion, including the commander's personal bodyguards, were all big, dark-skinned men. Our squad of 12 men were all broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, and carrying a machine gun was like an ordinary person carrying a rifle." The squad carried three light machine guns, and each soldier also carried a pistol. They drilled constantly on marksmanship and physical conditioning. In the tradition of the unit, a guard soldier was expected to be able to carry his officer for dozens of miles without slowing and without fear of death. Li led his squad to the southwest corner of the village, where the 1st Company of the guard battalion was already engaged with the Japanese in a cemetery just outside the village boundary. The 1st Company commander had just descended from a rooftop when Deputy Company Commander Yan arrived and assessed the situation. "There are about 100 enemy soldiers in this direction," the 1st Company commander reported. "I don't know if there are any more in other directions." Yan replied without hesitation: "I'll take my four squads to outflank them and find out what's going on with the enemy. If it's a good opportunity, we'll wipe them out." He asked and received permission from the deputy battalion commander, who transferred three additional machine guns from the 1st Company to Yan's force. The squad slipped around to the south of the village, entered a nursery grove, and began working their way southwest to flank the enemy. "Before we even emerged from the woods, enemy machine guns opened fire," Li recalled. "The nursery grove was planted too densely, so it was inevitable that we'd bump into tree branches. We crept forward, keeping close to the ground, when the deputy company commander gave the order: 'Prepare grenades.'" Li looked back and saw that all his men had kept pace. Then Deputy Company Commander Yan's voice rang out clearly: "Charge!" He burst out of the woods at the head of the column. "Deputy Company Commander Yan is a graduate of the Whampoa Military Academy," Li said. "People say that Whampoa graduates are always at the forefront of battle. Others may not know, but several of us in our battalion are like that." The charge was furious and caught the enemy entirely off guard. "We shouted 'Charge! Kill!' and followed the deputy company commander out of the grove," Li recounted. "The enemy was about 40 or 50 meters ahead. Hearing the shouts, they hurriedly turned their guns to fire at us, but it was too late! We threw out our grenades, lay down, and fired back at the enemy. At this moment, the 1st Company also charged out of the village. The enemy could not stop them and retreated in droves. Looking around, there were no fewer than 200 of them. The enemy suffered a loss and left behind more than a dozen dead bodies." The 2nd Company did not pursue. Led by Deputy Company Commander Yan, they withdrew back to the village, where the deputy battalion commander stood at the crossroads and praised the 2nd Company for their fighting before immediately ordering them to follow the army headquarters and relocate. Li had barely grabbed his backpack and tied it to his body before gunfire erupted again outside the village. The Japanese had returned. Two battalions of the army reserve moved up to engage them, and the army's trucks and cars poured out of the village and accelerated south along the road. The guard battalion ran after them on foot. In less than half an hour, the enemy caught up. There were cavalrymen and a large truck packed with infantry. Li registered the significance of this with something close to shock: "It seems that the Xinqiang River has really been lost to the enemy, otherwise how could cars still drive across?" The battalion commander—whose surname, Li noted with dry humor, was the same as the Generalissimo's—ordered the 2nd Company under the deputy battalion commander to form a rear guard. They had one artillery platoon and two mortars between them. There was no time to prepare fortifications; the soldiers scattered on both sides of the road and found their own firing positions as best they could. When Li looked back south, the army headquarters was already a distant speck on the road. "The enemy was getting closer and closer," he recalled. "First, fifty or sixty cavalrymen charged over, brandishing swords and guns and shouting. The trucks were behind them, and we could already see two machine guns mounted on the front of the trucks." The deputy battalion commander's voice carried steadily over the noise: "Brothers, stay calm, aim carefully before you fire—we're going to slaughter a pig and drink tonight!" Nobody laughed, Li noted carefully, but nobody broke either. What followed was a running, desperate firefight. Within the range of 600 to 200 meters, the rear guard inflicted severe casualties on the advancing Japanese. Li watched soldiers toppling from their horses. One horse, shot but not immediately killed, dragged its dead rider—still entangled in the stirrups—forward at a gallop until it collapsed only a few steps from Li, the sudden impact startling him badly. The enemy dismounted from the trucks and formed attack waves, pressing the assault in shifts. The Chinese machine guns worked to suppress each wave and prevent the Japanese from closing the distance. The deputy battalion commander directed the two mortars against the densest enemy concentrations. Then one of the mortars exploded inside its own barrel, killing two gunners instantly. "I still can't figure out why," Li said years later. "The fuse of the mortar shell is on that tip, how could it explode inside the barrel?" There was no answer to be found. The two men were simply dead, and there was no time to grieve them. The rear guard repelled two enemy attacks before the deputy battalion commander ordered a withdrawal while the enemy paused to regroup. It was past two o'clock in the afternoon. "It's all just running," Li said with characteristic bluntness. "How can I not get tired? Even if I'm tired, I still have to keep running!" As they ran, Li overheard the company commander say quietly to the deputy battalion commander: "Actually, we can wipe out these enemies." The deputy battalion commander turned on him with a fierce look: "Eat it all up! Have you forgotten what we're here for again?" The exchange brought to Li's mind a memory from two years earlier, when he had first been assigned to the guard battalion. He had been transferred from the machine gun company of the 2nd Battalion, 305th Regiment of the 102nd Division at the end of 1939, appointed as deputy squad leader. Company Commander Chang had spoken to him at that time, asking why he had joined the army. "Who else would come here if not to fight the Japanese?" Li had answered. The company commander replied: "Very good, but the guard battalion's primary task is to ensure good security; that's the most important thing." The assignment had chafed at Li ever since—a natural fighter who had been a front-line machine gun squad leader, now consigned to watching other men fight. On one holiday, having drunk rather more than was wise, he had gone to the company commander and announced that he wanted to return to the 102nd Division and "mow down the Japanese with a machine gun." The company commander, who had also been drinking, chuckled and said: "Have you had enough of life? You might as well stay here and squat obediently! What do you know about life? You don't know anything! After we win, go home, get a wife, and live a good life..." Now, running south along a road contested by Japanese cavalry and infantry, with the army headquarters already out of sight ahead of him, Li perhaps understood the company commander's words in a way he had not before. The pursuit was unrelenting and grew worse before it improved. Over a hundred cavalrymen and four trucks drove after the guard unit without pause. In an attempt to split and divert the enemy, the company dispatched a platoon under Deputy Company Commander Yan himself down a different road, to lure one group of pursuers away. None of the men in that platoon returned alive. The deputy battalion commander led the remaining force in a continuing fighting retreat, engaging another Japanese contingent in a separate encounter that cost more than twenty dead and thirty wounded. Eventually the survivors managed to cross a large river, finally shaking off the pursuers, and caught up with the army headquarters at dusk. They had barely had a moment to catch their breath when night fell and they stumbled into another large Japanese force in the darkness. The 4th Army—the Iron Army, the pride of the Northern Expedition—seemed to have its commander and headquarters specifically targeted by the enemy. Driven from one position to the next throughout the day, they were eventually pushed up into the hills of Mufu Mountain and did not escape danger until the following morning. "That battle," Li Rupin concluded, "was truly humiliating." When the scale of the Japanese offensive became undeniable on the evening of September 18th, Xue Yue finally grasped the gravity of what was unfolding. It was too late to adjust his forces meaningfully; the overall numerical superiority he had enjoyed across the theater of operations had dissolved wherever the Japanese chose to strike, becoming a dangerous numerical disadvantage at each critical point. In just one day, even Yuelu Mountain—the historic height that had dominated Changsha and housed his headquarters—was no longer safe. He moved the war zone command post south to Zhuting and urgently telegraphed the Military Commission in Chongqing, requesting that Chiang Kai-shek immediately transfer troops from other war zones to provide reinforcements, warning that without them the situation would deteriorate with serious consequences for the national war effort. The telegram arrived in Chongqing, where Chiang Kai-shek and several senior military advisors sat in silence before the battle map in the Military Commission Operations Room, with the grim concentration of men watching a difficult game of chess they cannot influence. Troop movements take time. While the number of Japanese troops committed to northern Hunan was not enormous in absolute terms, they moved with unstoppable momentum. Xue Yue was requesting three to four combat corps—a mobilization from outside the Ninth War Zone that could not possibly be accomplished in the available time. Chiang Kai-shek was at a loss for what to do. He paced back and forth in the corridor adjoining the operations room. The only foreigner among the assembled staff—a blond-haired man with a prominent nose—was the Soviet military advisor Chuikov. He walked up to Chiang and fell into step beside him, pacing with him as he spoke. "Hunan and northern Hunan are in a passive position and we don't have any good solutions for the time being," Chuikov said. "Why don't we think about other things? Isn't there an ancient Chinese story called 'Besieging Wei to Rescue Zhao'?" Chuikov's specific proposal was this: if the forces of the Sixth War Zone were to attack the Japanese 13th Division at Yichang—a city in Hubei Province that had fallen to Japan in June 1940, and which was garrisoned by a division under the overall command of Anami's 11th Army—Anami Korechika would not be able to remain indifferent to the threat. Yichang was no ordinary city. It controlled the crucial choke point on the Yangtze River's waterway, and since its capture it had placed much of the river under Japanese control. More critically for the Chinese, Yichang Airport had become the closest bomber base to Chongqing, and the Japanese aircraft that harassed the wartime capital daily flew from that field. The Military Commission had long been reluctant to authorize a major attack on Yichang for these very reasons—it would not be easy to retake, and failure would be costly. But why not seize this moment? Chiang Kai-shek stopped walking, considered Chuikov's proposal, and nodded. He thanked the Soviet general for his suggestion, and the two men returned to the operations room together. Chiang instructed Chief of Staff Xu Yongchang to draft an implementation plan for combined operations: the Ninth War Zone would continue engaging the Japanese in northern Hunan, while the Sixth War Zone would simultaneously launch a counterattack against Yichang and ensure its capture. While Chongqing deliberated over the Yichang gambit, the immediate question facing the Ninth War Zone was how to organize a second line of defense following the fall of the Xinqiang River. The Japanese had also successfully landed forces on both sides of the Xiangjiang River estuary at Shangqingshan, blocking the waterway, which further constrained Chinese options. Xue Yue's solution was straightforward: he proposed deploying the 37th and 26th Armies in a line along the south bank of the Miluo River, using the river as a natural barrier to halt the Japanese advance toward Changsha. His chief of staff, Wu Yizhi, agreed without reservation and immediately instructed the operations section chief, Zhao Zili, to begin drafting the necessary orders. But Zhao Zili had been turning the strategic problem over in his mind, and he had reached a different conclusion. Zhao was a graduate of the Whampoa Military Academy's 6th class, a veteran of the Battles of Nanchang and Shanggao, and a man who had watched this war closely from his position at the center of the war zone's planning operations. At this moment he asked permission to share his thinking with his two superiors. Zhao's argument was systematic and urgent. The combined strength of the two armies—five combat divisions in total—was clearly insufficient to withstand four intact Japanese divisions in a set-piece defensive battle along the Miluo River. The 10th and 74th Armies were being summoned from elsewhere to reinforce the theater, but by Zhao's calculation they would require another four days to arrive. A static defense of the Miluo River line, therefore, would pit inadequate forces against overwhelming pressure for four days, and those forces would be destroyed long before help arrived. His alternative proposal was as follows: rather than standing and fighting at the Miluo, the two armies should conduct a deliberate fighting withdrawal—using alternating rear-guard actions and mutual cover—to fall back all the way to the south bank of the Liuyang River, in the hills immediately north of Changsha. The timing, Zhao argued, was almost providential in its precision: if the 26th and 37th Armies arrived at the Liuyang River at roughly the same moment that the 10th and 74th Armies arrived at the same position from the east, the combined force of four armies could then turn and strike the Japanese formations—which by then would have advanced more than a hundred kilometers into hostile territory with supply lines stretched thin and fighting strength degraded by continuous combat. Even if the Chinese could not completely sever the Japanese supply lines, the enemy would be exhausted, and victory under those conditions would be certain. Zhao Zili finished his presentation in one breath and waited. Xue Yue and Wu Yizhi conferred briefly. Then they decided to proceed with the original plan. Zhao Zili sighed inwardly. He got up, returned to his office, and began drafting the orders that, in his professional judgment, would lead to catastrophe. One hour later, the orders embodying Xue Yue's thinking were converted to radio waves and flew into the night sky. As some poet once asked of fate: "When the curtain rises, you don't know whether it's a comedy or a tragedy." On the morning of September 20th, in the intelligence section of the Japanese 11th Army's Special Operations headquarters, Lieutenant Colonel Hachimō rose from his seat feeling dizzy and unsteady on his feet. He had been awake for an extraordinary stretch of hours, hunched over a radio set in a state of almost superhuman concentration. He took a couple of steps before realizing he was still wearing his headset. He pulled it off, tossed it onto the radio equipment, and—holding the handrail for support—made his careful way down from the third floor to the second. Hachimō was not a professional soldier by background. Before the war, he had been a young designer at the renowned Mitsubishi Corporation. After the outbreak of hostilities, he had enlisted, taught himself the Chinese language and writing system, and dedicated himself entirely to the exacting discipline of cryptanalysis. Given the severe technological limitations of the era, what he accomplished rested on a kind of willpower and intuition that bordered on the extraordinary. His method was laborious and painstaking: he spent long hours with a headset pressed against his ear, listening to the endless stream of radio signals, detecting patterns, discerning differences and similarities among thousands of beeps and pulses. He analyzed signal traffic appearing over time and correlated it against observed enemy troop movements. He used captured battlefield documents to decode fragments of text, then leveraged those fragments to deduce the positions of commonly used characters in Chinese military telegrams. Every time the Chinese side changed their cipher, all of Hachimō's accumulated work was rendered worthless in an instant, but he would begin again—listening, thinking, starting over from nothing, with the same unbroken patience. On the perfectly timed morning of September 20th, Lieutenant Colonel Hachimō achieved what he had been working toward. He cracked the cipher in use by the Ninth War Zone for communications with its various subordinate armies, and successfully intercepted and decoded the operational deployment order that the Ninth War Zone Command had issued to all its armies on the night of September 18th—the very orders that Zhao Zili had drafted in quiet despair after his plan was rejected. Those orders told the Japanese exactly where every Chinese unit was going, what it intended to do, and when. Hachimō made his way downstairs and reported his achievement. Staff officer Kinoshita Isamu read the summary, then stood and walked without a word into the room where 11th Army Commander Anami Korechika was at work. The other officers in the room looked at Hachimō with confusion, uncertain what had just happened. After a few minutes, Anami and Kinoshita returned together. Anami stepped forward and took Hachimō's hand. "I, the Commander, congratulate you," Anami said, "on becoming the first officer to receive a certificate of merit in Operation Plus. Now I order you to go and rest immediately." The intelligence transformed the battle. Anami's original operational plan had been relatively modest in its ambition: a breakthrough along the Changsha-Yueyang highway, advancing toward Jinjing and the Xiangjiang River, with the 3rd and 4th Divisions planned for deployment toward the river. But now that the Japanese held a complete map of Chinese intentions—the positions, routes, and assignments of every army in the Ninth War Zone—a far more ambitious opportunity presented itself. What could be more valuable, or more satisfying, than the direct encirclement and annihilation of the main Chinese forces in the field? Anami immediately revised his entire operational deployment. As Chinese historical records later documented: "The Japanese intercepted and deciphered the radio telegrams issuing operational orders from the Ninth War Zone, gaining access to the Nationalist Army's operational plans and deployments. This led to a shift in their original strategic concept from a breakthrough to an encirclement of the Nationalist Army's right flank." The trap was set. The Chinese armies, following Xue Yue's orders faithfully, were marching toward positions the Japanese already knew they would occupy. The 26th Army was commanded by Xiao Zhichu, and it comprised three divisions: the 32nd Division under Wang Xiushen, the 41st Division under Ding Zhipan, and the 44th Division under Chen Yong. When Xiao received Xue Yue's orders to move his army to defend the south bank of the Miluo River, the situation was already deeply unfavorable. The Japanese had broken through the Xinqiang River line and were advancing rapidly southward; the 26th Army was positioned in the Liuyang and Yong'an area to the west, at a starting point that was even farther from the Miluo River than the Japanese forces were. The army was engaged in a race against a faster-moving enemy to reach the same objective, running from the farther starting block. The timing was unfavorable. The location was unfavorable. And the personal dimension was unfavorable as well, in a way that would prove deeply consequential, because Xue Yue and Xiao Zhichu harbored a long-standing resentment toward one another with its roots six years in the past. In 1935, both men had attended the third session of the Lushan Officers Training Corps, each holding the rank of army commander in the army but serving as battalion commanders within the training structure. The corps was nominally commanded by Chiang Kai-shek himself, with Chen Cheng as deputy commander. Xue Yue was a favorite of Chen Cheng—a celebrated battle commander who had fought his way across half of China—and he carried himself accordingly, often holding forth at length in seminars and discussions and not infrequently straying off-topic into territory where his assertions were questionable. The other senior officers present were content to listen, taking what was useful and ignoring the rest. Xiao Zhichu, however, was a man of earnest and literal disposition who simply could not let inaccuracies pass without challenge. He disputed Xue Yue's claims on several occasions, insisting on clarifying the facts, and each such correction landed on Xue Yue like a public rebuke. The estrangement that resulted between the two men was severe and lasting. By 1941, Xue had risen to command an entire war zone; Xiao remained an army commander under his authority. In the intervening years, Xiao had learned to be extremely cautious in all his dealings with his superior, acutely aware that any apparent failure or challenge might be held against him. On the night of September 19th, Xue Yue issued Xiao Zhichu an order to move the 26th Army to the second line of defense on the south bank of the Miluo River. Then, at noon on September 20th, he changed the order entirely: Xiao was to push his troops forward to the first line of defense along the riverbank, a more exposed position further north. At dawn on September 21st, Xiao Zhichu personally led his 44th Division—the division with which he had built his reputation—on a forced march toward the designated position. They were 2.5 kilometers from their destination, at the town of Wengjiang, when they encountered the Japanese 6th Division. The Japanese already knew they were coming. Having read Xue Yue's intercepted operational orders, they had deployed their forces specifically to intercept the 26th Army on the march. Within just twenty minutes of the initial encounter at Wengjiang, the entire 44th Division was completely surrounded. Xiao Zhichu reported the situation to Xue Yue by telephone. Xue Yue's response from the other end of the line was white-hot fury: "What's going on? We're surrounded before we even arrived! Why aren't we fighting? If we lose the Miluo River position, I'll kill you!" Xiao Zhichu swallowed his bitterness. Following orders, he threw the 44th Division into battle in terrain that could hardly have been more disadvantageous. They fought for a full day and a night and were unable to break through the encirclement. He ordered Wang Xiushen's 32nd Division to press forward and relieve the siege, but by the time those orders could be executed, the 32nd Division was itself under attack—surrounded on three sides by the Japanese 3rd Division at Wukou. Wang Xiushen led the entire division in a desperate battle with the river immediately at his back, suffering grievous casualties, and was eventually forced to fight his way clear rather than advance to relieve the 44th. On September 23rd, General Kanda Masazuka committed a portion of the 6th Division to a fierce assault against the rear of the already-encircled 44th Division. The situation became critical. Xiao Zhichu's army was fighting simultaneously on two fronts, and the lines were beginning to give way. It was only the timely intervention of Ding Zhipan's 41st Division, which arrived on a diagonal axis and struck the enemy threatening the 44th Division's rear, that prevented a complete collapse. When Ding Zhipan came to report to the army commander, the chief of staff of the 44th Division informed him with hollow composure that the entire division had suffered more than half casualties. The daily reality inside the encircled positions was one of sustained and grinding misery. During brief lulls in the fighting—stolen moments between one Japanese assault and the next—the soldiers would stuff a cold rice ball into their mouths and scoop up a mouthful of muddy water from the nearest roadside ditch; that was their meal. Immediately they would put down whatever they had in their hands and rush to reinforce the hastily dug earthworks, knowing another assault was imminent. The wounded lay where they had fallen, unable to be evacuated, their groans a constant sound beneath the work of digging and the distant thunder of artillery. The dead were not buried; there was simply no time. The battlefield was a scene of utter devastation. After Xiao Zhichu's repeated requests, Xue Yue finally authorized a withdrawal. The 26th Army was permitted to pull back to Putang, a position a few kilometers to the south with marginally more defensible terrain. The entire army moved overnight, arriving exhausted, and immediately began constructing new fortifications. They had barely caught their breath when the Japanese 40th and 6th Divisions came on in succession, pressing the pursuit without pause. The 41st and 44th Divisions threw themselves into the fighting and were decimated. After destroying those two divisions, the Japanese turned their full attention on the surviving 32nd Division and the army headquarters. As Xiao Zhichu swept his binoculars across the positions, watching his men lie on the ground—dead, dying, or fighting on sheer will—one phrase repeated itself in his mind: "total annihilation." It was the most despairing phrase in a soldier's vocabulary, and it seemed to be becoming a description of reality. On the evening of September 25th, as the Japanese ring tightened around the remnants of the 26th Army, a Japanese Chinese-language translator began calling out to the encircled troops in Mandarin, urging them to surrender. The entire army appeared to be at its final moment. Then, in the darkness, reinforcements arrived—in the most improbable way imaginable. The head of the army's reconnaissance section had slipped through the Japanese encirclement looking for any exit, and in doing so had stumbled upon an entire regiment of the 32nd Army that had completely lost contact with the headquarters days earlier. This regiment had suffered damage to its radio equipment and had simply not received any of the telegrams announcing changes to the army's deployment and assignments. When they arrived at their designated rendezvous point, the area was empty. They had been sending scouts in all directions trying to locate friendly forces and make sense of the situation, when they encountered the reconnaissance section chief who had been doing precisely the same thing from inside the encirclement. The two men compared unit designations and confirmed their identities. Then the section chief remembered something: the regiment's party representative was his own classmate from the Whampoa Military Academy. Old bonds held. The two men exchanged information, assessed the situation together, and without further deliberation the regimental commander led his troops on a forced march straight toward the guns. They found and struck the weakest points in the Japanese encirclement, broke through, and extracted the army headquarters and the surviving remnants of the 32nd Division. The 26th Army had been saved, but only barely, and at a terrible cost. What had before the battle been a formidable force with numerous victories was now reduced to less than one-fifth of its original strength. Wang Xiushen, commander of the 32nd Division, had previously served as commander of the great warlord Feng Yuxiang's own bodyguard brigade—a valiant and decorated general of the old Northwest Army. Division commanders Ding Zhipan and Chen Yong were similarly seasoned veterans, known for their courage and resourcefulness throughout years of hard fighting. After the battle, they and Army Commander Xiao Zhichu were utterly dejected. They had fought as hard as men could fight, under conditions as unfavorable as circumstances could devise, and they had been broken. More than forty kilometers to the west of the 26th Army's ordeal, at the point where the Miluo River flows into Dongting Lake, a second major engagement was being fought at the same time. Here, the Japanese 3rd and 4th Divisions struck at Chen Pei's 37th Army, whose two main fighting formations—Luo Qi's 95th Division and Li Tang's 140th Division—were deployed across the hills and river-network terrain of the area. The fighting was, by any measure, equally bloody and equally brutal. Before the battle, with their blood up and their honor committed, the commanders of the 37th Army's divisions had gathered their officers for ceremonies of dedication that spoke to the seriousness with which they understood what was coming. Li Tang, commander of the 140th Division, organized a frontline oath-taking ceremony at which he stood before his assembled officers and men and vowed aloud to annihilate the Japanese invaders and avenge the deaths of fallen compatriots. Luo Qi, commanding the 95th Division, sent written instructions throughout his formation: "The defense of the Shending Mountain line is not only a matter of honor for our division, but also a matter of victory or defeat for the entire battlefield. With this stubborn enemy pressing in, all our officers and soldiers should be even more courageous and loyal, resolutely defend the position, annihilate the Japanese invaders, and achieve extraordinary feats!" Song Ruike, who served at the time as a senior staff officer at the Ninth War Zone Command headquarters, recorded his recollection of the battle's progress in later years with the systematic precision that his professional training demanded. "On the morning of the 19th," Song recalled, "the enemy's main force successively advanced towards the Miluo River via Yanglin Street, Guanwang Bridge, and the Changhu-Dajing Street highway. Our 37th Army was on high alert on the south bank, while our vanguard troops were also advancing forward on the north bank. That afternoon, the enemy's vanguard encountered our troops north of Changle Street. After a fierce battle, many enemy soldiers were killed. Then, enemy cavalry and artillery, along with several thousand infantry, attacked from three sides. Our defending 1st Company fought a bloody battle, but due to being outnumbered, they suffered almost all casualties. Changle Street was occupied by the enemy. At around 7 p.m., the enemy began to attempt a crossing at Modao Beach. Our troops defending the south bank fought bravely and fought fiercely throughout the night, but the enemy failed." The first crossing attempt had been beaten back, but the respite was brief. Song continued: "At dawn on the 20th, the enemy, under the cover of aircraft and artillery, launched another forced crossing. At around 7 a.m., fierce fighting broke out between the two sides along the Wugongshi, Guiyi, and Hejiatang line." Those words, whatever courage the oaths and instructions had inspired, could not alter the underlying arithmetic of the battle. From the 21st through the 23rd of September, the 37th Army fought ferocious engagements with the Japanese 4th and 3rd Divisions across the Shending Mountain and Banjunmiao areas, absorbing casualties that could not be replaced. Song recorded the progression: "The main force of the enemy, advancing rapidly southward, captured our positions at Nanyangmiao and Banjunmiao in Wengjiang at noon on the 22nd. Our 140th Division engaged the enemy at Lishan Lane and Daxingling, and fought fiercely for two days and nights..." After the battle, the 37th Army had effectively ceased to exist as a fighting force. It had gone into the engagement with nearly fifty thousand fully equipped and manned troops. Song Ruike, reflecting on it all in his old age, acknowledged with unusual candor the limitations of his own account: "Since history cannot be reproduced, people summarize events based on memory, striving to retain the most important and valuable aspects while filtering out the unimportant and those that do not reflect the essence." The elderly Song retained the factual architecture of the battle—times, places, unit designations, tactical methods—but he knew, as any honest chronicler must, that within those facts lay a multitude of individual experiences, individual sufferings, individual deaths, that no record could fully capture. "Then what about every individual in history?" he asked. "How should their emotions, will, beliefs, their flesh and blood, their breath, and everything they sacrificed be expressed and entrusted to us?" It was a question he could not answer, and neither can history. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. After commander Zhao Zili's plan was rejected, he drafted orders anyway, but Lieutenant Colonel Hachimō of Japan's 11th Army intercepted and decoded the Ninth War Zone's deployment orders on September 20. Meanwhile, the 37th Army fought the Japanese at the Miluo River confluence with Dongting Lake, launching oaths and grim defenses before being effectively destroyed as a combat force.

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Hello Interactors,Welcome to summer where Interplace turns its attention to physical geography and the environment. It's already a crazy El Niño — thanks in large part to global warming — and the United States is having a big birthday. How might these be related and what to do about it?What follows is not a celebration or a condemnation, but more of a reckoning. I look at what was built, what was deliberately forgotten, and what is now continually arriving, season by season, in forms of weather the founders could not have imagined.Although Alexander Humboldt — one of the world's most famous scientists at the time — did warn Jefferson of the effects of human-induced climate change in 1804. He based his prediction on changes he observed in forests and water systems as a result of mono-crops and industrial “steam and gas”. Jefferson ignored him.BUILDING, BURNING, BILLOWING BACKOn this momentous 250th Fourth of July, when the world is experiencing record level extreme weather events, let's reflect on how over the last 250 years the United States helped build, extract, and then burn the material and political conditions that made climate change possible. From the beginning, it tied itself to land, extraction, mobility, and expansion. Over time those commitments became an energy system built on coal, oil, gas, highways, suburbs, industrial agriculture, and a development model that treated nature as an inexhaustible storehouse. That legacy is now legible in the atmosphere itself. Let's light a Roman Candle in celebration!Even before the 4th of July fireworks celebrations create another nationwide 42% average increase in fine particulate matter (Seidel, et al., 2015), the United States bears the single largest share of cumulative historical CO₂ emissions of any nation . We represent roughly 20 percent of the global total since 1850 contributing approximately 0.2°C of warming to date (Carbon Brief, 2021; UNEP, 2023). To represent four percent of the world's current population and be responsible for nearly a fifth of its cumulative warming is not a coincidence of geography or fake news. It is the outcome of deliberate choices about how a republic would be organized, energized, and expanded across two and a half centuries.The United States has long imagined freedom in spatial terms: movement, property, settlement, mastery, frontier, and circulation. Those abstract ideals were made real through land theft and remade landscapes, as well as through infrastructure built in significant part by African and African American enslaved labor. Each step along the way depended on ever-greater throughput of energy, labor, and material. In that sense, the country's history is also a history of how thought became organized around extraction and exploitation, until those thoughts and actions themselves became a kind of common sense. But by the late nineteenth century and early twentieth centuries increased industrialization meant emissions grew. They surged during the postwar era and peaked in the early 2000s — a trajectory that maps almost exactly onto the spatial project of suburban expansion, highway construction, and fossil-fuel-dependent agriculture (Climate Change Tracker, 2024). Two-thirds of the country's cumulative warming impact derives from fossil CO₂ alone. The built environment of American freedom is as inseparable from the chemical footprint it left behind as a firecracker's scattered debris and carbon residue.This leaves us with a climate crisis that is not just the result of a few bad policy choices in the late twentieth century. We exist in a cumulative outcome of a long national project that normalized combustion as prosperity and treated atmospheric consequence as some distant abstraction. Kind of like turning up the radio to drowned out the sound of your car making a funny noise. The federal state government played a central role in this process. Not only through direct policy and subsidies, but through the development of roads, ports, power systems, agricultural regimes, and military logistics that expanded the scale of fossil dependence at every scale of national life.The fossil fuel industry understood this trajectory earlier than the public was permitted to know. A systematic analysis published in Science found that ExxonMobil's own scientists accurately projected and skillfully modeled global warming due to fossil fuel burning from as early as 1977. These projections are consistent with subsequent observations. And yet, for decades, the company publicly pushed doubt and denial (Supran, Rahmstorf, & Oreskes, 2023). Consequently, what America projects as “economic growth”, fueled enormously by the fossil fuel industry, is embedded not only in a collective national memory but in the scientific record.The irony is that America's confidence in its own permanence rested on a false sense of geography. The landscape seemed stable because the costs were displaced in the form of upstream mining, downstream pollution, hidden emissions, imported and exported harm, and deferred climate effects. The effects on the atmosphere made that displacement impossible to sustain. The ‘progress' that had been scattered across space and time returns as heat, drought, fire, flood, and increasingly volatile weather. We built a world in which the rewards of extraction were immediate while the penalties were delayed. Call it what you will — the climate crisis is just the debt of delay, dressed as disaster.KNOWING, NEGLECTING, NEUTERING KNOWLEDGEThe USA did not simply keep burning and expanding on autopilot. By the late twentieth century, it had also begun to lose the institutional capacity to understand what its own trajectory meant. The problem was no longer that the 1970's scientific picture Exxon had already portrayed was absent. The evidence was clear. By the early 1990s the United States had ratified the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) and formally accepted the goal of returning greenhouse-gas emissions to 1990 levels by the end of the decade.The barrier to progress was not ignorance, but a degraded relationship between knowledge and power. This was engineered in part by more fossil fuel industry campaigns to sow doubt about science it privately accepted. Historians of science Naomi Oreskes and Erik Conway documented how a loose-knit network of industry-connected scientists ran effective campaigns to mislead the public on issues from tobacco to climate change. They exploited the media's tendency toward false balance and keeping controversy alive long after scientific consensus had been reached (Oreskes & Conway, 2010). The strategy was to make certainty seem uncertain, and it worked. For decades, political inaction persisted through every window of action that may have helped.By the mid-1990s, climate change had become legible enough for federal institutions to name, study, and plan around, but the machinery of governance was being bent in the opposite direction. Newt Gingrich and the Republicans who rose with him may not have invented anti-government politics, but they weaponized it. Curiously, through pro-governmental politics. While their rhetoric promised efficiency and modernization, in practice it often meant cutting staffs, weakening committees, abolishing subcommittees, and treating the legislature less as a site of deliberation than as a theater of permanent combat. After all, their own staffers affectionately referred to Gingrich and his wrecking crew as ‘jihadists' — even as those same politicians promulgated and attached that term as a slur toward Muslims. One of the most consequential acts of this period was the 1995 defunding of the Office of Technology Assessment. This was a bipartisan, independent body that had produced over 750 reports on complex scientific and technical questions since 1974, including major studies on energy policy, environmental risk, and the long-range consequences of atmospheric change. Gingrich had vowed to kill the OTA during his 1994 election campaign. He kept his promise, and with it eliminated one of Congress's primary mechanisms for converting scientific knowledge into durable legislative capacity (Wikipedia, Office of Technology Assessment; AAAS Science, 2019).A legislature cannot respond intelligently to a long-range atmospheric crisis if it has stripped away the very mechanisms designed to synthesize evidence, test assumptions, and tackle complex questions over time. What replaced deliberations mediated by experts was a vacuum quickly filled by industry lobbyists — the same industry that, amongst themselves, knew exactly what Gingrich was doing. Research on institutional dynamics in climate governance consistently finds that fragmented policy, weak intergovernmental coordination, and the erosion of technical capacity are among the most significant barriers to effective long-range climate action (Jaisridhar et al., 2025; Birchall, Bonnett, & Kehler, 2023).The thinning of Congress's own cognitive infrastructure in 1995 was a bureaucratic adjustment that disabled the country's capacity to govern on topics beyond the timescales and dimensions of a single administration. The political system was becoming less capable of converting recognition into sustained action precisely as the need for that conversion became most urgent. The United States not only helped create the conditions for warming but undermined its own capacity to govern the effects warming created. The atmosphere was warming and so was the willful weakening of the world's most powerful potential partner in planetary protection.CASCADES, CRISES, AND COMING TO TERMSWhat follows is not simply a warmer world, but a less legible and actionable one. Once a political system weakens its own capacity to think long-term, it becomes ill-equipped to face a future that arrives not as a single rupture but as a cascade of self-reinforcing disruptions. We've all experienced or read about hotter summers, fire, more erratic rainfall, stressed coasts, shifting storm tracks, and weather that no longer behaves as the old seasonal calendar once did. Anthropogenic warming is already increasing variability in frequency and severity of weather systems. This in turn can alter local precipitation variability, storm behavior, and the climatic conditions on which seasonal expectations have long depended (Robinson, 2021; Wang et al., 2017; Scher & Messori, 2019). In several regions, climate change is expected not only to shift average conditions but to change seasonal predictability itself — especially for rainfall — making the future harder to read through the calendars and risk assumptions modeled and built from the past (Le et al., 2023; Delsole et al., 2014).Even now, the atmosphere offers a live demonstration of this instability. On June 11, 2026, NOAA officially declared that El Niño has arrived — with a 63 percent probability of reaching “very strong” intensity, defined as sea surface temperature anomalies of at least +2°C in the equatorial Pacific. This would rank it among the largest events in the historical record (NOAA, 2026). What makes 2026 categorically different from prior super events is not just its projected intensity but its baseline. This El Niño begins from the warmest ocean temperatures in human history, layered onto anthropogenic warming that has already pushed the planet to 1.55°C above preindustrial levels.As one paper argued in April, the El Niño is the accelerant; the fuel was already stacked (Hansen et al., 2026). The World Meteorological Organization (WMO) has placed an 86 percent probability on at least one year between 2026 and 2030 surpassing 2024 as the warmest on record, with 2027 — when El Niño's thermal lag typically produces its most extreme global signals — as the most likely candidate (WMO, 2026).When that variability is layered onto long-term warming, the result is not just discomfort but a deeper erosion of climatic predictability. ENSO — the El Niño-Southern Oscillation, the coupled ocean-atmosphere system that drives El Niño's periodic warming and its counterpart La Niña's cooling across the tropical Pacific — is not a new phenomenon, but its behavior is changing. Model evidence indicates that ENSO-related rainfall variability is likely to intensify and shift eastward under greenhouse warming, creating more severe and sometimes novel climate conditions across the terrestrial tropics (Cai et al., 2021; Rifai, Li, & Malhi, 2019). The question is no longer whether the climate will change, but how many of the social and political structures built on climatic regularity can survive that change.Climate change is often presented as a technical or environmental problem to be solved. Especially amidst a culture of pervasive techno-optimism. But climate change is way more fundamental than this. It's a reordering of the relationship between how we need to think and the geography in which we exist. This includes political geography and a reordering of political imagination as it relates to physical geography. The old originally envisioned republic of the USA assumed that land could be mastered, seasons could be predicted, and institutions could absorb shock without losing coherence. Those assumptions no longer hold.The old assumption that infrastructure could be planned around stationary baselines is increasingly at odds with the evidence. We can already see how energy systems show measurable vulnerability to climatic uncertainty and extremes. Modeled systems evidence declines in reliability and large performance gaps when future weather variation is not adequately incorporated into planning (Perera et al., 2020; Ouyang et al., 2023).As a result, the challenge ahead is not adaptation to these changes in the narrow sense, but reconstruction of our relationship to them in the broad sense. This may seem impossible in today's American political system, but truly Democratic societies will need stronger scientific institutions, more durable legislative capacity, and trustworthy public agencies able to interpret risk before disaster becomes routine. They will need not only infrastructure, but intelligence. Embodied intelligence — embodied engagement with physical and social environments rather than as a purely singular-brain augmented by LLM computation. This includes a renewed ability to gather, preserve, and act on knowledge over long horizons.The literature on adaptation governance is clear that resilience depends on organizational learning, intergovernmental collaboration, inclusive planning, and long-term institutional capacity. Short-term, reactive, market or donor-driven interventions that respond to emergencies without building the durable frameworks that prevent them won't work (Birchall et al., 2026; Rahman & Islam, 2024). What this means practically is the reconstitution of the kind of congressional expertise that was dismantled in 1995. We need not merely revive the OTA but to imagine a broader democratic intelligence infrastructure capable of thinking on the timescales that climate change demands — decades, generations, and centuries. Without that, climate change will continue to be experienced as a succession of emergency, political, or market conditions rather than as a governable transformation.We can do this. After all, a country that once imagined itself through movement, expansion, and mastery made a certain kind of freedom seem natural. A new kind of freedom can be made to seem natural too. But right now our current system returns prosperity for many — but heat, flood, instability, and constraint for all. What was built now must be lived within — good and bad — while what was extracted must now live in the atmosphere — all bad. What gets burned today, will burn more later. The political order that was built through extraction, combustion, and territorial expansion must confront the atmospheric and hydrological consequences of those choices.That confrontation will only intensify. Past century's cumulative emissions have already committed the planet to changes that will outlast any government, living generation, or institution that exists. Including you and me. The next 250 years will belong less to societies that imagine escape than to those that can build the institutional intelligence, infrastructural redundancy, and long-term public capacity required to inhabit a less legible and hospitable climate (Ouyang et al., 2023; Jaisridhar et al., 2025).So, as you watch the rocket's red glare and bombs bursting in air — sending even more smoke, chemicals and debris everywhere — know the flag will still be there. But to endure, it must repair an institution to be once again knowledgeable and fair.ReferencesBirchall, S. J., Villeneuve, K., Rose, D., Baran, N. N., & Adams, S. (2026). Exploring the modifying effects of adaptive capacity on resilience to climate change across 4 coastal cities in British Columbia, Canada. Cities.Birchall, S. J., Bonnett, N. L., & Kehler, S. (2023). The influence of governance structure on local resilience: Enabling and constraining factors for climate change adaptation in practice. Urban Climate.Cai, W., McPhaden, M., Grimm, A., Rodrigues, R., Taschetto, A., Garreaud, R., … Vera, C. (2020). Climate impacts of the El Niño–Southern Oscillation on South America. Nature Reviews Earth & Environment.Cai, W., Santoso, A., Collins, M., Dewitte, B., Karamperidou, C., Kug, J., … Zhong, W. (2021). Changing El Niño–Southern Oscillation in a warming climate. Nature Reviews Earth & Environment.Carbon Brief. (2021). Analysis: Which countries are historically responsible for climate change?Climate Change Tracker. (2024). United States of America: Historic contribution to global warming since 1850.Delsole, T., Yan, X., Dirmeyer, P., Fennessy, M., & Altshuler, E. (2014). Changes in seasonal predictability due to global warming. Journal of Climate.Holgate, C., Evans, J., Taschetto, A., Gupta, S. A., & Santoso, A. (2022). The impact of interacting climate modes on east Australian precipitation moisture sources. Journal of Climate.Jaisridhar, P., Nirosha, R., Jasimudeen, S., Senthilkumar, M., Ponsneka, I., & Raja, P. (2025). Institutional dynamics in climate change adaptation: A bibliometric analysis. Frontiers in Environmental Science.Le, P., Randerson, J., Willett, R., Wright, S., Smyth, P., Guilloteau, C., Mamalakis, A., & Foufoula-Georgiou, E. (2023). Climate-driven changes in the predictability of seasonal precipitation. Nature Communications.Oreskes, N., & Conway, E. M. (2010). Merchants of Doubt: How a Handful of Scientists Obscured the Truth on Issues from Tobacco Smoke to Global Warming. Bloomsbury Press.Ouyang, H., Tang, X., Zhang, R., Baklanov, A., Brasseur, G., Kumar, R., Han, Q., & Luo, Y. (2023). Resilience building and collaborative governance for climate change adaptation in response to a new state of more frequent and intense extreme weather events. International Journal of Disaster Risk Science.Perera, A., Nik, V., Chen, D., Scartezzini, J., & Hong, T. (2020). Quantifying the impacts of climate change and extreme climate events on energy systems.Rahman, M. M., & Islam, M. S. (2024). Institutional dynamics and climate adaptation: Unveiling the challenges and opportunities in coastal Bangladesh.Rifai, S., Li, S., & Malhi, Y. (2019). Coupling of El Niño events and long-term warming leads to pervasive climate extremes in the terrestrial tropics.Robinson, W. (2021). Climate change and extreme weather: A review focusing on the continental United States.Scher, S., & Messori, G. (2019). How global warming changes the difficulty of synoptic weather forecasting.Supran, G., Rahmstorf, S., & Oreskes, N. (2023). Assessing ExxonMobil's global warming projections.UNEP. (2023). Current and historic contributions to global warming and emissions in the United States from 1850 to 2021. Statista.Wang, X., Jiang, D., & Lang, X. (2017). Future extreme climate changes linked to global warming intensity. Science Bulletin.Hansen, J., Kharecha, P., Morgan, D., & Vest, J. (2026, April 15). Super-Duper El Niño. Columbia University Earth Institute.National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. (2026, June 11). El Niño forms, expected to strengthen, say NOAA forecasters [Press release].NOAA Climate Prediction Center. (2026, June 11). ENSO diagnostic discussion. National Weather Service.Seidel, D. J., & Birnbaum, A. N. (2015). Effects of Independence Day fireworks on atmospheric concentrations of fine particulate matter in the United States. Atmospheric Environment.World Meteorological Organization. (2026). Global annual-to-decadal climate update 2026–2035. WMO. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit interplace.io

A new study suggests that the way you deliver magnetic field stimulation to an Alzheimer's brain may matter just as much as the stimulation itself -- and the findings point toward a more personalized approach to treatment. In this episode, R Blank breaks down a 2025 study by Geng, Liu, Yan, and Zheng published in Brain Research, which compared intermittent versus continuous extremely low frequency magnetic field exposure in Alzheimer's disease mice. The results revealed that the optimal stimulation pattern depends on the stage of disease progression -- a finding with real implications for how we think about magnetic field therapies. R Blank also connects this to the broader body of research on ELF-MF and neurodegeneration that he and his father Doctor Martin Blank explored in their book Overpowered. In This Episode What extremely low frequency magnetic fields are and how researchers are studying them as a potential Alzheimer's therapy Why intermittent stimulation outperformed continuous stimulation in adult Alzheimer's mice -- and why the reverse was true in aged mice What theta and gamma brain wave oscillations have to do with memory and cognition Featured Study Read the full study: Intermittent ELF-MF exposure effectively ameliorates pathologic features associated with adult AD mice See all studies at shieldyourbody.com/research

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I dagens sending snakker Helena Edlund med forfatter, opinionsleder og islamekspert Ronie Berggren om islam og islamisme. Hva er egentlig islam, hvorfor har vi i Europa så lav kunnskap om islam, og hva er egentlig islamisering? Og hva må vi gjøre for å sikre at landene våre forblir demokratier?Hver morgen har Document en sending for deg. «Rett på sak» med Espen Teigen går LIVE hver morgen klokken 09.00 mandag–fredag. Et direkte og uredd nyhetsprogram for deg som er lei av NRK.«Fredag med John og Yan» sendes på fredag klokken 10.00, og Document Radio med Helena Edlund sendes på søndag kl. 16.30.

C'est l'heure d'un nouveau voyage dans le passé avec l'épisode 3 du podcast 110% NostalGeek présenté par G Pour Geek! Cette semaine, Trash Talker, Shaun, Yan et Dany plongent dans leurs souvenirs en discutant de films, jeux vidéo, émissions cultes et bien d'autres sujets qui ont marqué notre jeunesse!Préparez-vous à une bonne dose de nostalgie et de fous rires! Bonne écoute et n'hésitez pas à nous dire quels souvenirs geek vous ont le plus marqué!#110PourcentNostalGeek #GPourGeek #PodcastQC #Nostalgie #GeekQC #JeuxVideo #Cinema #PopCulture #RetroGaming #GeekLife #QuebecGeek‐-------‐‐-----------------------------------------Site Web ⬇️www.gpourgeek.caBalado Quebec ⬇️https://baladoquebec.ca/g-pour-geek/110percent-nostalgeek-episode-3-chuck-teletoon-le-cinquieme-element-et-plusSpotify ⬇️https://open.spotify.com/show/1u1BuLjlLfSSOLq8YuAEa0Linktree ⬇️https://linktr.ee/gpourgeekYoutube ⬇️https://youtu.be/DPfngEIniRc

Simon Portelance et Marc-André Roy ------------------------------------------------------------------Pour suivre FAF - http://fafhumoriste.comPour suivre Will - http://willpaq.comPATREON - http://yantheriault.com/PatreonDiscord - http://yantheriault.com/discordTwitter - http://yantheriault.com/twitterInstagram - http://yantheriault.com/instagramFacebook - http://yantheriault.com/facebook

Plenty of talk about the success of Yan Diomande in this year's World Cup. Christian Vallejos joins the show to talk about seeing Yan as a 16yo playing in the UPSL. We discuss the rise of soccer in Florida and the role of the UPSL in developing talent.

In het tweede deel van Cryptocast 434 staat Hyperliquid centraal, de decentrale beurs die uitgroeit tot een van de grootste namen in de sector. Te gast is Pim Swart van durfkapitaalfonds Maven 11, dat investeert in jonge cryptobedrijven en volgende week tijdens de Dutch Blockchain Week een evenement met Hyperliquid organiseert. Naast hem zit co-host Bert Slagter, analist bij Bitcoin Alpha. Kees Dorresteijn presenteert. Hyperliquid is een decentrale exchange waar je vooral handelt in perpetuals, futurescontracten zonder einddatum waarmee je met een hefboom long of short kunt gaan. Het platform draait 24 uur per dag en biedt naast spothandel ook eigen markten via HIP-3, waarop bijvoorbeeld de S&P 500, goud of aandelen van bedrijven die nog niet naar de beurs zijn verhandeld worden. Die laatste categorie leverde veel aandacht op. Toen SpaceX vorige week naar de beurs ging, kon je het aandeel in het weekend al op Hyperliquid verhandelen. Eerder gebeurde iets vergelijkbaars met olie tijdens de spanningen rond de Straat van Hormuz, toen de reguliere markten dicht waren maar Hyperliquid een actuele prijs bleef tonen. Swart legt uit waarom het zo hard groeit. Het volume steeg in een jaar van ongeveer 200 naar 300 miljard dollar per maand, en het platform doet inmiddels zo'n 17 procent van het volume van Binance. Het team telt nog steeds maar veertien mensen, wat het volgens Swart per werknemer een van de winstgevendste bedrijven maakt. Voordelen ten opzichte van een Robinhood of Coinbase zijn de lage kosten van vijf basispunten, het ontbreken van KYC en een ruimer aanbod aan assets. Daarna gaat het over de HYPE token en de vraag wie de waarde van het netwerk vangt. Hyperliquid haalde nooit geld op bij investeerders en gaf in plaats daarvan 30 procent van de tokens weg aan vroege gebruikers. Het bedrijf gebruikt het grootste deel van de handelsinkomsten om tokens terug te kopen en te verbranden, vergelijkbaar met een aandeleninkoop. Daardoor gedraagt de token zich bijna als aandeel. Tot slot kijken Swart en Slagter vooruit naar de regulering, de concurrentie van traditionele handelshuizen en de vraag of oprichter Jeff Yan het bedrijf door dat speelveld kan navigeren. Yan, voormalig handelaar bij Hudson River Trading, spreekt volgende week op de Dutch Blockchain Week. Co-host is Bert Slagter. Over de podcast Cryptocurrency are here to stay. In deze wekelijkse podcast gidst Daniel Mol je door het belangrijkste cryptonieuws, langs hypes en trends, voor- en tegenstanders en winst en verlies. In het A-deel bespreken we het laatste nieuws en in het B-deel gaan we in gesprek met een gast. Van cypherpunkpioneers tot grootbanken die aan de haal gaan met stablecoins, van Bitcoin tot Ethereum tot CBDC's. Alles passeert de revue. Reageren? Stuur dan een mail naar cryptocast@bnr.nl Gasten Pim Swart is investeerder bij Maven 11, een crypto venture capital fund dat sinds 2017 in jonge cryptobedrijven investeert. Bert Slagter is analist bij Bitcoin Alpha en co-host van de Cryptocast. Kees Dorresteijn is presentator en podcastmaker bij BNR Nieuwsradio en presenteert deze aflevering als invaller voor Daniël Mol. Links Profiel van Jeff Yan, oprichter van Hyperliquid, en de groei van de beurs Hyperliquid: elf mensen, geen durfkapitaal en honderden miljoenen winst Programma en sprekers van Dutch Blockchain Week 2026 in Amsterdam Host Daniel Mol is presentator en redacteur van de Cryptocast. Hij is sinds 2017 met Bitcoin bezig en kwam in 2021 bij het team van de Cryptocast. Redactie Daniel Mol Matthijs Damsteeg Stijn Goossens See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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 Yanındaki parıl parıl parıldarken ona hep karanlık düştü, hiç görülmedi ve en aşık olmaması gereken kişiye aşık oldu. Mısır mitolojisinin az bilinen bu yasak aşk öyküsünü şimdi dinleyin. 

THE WHITE HOUSE CARD IS HERE!"Suga" Sean O'Malley's head coach Tim Welch joins Demetrious Johnson to break down UFC Freedom 250 on the latest episode of 'The MightyCast'!Timecodes0:00 Intro 1:20 PrizePicks CODE MIGHTYCAST 1:58 Welcome Tim Welch! 2:20 Tim is BUZZIN' Off a Nicotine Patch 3:22 Tim Tries to Corrupt Mighty

1. Önden ve arkadan çıkan kan, meni, irin, idrar ve dışkı. 2. Arkadan çıkan yel. 3. Herhangi uzuvdan akıcı halde çıkan kan ve yaradan irin veya sarı su halinde çıkıp etrafına yayılan şey. 4. Ağız dolusu kusuntu. 5. Az veya çok bayılmak. 6. Namaz kılan bir mükellefin namaz içinde uyanık iken kahkaha ile gülmesi. 7. Çocuk doğurmak. 8. Fahiş mübaşeret, yani erkek ile kadının karınlarını veya tenasül uzuvlarını birbirine kuvvetli bir engel bulunmaksızın şehvetle temas ettirmeleri. 9. Erkeğin tenasül uzvu içerisine tamamen tıkanmış olan pamuğun bilahare dışarıya çıkması veya çıkarılması. 10. Kadının tenasül uzvuna tıkanmış pamuğun veya bezin yaş olarak dışarıya çıkması veya çıkarılması. 11. Yan yatarak veya bağdaş kurarak veya dirseklere dayanarak uyumak. 12. Çıplak hayvan üzerinde yokuşa çıkarken uyumak. 13. Teyemmüm etmiş kimsenin abdeste elverişli bir miktar suya kavuşması. 14. Özür sahipleri için namaz vaktinin çıkması. (Ömer Nasuhi Bilmen, Sualli Cevaplı Dini Bilgiler, s. 159)

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durée : 00:16:43 - Les émissions culturelles de France Culture - par : Marie Labory - Du mélancolique “Sukima” de Gao Yan au très violent “Zange” de Santa Inoué, un point sur les œuvres de deux mangakas qui repensent les codes de la narration. - réalisation : Laurence Malonda, Boris Pineau, Aïssatou N'Doye, Jules Barbier, Zohra Vignais, Lise Ripoche, Mathi Adjinsoff - invités : Pauline Croquet Journaliste au service culture du Monde, spécialisée manga et animation , Fausto Fasulo Directeur des rédaction d'ATOM et Mad Movies Vous aimez ce podcast ? Pour écouter tous les épisodes sans limite, rendez-vous sur Radio France

In Australia, no wedding or school dance is complete without the Nutbush, Australia's unofficial national dance. The Nutbush – a simple line dance to the song “Nutbush City Limits,” by Ike and Tina Turner – has become as stereotypically Australian as kangaroos, boomerangs, and Vegemite.And yet, hardly anyone outside of Australia even knows the Nutbush exists. Here at Decoder Ring, we certainly didn't – until we started getting emails from Australians asking us to investigate its origins. How did an American song become the soundtrack for an Australian national tradition? Who invented the iconic steps, and why does every Australian know them?Our producer Max Freedman put on his dancing shoes to get some answers. The global, century-spanning story of the Nutbush involves Australia, Tennessee, Denmark, primary schools, gay discos, and demonstrates that even the goofiest cultural touchstones can go surprisingly deep.In this episode you'll hear from culture journalists David Mack and Angus Kidman; Nutbush researchers Panizza Allmark and Jon Stratton; dance historians Erica Okamura and Richard Powers; Dr. Fiona Chatteur, Jeremy Santolin, and Brian Kerr.This episode was written and produced by Max Freedman and edited by Evan Chung, our supervising producer. Merritt Jacob is Senior Technical Director.If you have any cultural mysteries you want us to decode, email us at DecoderRing@slate.com or leave a message on our hotline at (347) 460-7281.Get more of Decoder Ring with Slate Plus! Join for exclusive bonus episodes of Decoder Ring and ad-free listening on all your favorite Slate podcasts. Subscribe from the Decoder Ring show page on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Or, visit slate.com/decoderplus for access wherever you listen.Further ViewingHow to do ‘The Nutbush' - Australian Line Dance Dancin' the Madison on “The Buddy Deane Show” (1960)Alley Cat Tutorial — Spark Physical EducationThe Nutbush on Countdown (December 5, 1976)Tina Turner — Nutbush City Limits, The Midnight Special (1973)Tina Turner — Are You Breaking My Heart, Countdown (1980)Tina Turner: How “The Best” Became Rugby League's Anthem | ABC NewsTina Turner's Electrifying 1993 NRL Grand Final PerformanceSources for This EpisodeAllmark, Panizza, and Jon Stratton. “Doing the Nutbush: How Australia Got Its Very Own Line Dance.” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies, vol. 39, no. 1, 2025, pp. 79–94.Allmark, Panizza, and Jon Stratton. “The Nutbush Dance Reframed: Further Analysis Related to ‘Doing the Nutbush.'” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies, vol. 39, no. 1, 2025, pp. 95–103.Andrews, Shirley. Take Your Partners: Traditional Dancing in Australia. 3rd ed., Hyland House, 1979.Bloomfield, Anne. “Health or Art? The Case for Dance in the Curriculum of British State Schools 1909–1919.” History of Education, vol. 36, no. 6, 2007, pp. 681–696.Bloomfield, Anne. “The Quickening of the National Spirit: Cecil Sharp and the Pioneers of the Folk-Dance Revival in English State Schools (1900–26).” History of Education, vol. 30, no. 1, 2001, pp. 59–75.Gbogbo, Mawunyo. “Tina Turner and Her Australian Connections: How The Best Became Rugby League's Anthem and Why Is the Nutbush Mandatory at Gatherings?” ABC News, 24 May 2023.Jones, Benjamin T. “Australian Politics Explainer: The White Australia Policy.” The Conversation, 9 Apr. 2017.Kidman, Angus. “Tina Turner: How Australia Saved Her Career.” Angus Kidman, 13 Aug. 2023.Meiners, Jeff. So We Can Dance? In Pursuit of an Inclusive Dance Curriculum for the Primary School Years in Australia. 2017. University of South Australia, Doctor of Education thesis.Spencer, Eliza. “Australia and the Nutbush: The Quest for the Origin of a Cultural Phenomenon Goes On.” The Guardian, 5 May 2024.Ward, Mary. “The Mysterious Allure of the Nutbush and Why the Dance Is Uniquely Australian.” Sydney Morning Herald, 25 May 2023.Zhuang, Yan. “Australia Remembered Tina Turner with a Dance.” New York Times, 25 May 2023.Need to set up your Slate Plus feed? If you subscribed through Slate.com, check out our FAQ at slate.com/podcastfaqs for easy instructions. Members subscribed via Apple Podcasts get automatic access—no setup required. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In Australia, no wedding or school dance is complete without the Nutbush, Australia's unofficial national dance. The Nutbush – a simple line dance to the song “Nutbush City Limits,” by Ike and Tina Turner – has become as stereotypically Australian as kangaroos, boomerangs, and Vegemite.And yet, hardly anyone outside of Australia even knows the Nutbush exists. Here at Decoder Ring, we certainly didn't – until we started getting emails from Australians asking us to investigate its origins. How did an American song become the soundtrack for an Australian national tradition? Who invented the iconic steps, and why does every Australian know them?Our producer Max Freedman put on his dancing shoes to get some answers. The global, century-spanning story of the Nutbush involves Australia, Tennessee, Denmark, primary schools, gay discos, and demonstrates that even the goofiest cultural touchstones can go surprisingly deep.In this episode you'll hear from culture journalists David Mack and Angus Kidman; Nutbush researchers Panizza Allmark and Jon Stratton; dance historians Erica Okamura and Richard Powers; Dr. Fiona Chatteur, Jeremy Santolin, and Brian Kerr.This episode was written and produced by Max Freedman and edited by Evan Chung, our supervising producer. Merritt Jacob is Senior Technical Director.If you have any cultural mysteries you want us to decode, email us at DecoderRing@slate.com or leave a message on our hotline at (347) 460-7281.Get more of Decoder Ring with Slate Plus! Join for exclusive bonus episodes of Decoder Ring and ad-free listening on all your favorite Slate podcasts. Subscribe from the Decoder Ring show page on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Or, visit slate.com/decoderplus for access wherever you listen.Further ViewingHow to do ‘The Nutbush' - Australian Line Dance Dancin' the Madison on “The Buddy Deane Show” (1960)Alley Cat Tutorial — Spark Physical EducationThe Nutbush on Countdown (December 5, 1976)Tina Turner — Nutbush City Limits, The Midnight Special (1973)Tina Turner — Are You Breaking My Heart, Countdown (1980)Tina Turner: How “The Best” Became Rugby League's Anthem | ABC NewsTina Turner's Electrifying 1993 NRL Grand Final PerformanceSources for This EpisodeAllmark, Panizza, and Jon Stratton. “Doing the Nutbush: How Australia Got Its Very Own Line Dance.” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies, vol. 39, no. 1, 2025, pp. 79–94.Allmark, Panizza, and Jon Stratton. “The Nutbush Dance Reframed: Further Analysis Related to ‘Doing the Nutbush.'” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies, vol. 39, no. 1, 2025, pp. 95–103.Andrews, Shirley. Take Your Partners: Traditional Dancing in Australia. 3rd ed., Hyland House, 1979.Bloomfield, Anne. “Health or Art? The Case for Dance in the Curriculum of British State Schools 1909–1919.” History of Education, vol. 36, no. 6, 2007, pp. 681–696.Bloomfield, Anne. “The Quickening of the National Spirit: Cecil Sharp and the Pioneers of the Folk-Dance Revival in English State Schools (1900–26).” History of Education, vol. 30, no. 1, 2001, pp. 59–75.Gbogbo, Mawunyo. “Tina Turner and Her Australian Connections: How The Best Became Rugby League's Anthem and Why Is the Nutbush Mandatory at Gatherings?” ABC News, 24 May 2023.Jones, Benjamin T. “Australian Politics Explainer: The White Australia Policy.” The Conversation, 9 Apr. 2017.Kidman, Angus. “Tina Turner: How Australia Saved Her Career.” Angus Kidman, 13 Aug. 2023.Meiners, Jeff. So We Can Dance? In Pursuit of an Inclusive Dance Curriculum for the Primary School Years in Australia. 2017. University of South Australia, Doctor of Education thesis.Spencer, Eliza. “Australia and the Nutbush: The Quest for the Origin of a Cultural Phenomenon Goes On.” The Guardian, 5 May 2024.Ward, Mary. “The Mysterious Allure of the Nutbush and Why the Dance Is Uniquely Australian.” Sydney Morning Herald, 25 May 2023.Zhuang, Yan. “Australia Remembered Tina Turner with a Dance.” New York Times, 25 May 2023. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In Australia, no wedding or school dance is complete without the Nutbush, Australia's unofficial national dance. The Nutbush – a simple line dance to the song “Nutbush City Limits,” by Ike and Tina Turner – has become as stereotypically Australian as kangaroos, boomerangs, and Vegemite.And yet, hardly anyone outside of Australia even knows the Nutbush exists. Here at Decoder Ring, we certainly didn't – until we started getting emails from Australians asking us to investigate its origins. How did an American song become the soundtrack for an Australian national tradition? Who invented the iconic steps, and why does every Australian know them?Our producer Max Freedman put on his dancing shoes to get some answers. The global, century-spanning story of the Nutbush involves Australia, Tennessee, Denmark, primary schools, gay discos, and demonstrates that even the goofiest cultural touchstones can go surprisingly deep.In this episode you'll hear from culture journalists David Mack and Angus Kidman; Nutbush researchers Panizza Allmark and Jon Stratton; dance historians Erica Okamura and Richard Powers; Dr. Fiona Chatteur, Jeremy Santolin, and Brian Kerr.This episode was written and produced by Max Freedman and edited by Evan Chung, our supervising producer. Merritt Jacob is Senior Technical Director.If you have any cultural mysteries you want us to decode, email us at DecoderRing@slate.com or leave a message on our hotline at (347) 460-7281.Get more of Decoder Ring with Slate Plus! Join for exclusive bonus episodes of Decoder Ring and ad-free listening on all your favorite Slate podcasts. Subscribe from the Decoder Ring show page on Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Or, visit slate.com/decoderplus for access wherever you listen.Further ViewingHow to do ‘The Nutbush' - Australian Line Dance Dancin' the Madison on “The Buddy Deane Show” (1960)Alley Cat Tutorial — Spark Physical EducationThe Nutbush on Countdown (December 5, 1976)Tina Turner — Nutbush City Limits, The Midnight Special (1973)Tina Turner — Are You Breaking My Heart, Countdown (1980)Tina Turner: How “The Best” Became Rugby League's Anthem | ABC NewsTina Turner's Electrifying 1993 NRL Grand Final PerformanceSources for This EpisodeAllmark, Panizza, and Jon Stratton. “Doing the Nutbush: How Australia Got Its Very Own Line Dance.” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies, vol. 39, no. 1, 2025, pp. 79–94.Allmark, Panizza, and Jon Stratton. “The Nutbush Dance Reframed: Further Analysis Related to ‘Doing the Nutbush.'” Continuum: Journal of Media & Cultural Studies, vol. 39, no. 1, 2025, pp. 95–103.Andrews, Shirley. Take Your Partners: Traditional Dancing in Australia. 3rd ed., Hyland House, 1979.Bloomfield, Anne. “Health or Art? The Case for Dance in the Curriculum of British State Schools 1909–1919.” History of Education, vol. 36, no. 6, 2007, pp. 681–696.Bloomfield, Anne. “The Quickening of the National Spirit: Cecil Sharp and the Pioneers of the Folk-Dance Revival in English State Schools (1900–26).” History of Education, vol. 30, no. 1, 2001, pp. 59–75.Gbogbo, Mawunyo. “Tina Turner and Her Australian Connections: How The Best Became Rugby League's Anthem and Why Is the Nutbush Mandatory at Gatherings?” ABC News, 24 May 2023.Jones, Benjamin T. “Australian Politics Explainer: The White Australia Policy.” The Conversation, 9 Apr. 2017.Kidman, Angus. “Tina Turner: How Australia Saved Her Career.” Angus Kidman, 13 Aug. 2023.Meiners, Jeff. So We Can Dance? In Pursuit of an Inclusive Dance Curriculum for the Primary School Years in Australia. 2017. University of South Australia, Doctor of Education thesis.Spencer, Eliza. “Australia and the Nutbush: The Quest for the Origin of a Cultural Phenomenon Goes On.” The Guardian, 5 May 2024.Ward, Mary. “The Mysterious Allure of the Nutbush and Why the Dance Is Uniquely Australian.” Sydney Morning Herald, 25 May 2023.Zhuang, Yan. “Australia Remembered Tina Turner with a Dance.” New York Times, 25 May 2023. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

In the late 1980s, a child exposed to fallout from the Chernobyl disaster lay in a hospital bed while doctors told his family there were no clear answers and no reliable path forward. Decades later, that same child, Yan Leyfman, walks into exam rooms as a hematology oncology fellow, expected to deliver clarity inside a system that still runs on delay, uncertainty, and institutional self preservation.This episode traces the throughline from early life shaped by radiation exposure and hospice level uncertainty to a career inside academic medicine, translational research, and oncology media. Yan built his identity around survival and usefulness, moving from patient to physician while carrying the memory of what it feels like to sit on the other side of the table. He helped launch MedNews Week during the COVID crisis to push back on misinformation and expand access to medical knowledge, stepping into a public role while still in training.The conversation stays grounded in the friction between personal narrative and system reality. Clinical training demands efficiency, hierarchy, and emotional distance. Cancer care demands time, clarity, and human connection. Those forces collide in real patient encounters where prior authorization delays, insurance barriers, and fragmented care pathways shape outcomes as much as any treatment protocol.Yan speaks openly about mentorship, belonging, and the drive to make meaning out of survival. The discussion pushes further into what the healthcare system actually rewards, what it quietly strips away, and how quickly empathy can erode under institutional pressure. The episode also examines the role of medical media, where education, industry influence, and narrative control often blur together.This is a conversation about identity under construction, about what happens when someone who remembers powerlessness steps into a role that carries authority, and about whether that memory can survive long enough to change anything.RELATED LINKSYan Leyfman on LinkedInYan Leyfman on InstagramSurviving ChernobylFEEDBACKLike this episode? Rate and review Out of Patients on your favorite podcast platform. For guest suggestions or sponsorship email podcasts@matthewzachary.comSee Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Last time we spoke about the second phase of the One Hundred Regiment Offensive.  During the second phase of the Hundred Regiments offensive, CCP forces emphasized strongpoint and transportation warfare across the Taihang/Jizhong area. Units were organized with wings containing Japanese positions while a central force struck deeper, as in the Renhe Dasu fighting in early October 1940. Night raids seized strongholds, while engineers and sabotage teams disrupted roads, bridges, and mobility, and ambushes targeted Japanese foraging and supply routes. Across these theaters, the strategy was consistent: make Japanese control porous by destroying or capturing local nodes and forcing constant repairs, re-routing, escorts, and slowed reinforcement, so occupation logistics and strongpoint networks could not function reliably. This approach supported wider offensives by isolating strongpoints, draining enemy strength, and giving Communist base areas room to endure and expand.   #204 The One Hundred Regiment Offensive Phase Three Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. After the two large-scale offensives carried out over wide areas of North China, the Japanese army did what it always did when control started to slip: it tried to turn mobile pressure back into something it could "manage" again. The Eighth Route Army's continued fighting had shown that Japanese-occupied space was not secure, and that base areas could still resist, strike, and persist even while under counterpressure. That was dangerous for occupation. If the enemy could keep operations going, Japanese lines of movement stayed uncertain and "stabilization" became a temporary illusion. To prevent the situation from worsening and to re-stabilize the occupied areas as quickly as possible, the Japanese mobilized heavy forces and launched retaliatory counter–"mopping-up" operations against anti-Japanese base areas in North China beginning October 6. The Japanese attempt wasn't only to punish; it was designed to take advantage of an asymmetry: the Eighth Route Army was striking and fighting continuously, and it did not have the luxury of resting, replenishing, and re-cohering as neatly as a garrison army might. Japanese commanders hoped that if they struck hard enough in enough places, the Communist main forces could be isolated, destroyed, or at least forced into a defensive posture that would break their operational tempo. At Liaodong and Yulin, Japanese reinforcements also created a second political-military stake. After the Yuliao Campaign ended, the Eighth Route Army headquarters issued instructions on October 1 to major regions, warning that enemy reinforcements in Liaodong and Yulin might use the opening to "sweep" the Taibei region. In the Communist operational mind, this wasn't just one threat; it was a pattern. A "sweep" could come as a wave that pushed inward, burned villages, destroyed supplies, and tried to force Communist forces out of their protected networks. Even if the offensive couldn't win a conventional decisive battle, it could aim to strip the base areas of people, food, and mobility—things that make guerrilla and strongpoint warfare possible. By October 19, 1940, the Eighth Route Army headquarters issued a counter–"mopping-up" operation plan, and civilian and military authorities in various regions launched counter-"mopping-up" operations accordingly. This is important background: in these campaigns, "mopping-up" was not only an army activity. The Japanese were attempting to break the base system itself—its logistics, its local administration, and the relationship between armed units and civilians who hid, moved, fed, and replaced them. So the counter-operations had to be just as systemic. The Communists needed to keep people alive, keep movement possible, and keep the enemy from consolidating inside a cleared space. In southeastern Shanxi's Taihang and Taiyue regions, the Japanese 1st Army aimed to strike the main force of the 129th Division and destroy anti-Japanese base areas by running a series of mopping operations from October 6 to December 5. The plan had a typical occupation logic: push through strongholds gradually, clear pockets methodically, and rely on local superiority—especially in manpower, logistics, and the ability to reinforce by road. And because the Communist main force had been operating without meaningful rest after the earlier offensives, the Japanese believed they could catch formations while they were still "in between battles." On October 6, in the Taihang region, more than 800 enemy troops from Wu'an in western Hebei began a "mopping-up" operation in the Yangyi area. By October 11, the Japanese posture escalated. Part of the Japanese Independent Mixed 4th Brigade departed from Liaoxian and Wuxiang, while part of the 36th Division departed from Lucheng and Xiangyuan; together they totaled over 3,000 troops. Coordinating from north and south, they carried out operations to "mop up" both banks of the Zhuozhang River between Yulin, Liaoxian, and Wuxiang, encircling and clearing the south side of the Yulin–Liaoxian highway. This emphasis on riverbanks and highway corridors reveals the Japanese method: move along terrain that controls movement, then compress enemy options until the defenders have to fight inside a narrowing space. The counter to that method required more than bravery. The Eighth Route Army's 385th and 386th Brigades, along with the 1st Column of the Decisive Battle, fought on inner lines—where they could move more rapidly between known local positions and threaten the enemy's flanks or supply behavior. Meanwhile the New 10th Brigade fought on outer lines, where it could intercept, delay, and force the enemy to spend time reacting instead of clearing. By the morning of October 15, the New 10th Brigade delivered a concrete example of that interception strategy. Two regiments ambushed an enemy motor-transport convoy at Gongjiagou on the Heliao Highway, destroying more than 40 vehicles and annihilating more than 100 Japanese soldiers escorting the convoy. The meaning of a convoy ambush is strategic even when the numbers are modest: vehicles represent speed, logistics, and reinforcement. If the enemy loses vehicles repeatedly, "mopping" becomes slower, and slower clearing creates openings for the defenders to reorganize, disperse, or shift main effort. After that, on October 17, the enemy forces that had been mopping up the convoy withdrew in different directions. Withdrawal in multiple directions is a sign that the Japanese clearing operation, meant to compress a space, had instead been forced into a reactive mode. It also hints at a recurring pattern in these years: Japanese units could clear what was already weak, but when defenders hit their movement corridors, the occupiers had to spend time and combat power simply to recover mobility. The next major sweep began October 20, 1940, and it was much larger. Nearly 10,000 troops—from the 36th Division and Independent Mixed Brigade No. 4—set off from multiple locations, including Wu'an, Liaoxian, Wuxiang, and Lucheng, to sweep the area east and west of the Qingzhang River, focusing on land between Matian and Zuohui. Crucially, that was not random ground. The Japanese sought to strike the CCP Central Committee Northern Bureau, the Eighth Route Army headquarters, and the 129th Division headquarters, along with party and government organs of the Jin-Ji-Yu Border Region, located together with Shexian and Piancheng. In other words, the Japanese targeted not just armed units but the political-administrative heart that makes base areas function. Once in the attack area, the Japanese carried out "mopping-up" operations paired with burning and killing for several days. That brutality wasn't only cruelty; it served a purpose. Burning villages, destroying crops, and killing civilians could deny the base area food and shelter while making local cooperation more difficult. Then, on October 26, the Japanese began to withdraw and carried out mopping-up in different areas on the way back. The base area was "severely damaged and destroyed," indicating that even when the Japanese didn't annihilate the main Communist force, they could still achieve degradation—hurting the system they needed to keep operating. But the Communists were not simply absorbing damage. On October 29, a force of over 500 men from the 36th Division, plus over 400 supply and laborers, was mopping up Huangyandong and advanced through Zuohui to Guanjia'nao east of Panlong, preparing to return to Wuxiang. This is where counter-mopping becomes operationally dangerous for the occupier. Supply and labor detachments move differently from combat formations, and they represent an enemy's assumption that the base area is being "cleared." The Eighth Route Army headquarters ordered, at 1:00 p.m., for the 129th Division to concentrate its main force to annihilate the enemy. That night, the 129th Division—uniting the main forces of the 385th and 386th Brigades, parts of the New 10th Brigade, and the First Column of the Death Squad—surrounded the enemy at Guanjia'nao with a plan to launch a general offensive at 4:00 a.m. The besieged enemy, besides quickly building fortifications, seized Fengkengding high ground southwest of Guanjia'nao under cover of darkness. The two high points helped defenders support one another and resist stubbornly. The battle lasted until dawn on October 31, when most of the enemy had been annihilated, leaving only more than 60 men to hold positions. Then reinforcements arrived—over 1,500 from Huangyandong—supported by more than 10 aircraft. The 129th Division withdrew, and the remaining enemy fled toward the flood, leaving behind more than 280 corpses. By then, most Japanese troops had withdrawn from the central base area. The background stake is clear: "mopping-up" could damage and burn, but if defenders could convert the Japanese attempt into a trap—especially when enemy units had become separated from their core and committed to clearing—they could turn a destructive operation into a costly one for the occupier. In early November, the Japanese continued. In Licheng south of Taihang, Japanese forces invaded Nanweiquan and Beiweiquan and then Xijing. Elsewhere, Japanese forces in Xiangyuan invaded Panlong via Xiying, attempting to attack Dongtian and the area around Zhuanbi, where the Eighth Route Army headquarters was located. In that moment, the 386th Brigade was ordered to rush to the north–south line of Damocun, east of Panlong, block the invading enemy, and cover the transfer of the Eighth Route Army headquarters. At 9:00 a.m. on November 3, 1940, fierce fighting broke out as the troops finished deploying near Damocun. The Japanese launched continuous attacks and captured some positions. The 386th Brigade held until 4:00 a.m. on November 4, then withdrew after the headquarters successfully moved. The Japanese attempt to launch a pincer attack failed, and they retreated to the Baijin Line on November 5. Even when Japanese action couldn't be fully blocked, the counter's aim was not only tactical survival but prevention of strategic encirclement—protecting the central institutions and preserving the ability to fight again. In the northern Taihang region, more than 2,500 enemy troops from Heshun arrived in Yushe on November 3 via Hanwang Town and Changcheng Town, reinforcing Japanese forces in the Yu, Liao, and Wu areas. Then they carried out repeated mopping operations south of the Yuliao Highway, including Jiangtang, Lingshang, Songjiazhuang, Guojiao, and Dayouyi. Harassment and attacks by military and civilians forced Japanese troops back into their strongholds by the 13th. A "40-day" counter-mopping operation in Taihang came to an end. The term "40-day" isn't only calendar time; it suggests that these were not one-off battles but sustained campaigns of movement, dispersal, and repeated harassment meant to drain the enemy's capacity. Starting November 17, the Japanese launched a multi-pronged attack on Qinyuan and the area north of Guodao Town. The attack involved part of the 37th Division from Qin County and Nanguan Town, part of the Independent Mixed Brigade from Pingyao, Jiexiu, and Huo County, and a battalion of the 41st Division from Hongdong—more than 7,000 troops deployed to attack Qinyuan and the north area. But the Taiyue Military Region response shows how the Communist counter-mopping wasn't always to meet force with force. To avoid the enemy's "sharp edge," the Taiyue Military Region formed two detachments—Qin East and Qin West—with leadership and main force moving to both sides of the Qin River outside the Japanese attack zone, targeting scattered Japanese troops instead of being fixed into a single killing field. By November 23, due to harassment by local armed forces, the Japanese reached the attack zone and then carried out dispersed mopping operations. Qinyuan County was the most severely damaged, with more than 5,000 people killed (about one-tenth of its population), nearly 10,000 livestock killed and over 7,000 stolen, and 30,000 to 40,000 houses destroyed. Those details are brutal, but they explain why background stakes mattered: "mopping-up" was meant to break the social base. If civilians died or fled, the guerrilla system became harder to sustain. The response from the Dayue Military Region seized the opportunity created by Japanese dispersal. On November 23, the 42nd Regiment of the Qinxi Detachment annihilated more than 100 Japanese soldiers in Guantan. On November 27, parts of the 42nd and 59th Regiments killed or wounded more than 160 in Huhanping and Mabei. The Qindong Detachment's 17th and 57th Regiments inflicted serious damage in a series of places—Guang'ao, Chenjiagou, Longfosi, Wuyuanzhen, Nanweicun, Nanli, and more. The 17th Regiment's battle at Longfosi annihilated more than 100 Japanese. Additional heavy losses were inflicted by the 212th Brigade in Jiaokou. By December 5, the Japanese were forced to withdraw from the Taiyue area in separate routes. Strategically, dispersal punished the occupier because scattered units are harder to protect and easier to ambush. Across the Jin-Cha-Ji Border Region, anti-"mopping-up" operations unfolded gradually, beginning with the Pingxi area, the first target of the Japanese on the path toward the Japanese-held headquarters and rail lines. Pingxi mattered because it directly threatened the headquarters of the Japanese North China Area Army and Beiping—the puppet regime's center—and also threatened the Pinghan and Pingsui railways, North China's main transportation lines. So Pingxi became an operational priority: if the occupier couldn't keep the rail network secure, their ability to reinforce and supply their own strongpoints suffered. On October 13, 1940, more than 10,000 Japanese and puppet troops attacked Sanpo, the central area of the Pingxi base area, in 10 routes. This attack used a methodical, steady approach: advance gradually, rely on strongholds, and cover 5 to 10 kilometers each day. In response, the Pingxi Military Sub-district countered using timely maneuvers of its main forces and extensive guerrilla warfare. Over more than a week of fighting, the enemy was constantly harassed and attacked, wearing them down. Although Japanese troops penetrated deep, they failed to identify the main force's movements. By November 21, when the encirclement tightened further, the Pingxi main force jumped out from the Sanpo area and moved southwest. Encountering the enemy at Pengtou, it then moved to the Yegu and Datai line east of Bancheng. After the Japanese entered the Sanpo area, they conducted widespread burning and killing and looted grain. Starting from the 23rd, the Japanese retreated in different routes. By the end of October, the main force had withdrawn from Pingxi, but more than 2,000 troops remained in the Pingxi anti-Japanese base area to build strongholds and roads. Strongholds were added in places like Changping and Wanping—14 strongholds alone—and villages such as Dongzhaitang and Dujiazhuang came under their control. The base area began to shrink and shrink. That shrinkage is the other background stake: even when guerrilla forces avoid annihilation, the occupier may still carve away space through fortification. On October 19, 1940, the Eighth Route Army headquarters instructed that enemy attacks in Pingxi and Taihang might turn around and attack the Beiyue area. The Jin-Cha-Ji Border Region needed to prepare quickly to crush these "mopping-up" operations, coordinating Party, government, military, and civilians and conducting in-depth combat mobilization. The main force should assemble in appropriate positions and prepare to annihilate one or two enemy forces decisively. The headquarters also instructed the 129th and 120th Divisions to cooperate actively. By November 9, 1940, the Japanese struck again in a massive sweep. The 110th Division, along with other units and more than 14,000 puppet troops, launched a "mopping-up" operation in the jurisdiction of the 1st Military Sub-district. The Japanese and puppet troops moved in coordinated lines: along the line of Yi County, Dalonghua, Wang'an Town, Laiyuan, and Chajianling from north to south, while those in Baoding and Mancheng moved east to west. The intent was to squeeze Communist sub-district forces into a narrow area for a decisive battle. On November 10, the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region issued operational guidelines and deployments for countering "mopping-up" operations. By the 12th, in response to Japanese widespread burning and killing, it further instructed that without hindering mobility, the main force could disperse a portion of troops—no more than one-third—to strike resolutely at attempts to burn and kill. That instruction captures the balance commanders tried to strike: disperse too much and you lose power; disperse too little and you become trapped by the occupier's brutality. The Japanese then attempted to pressure multiple places. On November 9, more than 6,000 enemy troops from Laiyuan, Yixian, and Baoding attacked Guantou, Yinfang, Huangtuling, and Shenbei. On the 12th, their attack failed; they burned and killed people before retreating in different routes. At that time, the 1st Military Sub-district assembled the 1st and 25th Regiments to intercept them. One enemy force of more than 800 was intercepted on the 14th as it retreated from Wujiazhuang to Yuangang; some were killed or wounded. Even so, the enemy broke through under aircraft cover and retreated to Guantou. On the way, it was intercepted again by the 20th Regiment, suffering heavy casualties, and it fled back to Mancheng. Then on November 13, more than 2,700 Japanese and puppet troops attacked the 3rd Military Sub-district; on November 14, about 2,600 advanced from Dingxiang, Dongye, and Wutai toward Fuping and its southwest area in two routes. The Japanese attacked with east-west coordination, launching joint attacks on Taiyu north of Fuping. The Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region headquarters and the command organs of the 3rd and 5th military sub-districts, along with the 2nd, 3rd, and 6th regiments and other troops, transferred to the outer line before the enemy encirclement formed. On the 16th, the Japanese launched a joint attack again on Taiyu and Zhangjiayu, and the guerrillas who failed to transfer fought hard. Commander Wang Pu and Deputy Director of the Political Department Hao Yuming were killed, and troops suffered more than 100 casualties. On November 18, the enemy from Taiyu quickly occupied Hanping City. By the 21st, enemy forces from Daying via Shentangbao and Wuwangkou, and from Wutai via Taihuai, Shizui, Longquanguan, and Xiaguan, also gathered in Fuping City. After occupying Fuping, the Japanese launched repeated attacks "sweeping" areas under the jurisdiction of the 3rd Military Sub-district from both inward and outward strongholds, conducting brutal burning and killing and destruction. On the night of November 21, the 2nd Regiment dispatched more than 30 men to raid Dangcheng and attack Japanese barracks with grenades. The Japanese panicked and fired guns and cannons all night. On the 26th, four plainclothes officers infiltrated Baoding and attacked a theater where the Japanese army was holding a meeting, causing panic among the Japanese. The enemy that had invaded the base area withdrew in different routes on the 25th. By December 3, 1940, most Japanese troops had withdrawn from the Beiyue area, but more than 1,000 remained along lines including Fuping, Wangkuai, Dangcheng, and Quyang to continue building points and roads in an attempt to occupy the area long-term. To force the enemy back, eliminate occupied points, and completely crush Japanese and puppet "mopping-up," the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region organized the Fuping–Wangkuai Campaign starting December 9, with the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 6th regiments participating. At 21:00 on December 14, the 6th Regiment attacked enemy forces in Dongzhuang. The 1st Battalion captured three fortified positions on the north mountain of Dongzhuang and rushed into the village, only for Japanese counterattacks to recapture fortified positions and kill or wound more than 170 Japanese during the counterfight. The 4th Regiment attacked the enemy in Fuping; the 2nd Regiment and guerrilla forces entered Dangcheng and Lingshan. On the 21st, more than 130 enemy soldiers escorting more than 100 pack animals carrying military supplies reached Wangkuai and were completely annihilated when they reached Wanglinkou. By December 26, an ambush in the Xuancun area of the Pinghan Railway destroyed 14 Japanese trains and their vehicles as well as three heavy artillery pieces. On the 27th, more than 1,200 enemy troops advancing from Dongzhuang in Fuping were attacked in Luoyu and Tumen, suffering more than 140 casualties. The remaining Japanese withdrew from Fuping, Dongzhuang, and Wangkuai starting New Year's Day 1941. By January 4, the 55-day anti-"mopping-up" campaign had basically ended, with the Jin-Cha-Ji Military Region killing and wounding more than 2,000 Japanese and puppet troops while suffering 1,382 casualties itself. These numbers and dates show why background and stakes matter: the counter-mopping effort wasn't short. It was sustained, operationally demanding, and required continued offensive action even while facing superior Japanese resources. The pressure didn't end there. From October 25 to early November, about 4,000 Japanese troops, including the 16th Independent Mixed Brigade, launched a mopping operation in the Miyu and Loufan areas of the 8th and 3rd military sub-districts in northwestern Shanxi, but they were attacked by local soldiers and civilians. In mid-December, Japanese forces transferred additional strength: parts of the 37th Division from southern Shanxi and the 41st Division from southeastern Shanxi, along with parts of the 3rd, 9th, and 16th Independent Mixed Brigades and the 26th Division from northwestern Shanxi—totaling more than 20,000 troops—to prepare for a full-scale mopping operation in northwestern Shanxi. After the second phase of the Hundred Regiments Offensive ended, the 120th Division anticipated retaliation and actively prepared for counter-mopping. On October 30, the division was ordered to establish the Jin-Northwest Military Region, and on November 7, the military region was established in Lijiawan, Xing County. The Jin-Northwest Military Region had direct military sub-districts and six military sub-districts: the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 8th, and Yanbei. Then the occupier escalated. Starting December 14, 1940, the Japanese launched a full-scale mopping operation against the Jin-Northwest region. More than 5,000 enemy troops invaded the Mi-Yu Town area of the 8th Military Sub-district, more than 4,000 invaded Lin-Xian, and more than 6,000 attacked Xing-Xian and the area south of Bao-De from strongholds such as Lan-Xian and Qi-Lan. By December 23, Japanese forces had occupied all county towns, most market towns, and Yellow River crossings in the Jin-Northwest region except for Bao-De and He-Qu counties, and began to implement a systematic policy commonly described as the "Three Alls" policy. The "Three Alls" emphasis is the clearest expression of stakes turning lethal. Japanese troops and traitors disguised themselves as the Eighth Route Army to lure and kill masses. They sent out core detachments to attack and repeatedly sweep the area, seeking to annihilate party, government, and military leadership organs—focusing on destroying the rear organs and facilities that made Communist endurance possible. According to incomplete statistics, more than 5,000 people were brutally killed during these sweeps. In Xingxian County alone, 150,000 catties of grain were looted and burned; in the 4th Military Sub-district, more than 5,000 head of livestock were looted and killed; and more than 19,000 houses and cave dwellings were burned down. In the early stage of this anti-mopping campaign, the Jin-Sui Military Region mainly used a portion of its forces to cooperate with local troops and guerrillas in widespread guerrilla warfare. They harassed and contained the attacking enemy, disrupted enemy transportation, and covered the transfer of the masses. The main force avoided the enemy's sharp edge and moved to the outer line to seek opportunities to attack the Japanese army. This describes the classic guerrilla operational pattern: avoid being fixed into a single decisive trap, but create enough friction that enemy operations degrade into a struggle they can't sustain. repeated attacks and ambushes during the mopping period across Miyu Town and other areas—units striking repeatedly, destroying roads, cutting off enemy transportation, and attacking enemy strongholds north of Dawu. To thwart the Japanese army's plans to build roads and fortifications—plans that would make future sweeps easier—the Jin-Sui Military Region instructed, on December 27, all sub-districts to mobilize forces to disrupt Japanese road construction and fortification. The 358th Brigade attacked enemy road construction from Lanxian to Dashetou and from Puming to Chijianling; the Independent 1st Brigade sabotaged the Dawu–Linxian highway; and the 4th Column of the Death Squad sabotaged the Dawu–Fangshan highway. Part of the Independent 1st Brigade's 2nd Regiment organized over 2,000 civilians to sabotage the Dawu–Sanjiao highway twice, forcing the enemy in Linxian to detour through Fangshan to contact Lishi. The Lishi guerrillas led civilians in two sabotage attacks on the Lishi–Jundu highway, destroying over 30 "li" of road. Other units attacked strongholds along key highways and destroyed or disrupted the "maintenance committees" that surrounded newly built enemy strongholds. There were also direct raids—storming into Linxian County and capturing representatives of enemy maintenance organizations. Meanwhile, the Workers' and Patriots' Brigade carried out continuous sabotage on the Taifen Highway. As the enemy plans ran into persistent disruption, Japanese and puppet forces began to retreat in different routes starting January 2, 1941, and by January 24 they returned to their original strongholds. The Jin-Sui winter counter-mopping operation lasted 40 days, annihilated more than 2,500 enemy troops, destroyed 125 kilometers of roads and 23 bridges, and recovered all towns occupied by the enemy during the campaign. Here the stakes show through most clearly: the campaign was not merely about killing enemy troops. It was about preventing the occupier from building a durable, road-connected grid that would allow future sweeps to be faster, larger, and more decisive. At the wider campaign level, the Eighth Route Army also recorded its total effects from August 20 to December 5, covering roughly three and a half months. During that period, the Eighth Route Army fought 1,824 battles of varying sizes, killing or wounding 20,645 Japanese soldiers (including senior officers), killing or wounding 5,155 puppet troops, and capturing 281 Japanese soldiers and 18,407 puppet troops. 47 Japanese soldiers surrendered voluntarily, and 1,845 puppet troops defected, totaling 46,380 people. The Communists captured 5,942 guns and 53 artillery pieces, and destroyed extensive transportation infrastructure: 474 kilometers of railway, 1,502 kilometers of highway, 213 bridges, 37 railway stations, 11 tunnels, more than 217,000 rails, more than 1,549,000 sleepers, more than 109,000 telephone poles, and more than 424,000 kilograms of telephone wire. Five coal mines and 11 warehouses were destroyed. The narrative further adds that when including casualties of Japanese and puppet forces across related engagements—such as Fuwang and the anti–mopping operations in northwest Shanxi—the total number of casualties reached more than 50,880. Japanese statistics were also cited for damage assessment, noting destruction of track and bridges across key railways (Zhengtai, Tongpu, Pinghan), telegraph pole damage, power line cuts, and effects on coal production—such as the Jingxing New Mine being unable to produce coal for at least six months. These details underline a broader background stake: infrastructure damage was meant to weaken the occupier's ability to keep its occupation apparatus working, even after the direct battles ended. The price of that multi-month struggle was high for the Eighth Route Army as well. Over the three and a half months leading up to the Hundred Regiments Offensive, the Eighth Route Army suffered 17,000 casualties, and more than 20,000 were poisoned. During the Hundred Regiments Offensive itself, post-war statistics state that the 129th Division suffered 7,362 casualties and 450 missing persons, and the entire division suffered 7,812 casualties. When you connect these lines—offensive sabotage, counter-offensives, Japanese mopping-ups, and anti-mopping resistance—you see why this second wave of fighting mattered. It wasn't only about whether the Japanese could respond to the offensive. It was about whether both sides could sustain their operational logic: the Japanese trying to stabilize occupation through "mopping," and the Communists trying to preserve base systems through dispersal, harassment, and counter-moves that convert the occupier's clearing effort into something too costly to maintain. The background of the Hundred Regiments offensive, who authorized it, who planned it, and why, remains unclear. The Japanese response was so severe that, in retrospect, it appeared to some as if the offensive had been a mistake. Some leaders, especially Mao, may have wanted to disavow it. Indirect hints in Mao's writings in subsequent months and years suggest he may have viewed it critically or harbored misgivings from the start. It was not the kind of strategy Mao preferred. More than twenty years later, during the Cultural Revolution, Red Guards charged that Mao had not even known of the plan in advance because of Peng Dehuai's alleged duplicity, at the time, Peng was being denounced. While this seems unlikely, it may contain some substance. In his own defense against these charges, Peng stated that after the 8RA headquarters—located not in Yan'an but in Jin-Cha-Ji—planned the operation, it sent mobilization orders downward to each regional command and also notified the Central Military Affairs Commission headed by Mao. In the original plan, the action would begin in early September. But, Peng wrote, to prevent enemy discovery and to ensure simultaneous surprise assaults—thereby inflicting an even greater blow to the enemy and the puppets—they began about ten days earlier than scheduled, during the last week of August. "So we did not wait for approval from the Military Affairs Commission (this was wrong), but went right into combat earlier than planned." There is also the issue of the "spontaneous" participation of more than eighty regiments without authorization from the Eighth Route Army headquarters, and not from Yan'an as well. If Peng Dehuai's account is accepted (written in 1970, shortly before his death), then Mao and Party Central had no role in conceiving or planning the Hundred Regiments campaign. In that case, the "grand strategy" motivations for undertaking it largely vanish—except perhaps insofar as they were considered by Peng and his colleagues. One alleged motive was to counter any tendency toward capitulation by Chiang Kai-shek and the Chongqing regime: if the war heated up and the CCP threw itself into fighting, any accommodation between Chiang and Japan would look like cowardly surrender. A related consideration was the Communist leadership's sensitivity to the charge that they were simply exploiting the war to expand their influence—avoiding Japanese combat while letting KMT armies bear the real burden of fighting. The Nationalists gave major publicity to the accusation that CCP policy devoted 70 percent of effort to expansion, 20 percent to coping with the KMT, and only 10 percent to opposing Japan. A third suggested motive was to divert attention from the New Fourth Army's offensives against Nationalist forces in Central China, which were peaking around the same time. Peng Dehuai acknowledged the campaign was "too protracted," yet he defended its importance in maintaining the CCP's anti-Japanese image in the wake of anti-friction conflicts, in demonstrating the failure of the cage-and-silkworm policy, in returning at least twenty-six county seats to base control, and in keeping "wavering" elements in line. Even if these reasons mattered less than regional and tactical calculations in launching the campaign, they could always be used for propaganda afterward. Whatever misgivings Mao and Party Central may have had, the Party kept them to itself. Mao radioed congratulations to Peng after his victory, and in public statements the Hundred Regiments were turned into legend. Even if the Hundred Regiments campaign aimed to defeat Japanese pacification efforts, it did not succeed in a decisive way. Shocked and stung by the 8RA's action, the North China Area Army intensified its efforts to bring North China under tighter control. Under General Tada and then his successor, General Okamura Yasuji (July 1941–November 1944), the Japanese inflicted brutal, sustained violence against all North China bases. Between 1941 and 1944, about 150,000 Japanese troops were assigned full-time to pacification duty, supported by roughly 100,000 Chinese auxiliaries of widely varying description and effectiveness. The remainder of the NCAA (about 150,000–200,000 men) was assigned to other tasks such as garrisoning major cities and containing Nationalist forces. Communist regulars were estimated at around 250,000 within base areas and 40,000 in SKN. The Japanese and their Chinese auxiliaries invested even more heavily than before in constructing moats, ditches, palisades, and blockhouses. Japanese sources claimed that by 1942 their forces had built 11,860 kilometers of blockade line and 7,700 fortified posts, mostly in the Hebei plains and the foothills of the Taihang mountains. A massive trench ran for 500 kilometers along the western side of the Pinghan railway line, with a depopulated and constantly patrolled zone on either side. The 250 Japanese outposts established in southern Hebei by December 1940 were more than quadrupled by mid-1942. These became the key means of controlling plains areas; by the end of 1941, all Communist bases in such terrain had been reduced to guerrilla status. Many main force units—such as those under Liu Cheng'ao and Yang Xiufeng—were compelled to move westward into mountains to survive. What distinguished the new Tada–Okamura approach from earlier tactics was the much larger and more protracted search-and-destroy thrust into the core mountain-base areas. They also replaced selective repression with indiscriminate, generalized violence. These infamous "Three-All" mop-up campaigns meant: kill all, burn all, loot all. Unable to distinguish ordinary peasants from Communists, the Japanese waged war on everyone. After attempting to seal off major consolidated regions in the base areas, they sent in very large detachments to search for Communist forces, civilian cadres, and activists. They also tried to destroy base facilities and war material stockpiles; to disrupt agriculture by burning crops or interfering with planting and harvesting; and to seize grain stores. Entire villages were razed, and everything alive found there was killed. Unlike earlier mop-ups that swept through an area and then departed, these campaigns left troops in the targeted zones for extended periods, "combing" the area back and forth and building at least temporary strongpoints in more accessible parts of mountain bases. These mop-up operations took a heavy and painful toll on rural populations. No doubt the harsh tactics and atrocities frequently committed during these actions did cause many peasants, rich and poor alike, to harbor deep hatred of the Japanese and to commit more fully to the Communist side. But intra-party sources also portray cases in which repression worked even more effectively than earlier attempts to drive a wedge between party and peasantry. As one internal assessment put it: If we only stress concealment… we are bound to be divorced from the masses. The morale of the masses cannot be sustained for long either. On the other hand, if we only seek fleeting gratification in careless fighting, we may also invite still more cruel enemy suppression. That will also alienate the masses. Communist spokesmen acknowledged that, in North China base areas, the population under Party control fell from 44 million to 25 million, while the Eighth Route Army declined from 400,000 to 300,000. Local records present an even grimmer picture. By 1942, 90 percent of the plains bases had been reduced to guerrilla zones or outright enemy control. In the mountainous Taiyue district within the Jin-Cha-Lu-Yi base, one cadre admitted that "not a single county was kept intact and the government offices of all its twelve counties were exiled in Jin-yuan." All twenty-six county seats occupied following the Hundred Regiments fighting were lost. I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. Japan tried to regain control through retaliatory "mopping-up" operations starting in October 1940. In response, the Eighth Route Army and its commanders issued counter-measures: coordinate party, government, military, and civilians; keep mobility while dispersing forces when possible; and focus on annihilating incoming enemy units decisively. Counter-sweeps and anti-pacification actions continued through December, involving repeated ambushes and sabotage of roads, highways, and fortification efforts. 

This week on Sinica, I speak with Andrew Seth Meyer, professor of history at CUNY Brooklyn College and the author of a remarkable new book from Oxford University Press, To Rule All Under Heaven: A History of Classical China from Confucius to the First Emperor. Sixteen years in the making, it's the first proper one-volume narrative history of the Warring States in English aimed at a general reader — a gap in the field that Andy has now decisively filled. We talk about why this period — the roughly 260 years between Confucius's death and Qin's unification in 221 BCE — really is the deepest layer of Chinese political history that still genuinely matters, and we try together to find the line between responsible historical reasoning about modern China and the kind of lazy essentialism that reaches for Han Feizi every time Xi Jinping makes a speech. Along the way we get into the displacement of the hereditary aristocracy by the shi, the Lüshi Chunqiu as a piece of political genius, why the standard caricature of “Legalist” Qin is wrong, and what it means that the Chinese state is still, in some real sense, running on operating software written in the 4th century BCE.8:14 – The 16-year gestation, why no general-reader Warring States book existed in English, and what made Andy think he could be the one to write it11:06 – The romanization headaches: Wei vs. Wey, King Zhao of Qin vs. King Zhao of Yan, and the special agonies of writing about early China for an English audience14:31 – Why he organized the book by state rather than strictly chronologically — and what that structure lets him do18:14 – The relevance question: how to take the deep continuity of Chinese political life seriously without falling into the orientalist “eternal China” trap25:52 – Why the Warring States is properly called a revolution: the destruction of Zhou-era hereditary aristocracy and the rise of the shi33:15 – Fukuyama's claim that Qin built the world's first genuinely modern state — is “modern” the right word?36:30 – Qin's 38 commanderies, why the radical version lasted only 15 years, and the Han retreat: aristocracy or regional autonomy?39:46 – Reading the Hundred Schools as embedded political actors rather than tidy textbook categories — and the Jixia Academy as ancient Brookings44:06 – The Lüshi Chunqiu as a brilliant piece of political propaganda, and what its tripartite cosmological structure was actually arguing52:31 – Why the cartoon-legalist version of the Qin is wrong: the 70 erudites, the Taishan stelae, and what the book-burning episode really was57:05 – The axial age question: pattern-matching or something real?1:00:40 – What the Warring States actually has to teach us about China in 2026: zhong guo as aspiration, not description1:05:08 – How the Warring States is taught in China and Taiwan today, and what archaeology is doing to the field1:08:36 – Constant self-reinvention as the real Chinese legacy, and why no plausible future China fully repudiates the CCPPaying it forward:Avital Rom (postdoc at Cambridge, early Chinese cultural history, editor of a forthcoming volume on disability and impairment in early China)Liang Cai (Notre Dame, new book on Han-era jurisprudence and legal traditions)Recommendations:Andy: Hadestown on Broadway — and Anaïs Mitchell's original concept albumKaiser: To Say Nothing of the Dog: or, How We Found the Bishop's Bird Stump at Last by Connie Willis (audiobook especially recommended)See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Interview with Xin Yan is the Co-Founder and CEO of Sign, a sovereign-grade digital infrastructure for national systems of money, identity, and capital. By Selva Ozelli Esq., CPA, Author of "Sustainably Investing in Digital Assets Globally" Xin Yan is the Co-Founder and CEO of Sign, a sovereign-grade digital infrastructure for national systems of money, identity, and capital. Under his leadership, Sign has raised a total of $55 million. Other major backers include YZi Labs, IDG Capital, Sequoia and Circle. Trends to watch with Xin Yan An electrical engineer by profession, before co founding Sign in 2021, Xin served as an investor at Huobi Group. What started as an e-signature tool (EthSign) Sign has expanded into Sign Protocol, an omni-chain attestation protocol, and TokenTable, a platform for managing and distributing tokenized assets that bridge the gap between traditional legal agreements and blockchain technology. Yan advocates digital identity and sovereign technology, arguing that the next stage of blockchain adoption will be driven by real-world utility and revenue rather than just speculation. He often refers to the community and movement surrounding the protocol as the "Orange Dynasty". Xin's work currently centers on digital sovereignty, onchain verification, and building infrastructure for nation-states, including digital IDs and Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs). Yan is actively working with governments (e.g., in the UAE and Sierra Leone) to implement blockchain-enabled national infrastructure. Tell us about your educational and professional journey leading up to co-founding Sign. I was an electronic engineer by training, secured over 10 patents at school before dive-dropping into crypto by building my own mining rigs. That hands-on experience led me to a leading VC, where I spent three years as an investment manager and engineer backing cornerstone projects like Polkadot and Avalanche. In 2021, I combined that technical grit with my VC insights to co-found Sign. Tell us about Sign Sign builds secure infrastructure for digital money, identity, and capital. Sign has five years of production deployments and has reached a valuation of $1.3billion. Its systems support governments and regulated institutions in delivering secure, large-scale digital transformation, reaching more than 50 million people in production. Sign works with countries like UAE, Thailand, Kyrgyzstan, Singapore, Barbados and Sierra Leone. Most recently, Sign partnered with the Blockchain Center Abu Dhabi and has raised over $55M across three funding rounds. Your work at Sign currently centers on digital sovereignty, on-chain verification, and building infrastructure for nation-states, including digital IDs and Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs). Which countries are you actively working with? Thailand, Kyrgyzstan, Singapore, Barbados and Sierra Leone The United Arab Emirates (UAE) is a leading global cryptocurrency hub, currently ranked third globally in crypto adoption behind only Singapore and Hong Kong. Its status is defined by a "pro-innovation" regulatory environment, zero personal income tax on crypto gains, and the presence of over 1,800 crypto companies as of early 2026. The UAE's central bank digital currency (CBDC) project, known as the Digital Dirham, has transitioned from an experimental pilot to a formal legal reality as of early 2026 with the Digital Dirham officially recognized as legal tender under Federal Decree-Law No. 6 of 2025. Managed by the Central Bank of the UAE (CBUAE), this initiative is a core pillar of the nation's multi-year Financial Infrastructure Transformation (FIT) program. How is Sign involved with UAE's CBCD project? Sign and ADBC recently partnered to accelerate sovereign blockchain infrastructure in Abu Dhabi. In 2026, the tokenization of the world financial market is rapidly advancing through stablecoins and Central Bank Digital Currencies (CBDCs), which function as programmable, on-chain cash for ...

Marriage: Mass weddings held across regions to promote simple ceremonies多地举办集体婚礼倡导婚事简办Couples across China are rushing to tie the knot on Wednesday and Thursday — May 20 and May 21 — two dates that sound like "I love you" when said aloud in Mandarin, with marriage registration slots fully booked weeks in advance in several major cities.全国多地情侣争相在5月20日和5月21日登记结婚——这两个日期的中文谐音均为“我爱你”。多个大城市的婚姻登记预约名额早在数周前就已约满。In Chinese, "520" is pronounced similarly to the Mandarin equivalent of "I love you", making May 20 a sought-after day for registering marriages. The following day, May 21 — or "521" — carries a similar meaning, offering a popular and much-needed alternative.在中文里，“520”的发音与“我爱你”相近，因此5月20日成为情侣登记结婚的热门日子。紧随其后的5月21日（“521”）同样寓意美好，为那些错过首日的新人提供了一个同样受欢迎且急需的备选。All slots in the 15 marriage registration offices in Guangzhou, Guangdong province, were fully booked for May 20 by the first week of this month, as they were in Shen­zhen. In Nanjing, Jiangsu province, more than 1,400 couples had reserved May 20 as their chosen date by late April, with scenic registration sites such as the Confucius Temple already at capacity. Some locations were fully booked for May 21 as well.截至5月第一周，广东省广州市15个婚姻登记处5月20日的预约名额已全部约满，深圳的情况同样如此。在江苏省南京市，截至4月底已有超过1400对新人预约了5月20日登记，夫子庙等风景优美的登记点早已满额。部分登记点5月21日的名额也已约满。Wuxi, another city in Jiangsu, has no online slots left for May 20, though local authorities said that couples could still register as walk-ins.江苏省无锡市的5月20日线上预约名额也已告罄。不过当地民政部门表示，新人仍可现场直接办理登记。For one Beijing-based couple, securing a May 20 slot required a midnight digital scramble. Guo Xiangyu, 30, a doctoral student from Xi'an in Shaanxi province, and Yan Xin, 34, an internet worker from Baoji, also in Shaanxi, booked their appointment two weeks in advance. The couple and both sets of parents logged into the system at midnight across PCs and mobile devices, and Yan managed to secure a slot. "We expected it to be crowded, so we feel very lucky," she said.对北京的一对新人而言，抢到5月20日的登记名额需要一场午夜“数字鏖战”。30岁的郭翔宇（音译）是陕西西安人，目前是一名博士生；34岁的闫昕（音译）来自陕西宝鸡，从事互联网工作。两人提前两周就预约了登记。当天午夜，他们和双方父母分头用电脑和手机登录系统，最终闫昕成功抢到了名额。“我们早知道会很火爆，所以感觉特别幸运，”闫昕说。In preparation, the couple had completed free premarital medical checks at a Beijing hospital, taken registration photos at a commercial studio and hired a photographer to document their special day near the civil affairs bureau.为迎接这一天，两人事先在北京一家医院完成了免费婚检，在商业摄影机构拍好了登记照，还专门聘请了一位摄影师，计划在民政局附近记录下这个特殊的日子。The pair met via social media, bonding over photography and skiing, and dated for two-and-a-half years before deciding to marry. They chose May 20 partly because its homophone "520" is a declaration of love in Chinese and is often seen as a Valentine's Day equivalent. "We want to celebrate our anniversary and 520 together," Yan said.两人通过社交媒体相识，因摄影和滑雪结缘，恋爱两年半后决定携手步入婚姻。他们选择5月20日登记，部分原因在于“520”谐音“我爱你”，被视为中国的情人节。“我们想把结婚纪念日和520一起庆祝，”闫昕说。Both originally from Shaanxi but living in Beijing for work and study, the couple benefited from a revised marriage regulation introduced in May 2025. The rule ended a decades-old restriction that required people to register their marriage in a place where either spouse's household registration was recorded. Now, couples can marry anywhere in the country without presenting their household registration booklet. "It saved us time and travel costs, and made us feel more connected to Beijing," Guo said.两人籍贯均为陕西，但因工作和学习长期生活在北京。2025年5月出台的婚姻登记新规让他们受益良多。这项政策打破了延续数十年的限制——过去，新人必须在其中一方的户籍所在地才能办理结婚登记。如今，情侣可以在全国任意城市登记结婚，且无需出示户口本。“新规为我们节省了时间和路费，也让我们对北京更有归属感，”郭翔宇说。Thursday or May 21 is the choice of many this year as it coincides with xiao man, or Grain Buds, a traditional Chinese solar term. Song Jian, an engineer from Sichuan province, chose this date over May 20. "The solar term carries a beautiful saying — a modest half-full state is better than perfection," he said. "That fits our relationship well. You don't have to pursue perfection in life; being content with what you have is enough."今年，5月21日也成为许多新人的首选，因为这一天恰逢中国传统二十四节气中的“小满”。来自四川的工程师宋健（音译）便放弃了5月20日，选择了这一天。“小满这个节气有一句美好的说法——‘人生小满胜万全'，”他说，“这正好契合我们的感情。人生不必事事追求完美，知足常乐就够了。”Multiple provincial-level regions have also organized mass wedding ceremonies on and around the two dates to promote simple ceremonies.多个省份还在5月20日及前后组织了集体婚礼，倡导婚事简办的新风尚。In Hainan province, collective weddings will be held on Wednesday at coastal venues, including Coconut Dream Corridor in Sanya and the Wenchang Spacecraft Launch Site. Zhejiang province hosted a ceremony on Saturday featuring 520 couples, with a main venue in Hangzhou linked to dozens of sub-venues across the province. Guangdong organized military-civilian collective weddings in Guangzhou on Monday, Zhaoqing on Sunday, Foshan on Friday and Zhongshan on Saturday, involving more than 1,000 couples.海南省于5月20日在三亚椰梦长廊、文昌航天发射场等海滨场地举办了集体婚礼。浙江省于上周末举行了一场集体婚礼，共有520对新人参与，主会场设在杭州，与省内数十个分会场联动。广东省则分别在广州、肇庆、佛山、中山举办了军地共建集体婚礼，参与新人超过1000对。"This collective wedding is a celebration that's both sweet and green, without the complicated preparations," one groom, Zhong Zhiyuan, who was part of the Guangzhou weddings, was quoted by the local media as saying.据当地媒体报道，参与广州集体婚礼的一位新郎钟志远（音译）说：“这场集体婚礼既甜蜜又‘环保'，省去了繁杂的筹备。”But not everyone is keen on getting married on popular dates. Yang Xinran, a marketing professional from the Chinese mainland who now works in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, registered her marriage in Beijing last September and deliberately avoided peak days. "As working people, we have to prioritize our schedules," she said.不过，并非所有人都热衷在热门日子结婚。来自内地、现于香港特别行政区从事市场营销工作的杨欣然，去年9月在北京登记结婚时就特意避开了高峰期。“我们都是有工作的人，得优先考虑自己的时间安排，”她说。Yang and her husband picked several possible dates based on their work calendars, then let their parents make the final call. "Even booking a restaurant for an anniversary is hard enough on popular dates — no need to add to the trouble," she said.杨欣然（音译）和丈夫根据各自的工作日程，先圈定几个可能的日期，最后让父母拍板决定。“热门日子光是预约餐厅庆祝纪念日就已经够难了，没必要再给自己添麻烦，”她说。In the past year, authorities processed more than 682,000 interprovincial marriages, official data showed. China saw a significant surge in marriage registrations in 2025, with 6.763 million couples registering, a 10.76 percent year-on-year increase.官方数据显示，过去一年，全国共办理跨省婚姻登记超过68.2万对。2025年，全国结婚登记数量显著回升，共有676.3万对新人登记结婚，同比增长10.76%。slot /slɒt/名额，时段sought-after /ˈsɔːt ɑːftə/热门的，抢手premarital medical checks /priːˈmærɪtəl ˈmedɪkəl tʃeks/婚前医学检查，婚检civil affairs bureau /ˈsɪvəl əˈfeəz ˈbjʊərəʊ/民政局keen on /kiːn ɒn/热衷，喜爱prioritize /praɪˈɒrɪtaɪz/优先考虑

Neste vídeo, analisamos um dos maiores medos de Xi Jinping: que o Partido Comunista Chinês apodreça por dentro.A campanha anticorrupção de Xi não é apenas uma tentativa de limpar abusos dentro do Estado chinês. Ela também é uma ferramenta de controle político, disciplina ideológica e reorganização das lealdades dentro do Partido e do Exército de Libertação Popular.Depois de consolidar seu poder, Xi passou a falar cada vez mais em “auto-revolução” do partido, evocando o espírito de Yan'an, a antiga base revolucionária de Mao Zedong. Mas por trás dessa linguagem histórica existe uma preocupação muito concreta: evitar que a China repita o destino da União Soviética.Neste episódio, explicamos como as purgas, investigações e punições dentro do Partido Comunista Chinês revelam a obsessão de Xi com corrupção, deslealdade, facções internas e colapso político.Porque, para Xi, a maior ameaça à China talvez não venha dos Estados Unidos, de Taiwan ou de uma guerra externa. Talvez venha de dentro do próprio partido.

The key words to the success of the Chinese communist revolution are luck and violence — at least, that's according to Prof. Frank Dikötter.Continuing from our last episode on Prof. Frank Dikötter's new book, Red Dawn Over China, we trace the origin story of the Chinese Communist Party, and revisit how the CCP went from an obscure, unpopular, intellectual-led political force to take over the whole of mainland China.Prof. Dikötter is the Milias Senior Fellow at the Hoover Institution and chair professor of humanities at the University of Hong Kong. He is the most widely read living historian of modern China, with books translated into more than twenty languages. He is the author of The People's Trilogy, which includes Mao's Great Famine (2010), The Tragedy of Liberation (2013), and The Cultural Revolution (2016).We left off our story in 1929 last time, when the Soviet Union launched an oft-forgotten invasion into Manchuria and set the tone of Sino-Soviet relations. In this episode — which has been edited for clarity and brevity — we continue the story from 1929 to 1949, and trace the rise of the CCP through the Long March, the Yan'an period through the Sino-Japanese War, and how CCP emerged victorious in the civil war.The key words we explore are luck and violence. In other words, not your official nationalist communist history from the third “Resolution of the CPC Central Committee on the Major Achievements and Historical Experience of the Party over the Past Century” (emphasis added), but a history of how an incredible willingness to use force against fellow party cadres and civilians combined with extraordinary international luck. Japan, the Soviet Union, and the U.S. propelled the CCP to its self-proclaimed glorious founding of the People's Republic.Enjoy.LeoFor quick navigation to the specific sections:* The Japanese threat kept the Communists alive* Stalin, the great architect of Mao's Chinese communist revolution* How Edgar Snow put Mao on the map* The gift of Manchuria* No Stalin, no MaoBallerina - Yehezkel Raz, Artlist Original MusicPeking Hotel is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Recommended reads* Frank Dikötter, 2026, Red Dawn Over China, Bloomsbury Publishing* Frank Dikötter, 2010, Mao's Great Famine, Bloomsbury Publishing* Frank Dikötter, 2013, The Tragedy of Liberation, Bloomsbury Publishing* Frank Dikötter, 2016, The Cultural Revolution, Bloomsbury Publishing* Paul Hollander, 1981, Political Pilgrims, Oxford University Press* Edgar Snow, 1937, Red Star Over China, Random HouseAbout usThe Peking Hotel podcast and newsletter are digital publications in which Liu He interviews China specialists about their first-hand experiences and observations from decades past. The project grew out of Liu's research at Hoover Institution collecting oral history of China experts living in the U.S. Their stories are a reminder of what China used to be and what it is capable of becoming.We also have a Chinese-language Substack. We hope to publish more conversations like this one, so stay tuned!Shoutout!We would like to say thank-you to our supporters, especially to the following people who referred us to great many friends, colleagues and acquaintances:* China Books Review* Initium* Bill Bishop & Sinocism* Jordan Schneider & ChinaTalk* PC & What's Happening in China* 《人文中国》Humanities China* The Goldkorn Newsletter* 擦星星事务所* 不如读书* Matt Turpin & China Articles* Career China Newsletter* The China Week* The China-MENA NewsletterKudos to you, our network now has more awesome people like yourselves. Please keep spreading the word for us :) I appreciate it.Thanks for reading Peking Hotel! This post is public so feel free to share it. Get full access to Peking Hotel at pekinghotel.substack.com/subscribe

Sotomayor - Me dejo llevarSessa - DodóiSoothsayers - Love Is Still The Answer (Prince Fatty Afro-Soul Mix)Zo! & Tall Black Guy - Catastrophe (feat. BeMyFiasco)Eric Hilton - Lalitā (feat. Natalia Clavier)Gerardo Frisina & Luzia Dvorek - A Lenda Do AbaetéJill Scott - Beautiful PeopleHoney Dijon - The Nightlife (feat. Chlöe) (City Life Remix)Mecca X Soul Brotha no1 - The  Brotha Rapp inst feat  A Brother Like FredMitchum Yacoub - ZaireChico Mann & Captain Planet - New BellSeven Davis Jr - ChampagneSabrina Malheiros - Capoeira VaiThe Far Out Monster Disco Orchestra- Disco Supreme (ft. Arthur Verocai) (Al Kent Remix)Alex Puddu - Notte In Riviera Daz-I-Kue & Mausiki Scales - Phenomenal Woman (ft Giohnah El & Rasheeda Ali)Fred P - Weridos Need Love ToOliver Night - The Light feat. KAYA FYAH (Quiet Dawn Remix)MATTHEW LAW - MACHIKOMAMasters At Work - Our DarknessClose Counters - MY BABY Maison Blanche - Dance ForeverLiberation Of Man - Lovely DayFaith, Hope & Charity - To Each His Own (That's My Philosophy)Tom Funk - For Love (feat.Omar) Alexander IV - Long Way from Home feat. Pete JosefSola Rosa - Losing Time feat. MurokiAsh Walker - Heads Up Simon Mavin - Persimmon BluesWeb Web - AtaraxiaModha - River feat. Àbáse & Fanni ZahárBirocratic - PrincipledGENA (Liv.e & Karriem Riggins) - readymadeMoonchild - Not Sorry ft. Rapsody & Jill Scott (Radio Edit)Masego, Full Crate - Tadow (Full Crate Remix)Soul Supreme - Follow Me ft. Marlon PennLance Ferguson - Caveman BoogieHarry Wolfman - Y'Suls Ball (Original Mix)Lay-Far Dance Orchestra - Take Flight (Part 1)Sosyete '25 - Yan

When Tom Willis first encountered the Icarus myth, it felt like a warning to him: don't fly too close to the sun. But then he thought - what if instead, it's a call to leap into the unknown? That's the heart of his new ballet, Icarus in Heat, where the fraught relationship between a father and son is explored, and how those big leaps can be necessary for growth.Podcast host Kate Savage explores these themes with both Tom and Yan Martinez, the choreographer, as well as the creative process behind this contemporary ballet, its personal significance, and the innovative storytelling techniques used to reimagine the myth of Icarus. Yan and Tom talk about blending music, visual arts, and dance to convey complex themes of risk, father-son relationships, and societal influences.Icarus In Heat is a bold, all-male contemporary ballet the reimagines the myth of Icarus in the charged space between father and son.  Where desire is inherited, escape is a construction and fire is not just a warning, but an inevitability.It will premier May 15-17 at Transylvania University in Haggin Auditorium. TICKETS:  www.transy.edu/calendar/event/icarus-in-heat-a-contemporary-balletFor more and to connect with us, visit https://www.artsconnectlex.org/art-throb-podcast.html

Last time we spoke about the battle Yaoyi. Japan pushed hard into Hubei with a plan: surround the main Chinese forces and seize Yichang, hoping to use it to strike at Chongqing. At first, the fighting was chaotic and punishing. The Chinese side tried to hold the line and disrupt the advance, and they even managed setbacks for the Japanese, pushing back, retaking key ground, and hitting supply and positioning weaknesses. But victory came with a cost: commanders were lost, and every gain was hard-won. Still, the battle didn't unfold as a clean Chinese retreat or a simple Japanese win. As Japanese units shifted and tested for openings, the Chinese forces adjusted—delaying, regrouping, and fighting to keep their formations from being completely trapped. Eventually, Japan managed to break through at critical moments, especially through crossings and maneuvers that the Chinese had not fully sealed off. In the end, Japan succeeded in taking Yichang, but it didn't achieve the decisive annihilation it wanted.    #201 The New Fourth Army Incident and the Strained United Front Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. After the catastrophe of the early 1930s, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) entered the war against Japan in a political mood that was both hopeful and wary: it wanted to be seen as a genuine national leader of resistance, yet it also feared being absorbed—or destroyed—by the Guomindang (KMT) state it had spent years battling. That tension became the organizing principle of the war's early years. The turning point came from the Xi'an Incident in December 1936, which forced a new calculation in Nationalist politics. In the months that followed, agreements between KMT and CCP representatives were publicly proclaimed in August and September 1937, after the Shanghai fighting began. Under these arrangements, the CCP accepted constraints that in peacetime would have looked like surrender: it pledged to strive for Sun Yixian's "Three People's Principles," to end its former policies of armed revolt and sovietization, to abolish the soviet government, and to discontinue both the term "Red Army" and the expectation that its forces would operate outside central control. Communist troops would be treated as part of the national military under KMT command, and the revolution's old administrative structures were to be formally dismantled. In return, the KMT offered the CCP something just as important: space to exist publicly and politically. Liaison offices were permitted in key cities; the CCP was allowed to publish the New China Daily; and it could nominate representatives to KMT advisory bodies. Civil rights were extended—political prisoners were released—and subsidies were established to help cover administrative and military expenses in "reintegrated" areas and territories. The war thus transformed the tactical reality on the ground: the CCP could not treat the KMT as an immediate enemy, but it also could not afford to become politically passive. It had to learn how to fight Japan while building legitimacy fast enough to survive the next phase. In the first year and a half, the Party Center focused on three problems that kept returning in different forms: how the "united front" would be defined—especially what the CCP's relationship to the National government should be; how to coordinate military strategy and tactics with Nationalist units without losing control of its own operations; and how leadership should be consolidated, particularly for Mao Zedong in a party that still contained rival centers of authority. These disputes mattered not just for doctrine but for survival, because the CCP's autonomy was constantly being tested by the very alliance that was supposed to protect it. Mao's own approach to the united front combined cooperation with a refusal to surrender independence. Publicly, the CCP praised Jiang Jieshi and the KMT and promised unity, but it did so in language that was deliberately broad. In private (and in internal party debates), Mao treated unity as conditional: the CCP must not split the united front, but it also must not be "bound hand and foot." The strategic idea that emerged was political initiative under constraints—fighting when it could plausibly claim justification, keeping enough restraint that the CCP would not appear self-interested or anti-national, and deciding for itself when to engage and when to withdraw. This balance was reinforced through military reorganization. In August–September 1937, CCP forces were reorganized as the Eighth Route Army (8RA), with roughly 30,000 men drawn from Long March survivors, local forces, and new recruits. The 8RA was divided into three divisions: the 115th, 120th, and 129th, commanded by Lin Biao, He Long, and Liu Bocheng respectively. Shortly after the war began, the National government also authorized a second major Communist force: the New Fourth Army (N4A), to operate in central China. Its core came from those left behind when the Long March began in 1934—small groups surviving in difficult conditions against continuing KMT pressure. Officially authorized at 12,000, it took months to reach that strength. Nominally commanded by Ye Ting, actual military and political control rested with Xiang Ying and Chen Yi. From the start, then, the CCP's wartime "integration" with the National system coexisted with a clear effort to preserve internal control. Ideologically, the CCP worked to make its revolutionary program compatible—at least in appearance—with a national resistance coalition. On the New Democracy demonstrated how this strategy operated on two levels. In KMT-controlled spaces, its language could be read as aligning with liberal-democratic expectations: public participation, multi-party governance, legally protected civil rights. But in CCP-controlled areas, the same text could carry sharper class-based and authoritarian implications. The Party wanted a united front that broadened support without becoming committed to Nationalist limits on how society itself might be reorganized after victory. Meanwhile, even as the rhetoric of unity rose, the CCP worried about something more dangerous than military setbacks: the possibility that the KMT might accommodate Japan. Late 1939 and early 1940 made this fear harder to dismiss. Japan pursued collaboration with Wang Jingwei, culminating in the establishment of a "reorganized" government at Nanjing in March 1940. At the same time, Japanese intermediaries sought approaches to Chiang Kai-shek himself—an effort that the CCP tracked closely as a sign that peace negotiations might be possible even when battlefield conditions looked grim. Propaganda was involved, but the anxiety was real: if Japan and the Nationalists reached an arrangement, the CCP's whole wartime legitimacy-building effort could collapse overnight. As a result, the united front was interpreted inside the CCP not as a permanent coalition with the KMT, but as a flexible strategy with a cardinal purpose: to prevent peace between Japan and the Nationalists. Mao's position on the united front reflected this. For him, the alliance was meant to suspend the possibility of a China–Japan settlement, not to end the CCP's separate identity. The CCP could participate in a reconstituted national framework—possibly even a "democratic republic"—to gain legality and influence, but it should remain politically and, where possible, physically separate from the KMT. By 1939, however, the practical meaning of "flexibility" collided with reality. What had seemed, to some observers, like an unusually cordial entente began to fade. The KMT Central Committee adopted measures early in 1939 aimed at restricting Communist expansion, and armed clashes increased through the summer and continued into autumn and winter—especially around North China Communist bases. The period of rising conflict was later labeled by the CCP as the "first anti-Communist upsurge" (roughly spanning December 1939 into March 1940), but the crucial point was that both sides viewed each confrontation as a test of legal rights, moral legitimacy, and control over territory. Strategically, the CCP understood the KMT's effort as an attempt to check unauthorized growth of Communist armed power and to recover areas where influence had already slipped away—either to the Communists or, by indirect effect, to Japan. The KMT emphasized its traditional legal authority; the CCP countered with its claim to an "evolutionary" moral right to challenge the government's legitimacy. In practice, the conflict took the form of increasingly systematic military pressure, including a blockade around the Shen–Gan–Ning region. By this point, the blockade involved large numbers of troops (on the order of hundreds of thousands), halting Communist expansion and disrupting direct contact with other Communist forces farther afield, even as fighting flared along border zones and around vulnerable points in the Communist defensive perimeter. So, by the edge of the "middle years," the wartime alliance had not broken into open civil war—but it had also stopped being secure. The united front survived, yet it operated under strain: its language of cooperation continued, while "friction" between partners hardened into a central feature of the resistance struggle. Transition into the war's second phase began in early 1939, shaped by the stalemate Mao had already anticipated at the sixth plenum in late 1938. Mao argued that during this prolonged "new stage" the forces of resistance—above all, Communist-led forces—would strengthen. The overall result, however, was mixed. In Shandong and Central China, new Communist bases did take shape. But across much of North China, Japanese consolidation cost the resistance heavily in manpower and population. Base-area economies suffered serious strain, and the peasantry endured hardships more severe than at any earlier point. This stalemate had two main dimensions. The first was the growing resentment of the Nationalists toward Communist expansion—resentment made especially sharp by their own losses. As the Nationalists were driven out of regions that had previously provided them their greatest wealth and power in the central and lower Yangtze basin, they also lost the "cream" of their armies. In contrast, the CCP was spreading through the wider countryside behind Japanese lines, extending its influence and winning broader popular support. The second dimension was Japan's desire—and need—to consolidate territories it had only nominally conquered and to extract economic value from them. After all, the logic of the "China Incident" was to draw on China's labor and resources to strengthen Japan, not to bleed Japan's gains away by draining wealth into China's vast interior. A Japanese colonel, lamenting the situation, captured the frustration of this drift into deeper entanglement: he regretted that Japan had not ended the "China Incident" once its initial objectives were reached. Instead, Japan was drawn into the hinterland and became bogged down in endless attrition—leaving it with little more than "real estate" rather than the popular support it believed it would secure from those it claimed to "liberate." To improve their position, Japanese authorities—still fragmented by internal rivalry—pursued several strategies. One was a new peace offensive aimed simultaneously at Jiang Jieshi, alongside efforts to establish a "reformed" Nationalist government under Wang Jingwei, who had fled Chongqing in December 1938. Japan also recruited more collaborators and puppet officials. Finally, it carried out forceful military, political, and economic measures intended to establish effective territorial control and eliminate opposition. During the middle years of the war, the Communists described their conflicts with the Nationalists using the euphemism "friction". By 1939, what many observers—possibly incorrectly—had viewed as an unusually warm alliance began to break down. In early 1939, the KMT Central Committee adopted measures meant to restrict the CCP. From the summer onward, military clashes began and continued into autumn and winter with increasing frequency and intensity, most of them concentrated around and within the North China base areas. The Communists later labeled the period from December 1939 to March 1940 the "first anti-Communist upsurge." Naturally, each side accused the other of aggression and claimed self-defense against unjust attacks. Strategically, though, the North China "upsurge" functioned as a Nationalist attempt to limit the CCP's expansion beyond the areas assigned to it and to regain influence in regions the Communists—or the Japanese—had already taken from the KMT. Jiang Jieshi framed the matter as a defense of legal rights grounded in tradition, while the Communists asserted an "evolutionary" right to challenge the moral legitimacy of those legal claims. During 1939, the Nationalists began to blockade Shen–Gan–Ning around its southern and western perimeter. Within a year, this blockade grew to nearly 400,000 troops, including some of the last remaining Central Army units under the command of Hu Zongnan. The blockade stopped further Communist expansion, especially into Gansu and Suiyuan, and severed direct contact between SKN and Communists operating in Xinjiang (Chinese Turkestan) adjacent to Soviet Central Asia. The Xinjiang Communists—including Mao Zedong's brother—were eliminated in 1942. Meanwhile, fierce fighting erupted along the Gansu–Shaanxi border and in the north-eastern corner of SKN near the Great Wall at Suide, as the blockading forces probed for weak points. Elements of He Long's 120th Division were even pulled back from the Jin–Sui base across the Yellow River to strengthen SKN's regular defenses. Economically, the blockade was even more damaging. During 1939, central government subsidies to the Border Region budget were cut off. Trade between the Border Region and other parts of China nearly stopped, a devastating blow to a region unable to supply itself with many basic commodities. At the same time, Nationalist and regional forces also attempted to expand their military and administrative authority into Hebei, Shanxi, Henan, and Shandong—areas the CCP now considered its base zones. In resisting these efforts, the CCP predictable accused its rivals of harming resistance work and damaging the people's interests. The "experts in dissension" were said to cooperate with the Japanese and their puppets. Based on increasing collaboration by regional units with Japan, the CCP implied that this was a deliberate and cynical strategy—described as "crooked-line patriotism"—intended to preserve those units for future anti-Communist operations. Even so, the CCP tried to avoid an open break with the Nationalist regime in Chongqing. In public, it consistently portrayed these clashes as being initiated by local commanders acting beyond orders from higher authority—despite knowing this depiction was false. Jiang Jieshi, unable to refute the claim outright, effectively permitted it to serve as the justification for a firm Communist response. Mao Zedong outlined the general resistance policy as "justification, expedience, and restraint". The CCP was to fight when it could claim justification and when it could gain advantage, but not to press attacks beyond what the Nationalists would tolerate or in ways that could damage its image as selfless patriots. Communist forces were expected to keep initiative as much as possible in their own hands—deciding when to engage, whether to engage, and when to disengage. The most striking episode of the "first anti-Communist upsurge" was the rupture with Yan Xishan in December 1939. Tensions in Shanxi had been rising throughout the summer and autumn, as Yan and his conservative supporters—associated with the "Old Army"—linked the Sacrifice League and the Dare-to-die Corps of the "New Army" with Communist forces. When base areas and Japanese occupation eventually took over much of his province, Yan was forced into exile at Qiulin across the Yellow River in Shaanxi. In November, Yan ordered his Old Army to disarm the Dare-to-die forces with help from central units dispatched by Hu Zongnan. In the bloody fighting that followed, these elements gradually broke free of even nominal provincial control and fully completed their connection with Communist forces. More than 30,000 people went over to the Communists. One KMT intelligence agent described the process with bitterness and a sense of inevitability: the Communists were first "full of sweet words," flattery, and distortions designed to open things up and conceal their actions. But once they had fully entrenched themselves, and once the low-level base had been established, they turned and bit. The agent suggested they had suspected things might end this way, but were not aware how quickly events would move—or that it could happen precisely while Communist calls for "united front" and "maintenance of unity for resistance" filled the air. About a month later, in February and March 1940, elements of the 8RA beat back this so-called upsurge. Zhang Yinwu's forces were disarmed and dispersed across the plains of north Hebei. To the south, Chu Huaiping and Shi Yusan were pushed out of the base area, as was the KMT-appointed provincial governor Lu Zhonglin. Although some non-Communist forces remained in the region, the CCP's and CCLY bases were never again seriously threatened by forces affiliated with the central government. Reinforcing the CCP's accusations, Shi Yusan was later executed in 1940 by the central government for collaboration with the Japanese. By late 1939, CCP central authorities maintained that the areas where the CCP could expand its armed strength were mainly limited to Shandong and Central China. In those regions, the CCP continued trying to carve out bases where they could operate. The situation in Shandong was complicated. After the Japanese invasion, most Nationalist-affiliated forces stayed in the province, while Communist forces and bases were weaker and more scattered than further west. Only in late 1938 did major 8RA units from the 115th and 129th Divisions—led by Xu Xiangqian and Luo Ronghuan—enter Shandong to link up with the Shandong column and local guerrillas, including survivors of a large band recently decimated by the Japanese. Even with these efforts, Communist actions led to clashes not only with Japanese forces but also with various Nationalist-affiliated groups—groups that were stronger than the Communists at the time. Until late 1940, the CCP's clashes with Nationalist forces in Shandong were actually bloodier than clashes with the Japanese. The CCP understood that its Chinese rivals mistrusted one another, and that their attitudes toward the CCP varied widely. The main Nationalist forces were often not tightly affiliated with Chiang Kai-shek or the central government. Instead, they operated under independent—and at times disgruntled—regional commanders. Communist tactics were expressed through slogans emphasizing ways to win support and isolate hardliners: develop progressive forces and win over fence-sitters while isolating "die-hards"; flatter top echelons, enlist the middle ranks, and hit the rank and file; and win over Yi Xuezhong, isolate Shen Honglie, and eliminate Qin Qirong. Still, unlike other North China base areas, the Communists were unable for several years to neutralize Nationalist forces in Shandong. Even if Japanese mop-up campaigns had not weakened those Nationalists, the text suggests the Communists may still have struggled to do so. By November 1940, Xu Xiangqian claimed meaningful progress while admitting Shandong had not yet become a fully consolidated base. CCP successes were greatest along parts of the Shandong–Hebei border, around the Taishan massif in central Shandong, and near the tip of the peninsula far to the east. Elsewhere, "progressive forces" remained weak. Communist regular troops numbered about 70,000, which was far below the party center's goals of 150,000 regulars and between 1.5 and 2 million self-defense forces. Moreover, systematic economic reforms had barely begun. The CCP relied on familiar practices—confiscations, collections of "national salvation grain," contributions, and loans—alongside a conventional taxation system adjusted to favor poorer peasants. Communist expansion in Central China was even riskier, with a greater likelihood of large-scale conflict with central government forces than in the north. In much of North China, "friction" came primarily from rapid Communist expansion into areas with partial vacuums. In Central China, however, base-building required displacing an existing Nationalist military-administrative presence closely tied to Jiang Kai-shek and the Chongqing government. The burden of this expansion was carried mainly by the 6th Detachment (northern Anhui and Jiangsu) and the 5th Detachment, which was reinforced by 15,000 to 20,000 8RA troops under Huang K'o-ch'eng. As Chen Yi's 1st Detachment crossed from south to north through the corridor provided by Guan Wenwei's local forces, it became actively involved as well. This expansion—driven by increasingly urgent directives from Mao and Liu during the latter part of 1939 and into 1940—brought the N4A north of the river into ever more frequent and sharper clashes with Nationalist authorities in Anhui and Jiangsu, especially with units under Jiangsu governor Han Deqin. South of the river, though, Xiang Ying did not directly challenge Chongqing's commanders. Mao later charged that Xiang Ying may have been influenced by Wang Ming, or else he may simply have seen no realistic alternative. His forces—three detachments plus a headquarters unit—were heavily outnumbered by Qu Chutong's Nationalist units, not to mention Japanese forces and their puppets. Even if Mao insisted bases could be built "anywhere," the Shanghai–Hangzhou–Nanjing triangle was especially difficult terrain. Xiang Ying and his followers had survived with extraordinary tenacity in the mountains of South China between 1934 and 1937, enduring brutal search-and-destroy operations that were not lifted until the war began. It therefore seems unlikely that such survivors would suddenly become "right-wing capitulationists."  Yet by spring 1940, Mao was pressing Xiang Ying more intensely. The Central Committee's message was explicit: expansion was necessary in all cases. It meant reaching into all enemy-occupied areas rather than being bound by the Kuomintang's restrictions—going beyond Kuomintang limits, not waiting for official appointments, not depending on higher-ups for financing, and instead expanding armed forces freely and independently. It also meant setting up base areas without hesitation, independently mobilizing the masses in those areas, and building united front organs of political power under Communist Party leadership. The struggle between Nationalists and Communists involved more than contests for control of territory behind Japanese lines. It also involved national-level politics, ideology, and leadership. One worrying development for the CCP was the campaign throughout 1939 to expand Jiang Kai-shek's prestige and formal power—adding more titles for him across major party, government, and military positions. In early 1939, the Central Executive Committee appointed him "director-general" of the Kuomintang, a title reminiscent of the one previously held by Sun Yat-sen. In addition, during the summer and autumn of 1939 there was talk of constitutional rule. In November, the KMT announced plans to convene a constitutional assembly the following year. If Jiang could fulfill these promises, he and his government could gain new legitimacy and wider popularity. Mao and his colleagues could not allow this to go unchallenged. If the Nationalists were to have a paramount leader and authoritative spokesperson, the CCP needed one as well. The timing of Mao's famous "On the new democracy"—written in late 1939 and published the next January—was therefore no accident. Its substance had been anticipated earlier, but its final timing and full development were shaped by the KMT's constitutional movement. The CCP's entry into this competition served as both a bid for support away from the KMT and a statement of the multi-class united front that the CCP wanted to lead. Although "On the new democracy" was written in a tone that seemed moderate, it persuaded many Chinese readers that the CCP had either diluted its revolutionary objectives or postponed them to a distant future. In Kuomintang-controlled areas, the work could be read through the liberal values associated with Anglo-American democracy—popular participation, multi-party government, legally protected civil rights. In CCP-controlled territories, the same language carried stronger authoritarian, class-based meanings. In internal documents meant for party audiences rather than public consumption, the ambiguity was removed, showing a tough but patient and flexible commitment not only to resistance but also to social control and social change. During this same period, the Communists expressed deep concern about Nationalist capitulation to Japan—not only on the battlefield behind Japanese lines but also at the highest levels. Some of this concern was propaganda, but beneath propaganda lay genuine anxiety. In late 1939 and early 1940, politically aware Chinese already knew that Japan was negotiating with the unpredictable Wang Jingwei, who had fled Chongqing a year earlier. A "reorganized national government" in Nanjing was finally established in March 1940, representing the most formidable collaboration with Japan to date. Less well known, but equally important, was that Japan was also seeking an understanding directly with Jiang Kai-shek through intermediaries in Hong Kong. This effort, called "Operation Kiri"—described as spreading a "feast for Chiang"—combined intrigue with a kind of dark comedy. Reports suggested Chiang's reported interest in peace could have been a stratagem designed to discredit Wang Jingwei by keeping him waiting. But even if Chiang had no intention of coming to terms with Japan, the Communists could not be sure what the outcome would be until after the multi-pronged peace offensive had failed. By the middle of 1940, China had never been so isolated. In Europe, the "phony war" ended in the spring when Germany launched a blitz across the Low Countries. France fell soon after, and England appeared likely to be next. Japan used this moment to press China to sever its last tenuous connections to the outside world: cutting the Burma Road, trade with neutral Hong Kong, and the rail link running from Hanoi to Kunming. At the same time, Russia was engaged in a difficult and embarrassing war with Finland and reduced military aid to the Nationalists. The United States was only gradually moving away from isolationism and clearly regarded England as more important than China. In Chongqing and elsewhere in "Free China," signs of war weariness, despair, and demoralization were visible. Under these circumstances, Mao's insistence on aggressive expansion was a calculated risk—either it would deter any Japanese advance, or it would place the Communists in the strongest possible position in case a split between the KMT and the CCP became unavoidable. In Central China, the size and pace of the fighting kept increasing, starting in the final months of 1939. One flashpoint was the clash between Luo Pinghui's 5th Detachment and units of Han Deqin's Jiangsu force near Lake Gaoyou. In the following months, Guan Wenwei's forces ranged along the left bank of the Yangtze, repeatedly running into Luo's troops as they operated farther north. Luo also began receiving some 8RA reinforcements, moving them south through areas controlled by the 6th Detachment. Clearly, a major showdown was taking shape across north and central Jiangsu. At the same time, the South Yangtze Command was doing poorly. Nationalist commanders Leng Xin and Qu Chutong restricted its activities so severely that Mao and Liu gradually abandoned the idea of building a unified, consolidated base in that region. During late spring and early summer, Chen Yi moved most of his 1st and 2nd Detachments north of the Yangtze. In September, the 3rd Detachment followed suit, crossing the river into the area around Lake Chaohu, where the 4th Detachment was already stationed. After these moves, only the Headquarters Detachment—under Ye Ting and Xiang Ying—remained south of the Yangtze, positioned at Qingxian in southern Anhui. As the military situation edged toward an open confrontation, negotiations began in June 1940 between representatives of the KMT and the CCP. The core issues were Communist operating zones and the authorized strength of the armies led by the CCP. Proposals were exchanged, followed by equally sharp and hostile counter-proposals, but no agreement was reached. The KMT viewed it as a concession to permit the CCP "free rein" north of the pre-1938 course of the Yellow River, with the exception of southern Shanxi, which was to remain under the influence of Yan Xishan. In exchange, the KMT demanded that all 8RA and N4A units evacuate Central China. In effect, the KMT was offering the CCP something it was already prepared to allow, in return for the CCP giving up what it might soon be able to obtain by force of arms. Nationalist authorities then issued a set of deadlines, but without clearly stating what would happen if those deadlines were violated. On the surface, the CCP appeared to be complying in part. The movements of Chen Yi and the South Yangtze Command could look like obedience, but in reality they were responses to orders coming from their own superior leadership rather than instructions issued by the Nationalists. Even so, Xiang Ying's continued delays and evasions during the autumn and winter of 1940 remained puzzling. One possibility is that he felt—quite reasonably—that Mao had already lost confidence in him and that once he crossed to the north bank of the river he would lose his command. Another complication was that directives from Yan'an were sometimes ambiguous and even contradictory. He may also have been trying to reach secure understandings with KMT commanders about evacuation routes and guaranteed safe conduct out of the area. For a period, Han Teqin kept most of his forces—estimated at about 70,000 men, far outnumbering the N4A—in north Jiangsu, thereby blocking the expansion of the 6th Detachment and slowing further southern intrusions by 8RA troops. But by mid-summer he realized he would have to counter the N4A build-up in central Jiangsu, or else risk writing that region off to the Communists. A confusing sequence of engagements then unfolded, culminating in a decisive battle in early October 1940 near the central Jiangsu town of Huangjiao. Over the course of four days, several of Han's main-force units belonging to the 89th Army were destroyed, while others were scattered. That battle also served as a signal for the 6th Detachment to advance more aggressively in the north. In the aftermath, one of Han's principal commanders entered collaboration with the CCP, while another defected to the Nanjing government under Wang Jingwei. Although Han Teqin managed to maintain a foothold in Jiangsu until 1943, his real power had been broken. Relatively little attention was paid to the battle of Huangjiao in the Chinese press. The KMT did not want to publicize what it considered a disastrous defeat, while the Communists were satisfied to stay silent about an episode that conflicted with their proclaimed policy of a united front. As could be expected, during the autumn—after Han Teqin's defeat—KMT-CCP negotiations deteriorated further. In early December, Jiang Kai-shek personally ordered that all N4A forces withdraw from southern Anhui and southern Jiangsu by 31 December. He also ordered that the entire 8RA be positioned north of the Yellow River by the same deadline, followed one month later by the N4A. Discussions then followed between Ye Ting and Qu Chutong's deputies concerning the route to be taken, safe conduct, and—astonishingly—the money and supplies that were to be provided to the N4A to help it move. On 25 December, Mao Zedong ordered Xiang Ying to begin evacuating immediately. Yet it was not until 4 January 1941 that Ye and Xiang actually started moving. Almost immediately, Qu Chutong's forces harassed and dispersed the N4A Headquarters Group, which included administrative personnel, wounded soldiers and dependents, as well as combat-ready troops. In an attempt to reorganize, they moved southwest toward Maolin, where they were surrounded by Nationalists and, over the next several days, were cut to pieces. Losses were heavy on both sides. The CCP suffered an estimated 9,000 casualties. Xiang Ying tried twice to break out of the blockade on his own, but failed. He was then denounced as a deserter by Ye Ting, who took over full command of the doomed forces. Xiang Ying eventually escaped, but he was killed a couple of months later by one of his own bodyguards, motivated by the N4A gold reserves that he had taken with him. Up to the very end, Xiang either failed or refused to seek refuge in Liu Shaoqi's domain north of the Yangtze. The unfortunate Ye Ting was arrested and spent the rest of the war in prison. He was finally released in 1946, only to die one month later in a plane crash, along with several other high-ranking party members. On 17 January, Jiang Kai-shek declared that the New Fourth Army was dissolved for insubordination. Direct contacts between Yan'an and Chongqing nearly came to an end, and CCP military liaison offices in several cities held by the Nationalists were closed. This is what became known as the New Fourth Army incident, also referred to as the South Anhui incident. Clearly, it functioned as an act of retaliation for the defeats suffered by Han Teqin in north and central Jiangsu. It ended any realistic prospect of establishing a consolidated Communist base south of the Yangtze. Still, from a strategic perspective, these losses were ultimately more than offset by the gains achieved farther north. In fact, only a few months later, the reorganized N4A quietly began reintroducing some units into this region, where they carried out guerrilla activities without possessing a secure territorial base. Unlike the relative silence surrounding the fighting at Huangjiao, the New Fourth Army incident sparked bitter, prolonged controversy. The CCP argued that it was a second "anti-Communist upsurge," even more serious than the first. Presenting themselves as martyred patriots, they depicted their opponents as people who wanted to end the War of Resistance through what they called "Sino-Japanese cooperation" aimed at "suppressing the Communists." In their account, the Nationalists wanted to replace the war of resistance with civil war, substitute capitulation for independence, trade unity for a split, and replace light with darkness. People were telling each other the news and were horrified. Indeed, they claimed that the situation had never been as critical as it was at that moment. The Nationalist response, of course, was that provocations had been numerous and serious, and that violations of military discipline could not be tolerated. But the KMT's unwillingness to describe in detail its own defeats at the CCP's hands left it speaking in broad generalities. In the propaganda battle, the CCP clearly gained the better position and won more political capital. If it was politically valuable to be regarded as a national hero, it was even more valuable to be seen as a national martyr.  Many Chinese—and some outside—observers were genuinely alarmed and feared that civil war might openly resume. Yet, with a few exceptions, the events that culminated in the New Fourth Army incident have generally been interpreted as marking the breakdown of the second united front. That interpretation, however, is described as being wrong in two respects. First, the CCP understood the united front not as a narrow arrangement limited to a few major partners, but as a strategy that could be applied flexibly to all political, military, and social forces in China—from the highest levels of the central government down to the smallest village. Relations with Jiang Jieshi and the Guomindang regime mattered, but they did not, by themselves, constitute the whole of the united front. Even regarding Jiang and the Nationalists specifically, the common reading is said to be misguided. Throughout the war, a cardinal objective of the united front was to prevent peace between Japan and the Nationalists. Therefore, if clashes between CCP forces and those of the central government on such a large scale as at Huangjiao and Maolin could occur without leading to peace with Japan and without triggering a full-scale resumption of civil war, then this should not be understood as the end of the united front—it should be seen as its fundamental vindication. If friction at that scale could nevertheless be tolerated by Jiang Jieshi, then fears about his future accommodation with Japan were greatly reduced. Following the New Fourth Army incident, the CCP reorganized its political and military presence in Central China. The Central Plains and South-east China Bureaus were merged and renamed the Central China Bureau, with Liu Shaoqi placed in charge, reflecting the area's importance to Party Central. The New Fourth Army was also reorganized completely and substantially regularized. Chen Yi became its new acting commander, since Ye Ting was imprisoned. He directed the force, now divided into seven divisions. Each division had territorial responsibilities, and in each region the CCP claimed the establishment of a base. Indeed, base construction proceeded in earnest only after the friction of 1940 and the New Fourth Army incident. In the years that followed, the operating areas of the First through Fourth Divisions contained expanding enclaves of consolidated territory, where military dominance was joined with open party work: administrative control, the development of mass organizations, local elections, and socio-economic reforms. The other three areas fluctuated between semi-consolidated and guerrilla status. With the incident, the worst phase of the KMT-CCP conflict was now over. When CCP documents later speak of a third upsurge in 1943, they refer to something openly political. With the exception of Shandong—where a fairly strong Nationalist presence persisted for a longer time—the overall balance of power among Chinese forces behind Japanese lines had shifted in favor of the CCP by mid-1941. In subsequent years the CCP's predominance became even more pronounced, until by the end of 1943 the Communists were virtually beyond challenge by Chinese rivals.   I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. After the CCP and KMT entered the united front, cooperation felt conditional from the start. Mao pushed the New Fourth Army to reorganize and preserve Communist autonomy, even as the 1937 agreements publicly pledged obedience to KMT leadership. In 1939–40 the Communists worried that Chiang might negotiate peace with Japan; so they expanded bases and military presence, triggering repeated clashes. The pressure intensified when KMT orders forced the New Fourth Army to evacuate south Anhui in late 1940. 

MMA Lock of the Night is back to give you breakdowns and predictions for PFL Sioux Falls: Storley vs Zendeli. Also on the main card, Rabadanov vs Chizov, Powell vs Sordi, Ferreira vs Bilostenniy, and Magomedov vs Higo.

Starting in the late 1970s, three women navigate post Cultural Revolution China: Lulu, who's forced to become a prostitute in Shanghai to save her mother and sister from starving, Lei who is sold in marriage for cigarettes and a few eggs, and Yan, Lei's smart, beautiful daughter, whose kindness to the farmer master's neurodivergent son allows her to get an education. Both Lei and Lulu must put aside their dreams and suffer indignity after indignity, Lei from her husband, and Lulu from her pimp, while Yan ultimately sacrifices her career to help her family. With a cast of unforgettable characters struggling through China's transition to modernity, and grappling with the impact of mental illness, prostitution, and Aids, And the Ancestors Sing is a stunning gripping historical novel. Radha Lin Chaddah was born in London to an East Indian father and a Malaysian Chinese mother, and grew up in Kenya, the UK and the US, graduating from New Trier High School in Winnetka, IL. She majored in Biology at the University of Chicago, earned medical and law degrees at the University of Illinois, and a Master of Public Health at Harvard University. She completed Internal Medicine residency training, and later practiced, at Massachusetts General Hospital/Harvard Medical School in Boston. Radha and her family moved, over the course of twenty years, from Boston to NYC to Taipei to Shanghai to Beijing to Princeton, and finally to Philadelphia. Radha worked as a primary care physician in Boston, NYC and Beijing; worked with the China CDC to co-write the book, HIV/ AIDS: Beyond the Numbers; and provided mental healthcare to patients in several states as a telemedicine doctor upon settling in Philadelphia. When not reading and writing, Radha enjoys learning new Mandarin characters, tackling novice knitting projects, painting with watercolors and acrylics, catching a live, stand-up comedy show with her husband, Avery, trying out new recipes with their young adult daughters, Yani and Ayo, and, of course, jotting down story notes for her next writing project. You can visit Radha online at radhalinchaddah.com. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/new-books-network

Starting in the late 1970s, three women navigate post Cultural Revolution China: Lulu, who's forced to become a prostitute in Shanghai to save her mother and sister from starving, Lei who is sold in marriage for cigarettes and a few eggs, and Yan, Lei's smart, beautiful daughter, whose kindness to the farmer master's neurodivergent son allows her to get an education. Both Lei and Lulu must put aside their dreams and suffer indignity after indignity, Lei from her husband, and Lulu from her pimp, while Yan ultimately sacrifices her career to help her family. With a cast of unforgettable characters struggling through China's transition to modernity, and grappling with the impact of mental illness, prostitution, and Aids, And the Ancestors Sing is a stunning gripping historical novel. Radha Lin Chaddah was born in London to an East Indian father and a Malaysian Chinese mother, and grew up in Kenya, the UK and the US, graduating from New Trier High School in Winnetka, IL. She majored in Biology at the University of Chicago, earned medical and law degrees at the University of Illinois, and a Master of Public Health at Harvard University. She completed Internal Medicine residency training, and later practiced, at Massachusetts General Hospital/Harvard Medical School in Boston. Radha and her family moved, over the course of twenty years, from Boston to NYC to Taipei to Shanghai to Beijing to Princeton, and finally to Philadelphia. Radha worked as a primary care physician in Boston, NYC and Beijing; worked with the China CDC to co-write the book, HIV/ AIDS: Beyond the Numbers; and provided mental healthcare to patients in several states as a telemedicine doctor upon settling in Philadelphia. When not reading and writing, Radha enjoys learning new Mandarin characters, tackling novice knitting projects, painting with watercolors and acrylics, catching a live, stand-up comedy show with her husband, Avery, trying out new recipes with their young adult daughters, Yani and Ayo, and, of course, jotting down story notes for her next writing project. You can visit Radha online at radhalinchaddah.com. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/literature

Starting in the late 1970s, three women navigate post Cultural Revolution China: Lulu, who's forced to become a prostitute in Shanghai to save her mother and sister from starving, Lei who is sold in marriage for cigarettes and a few eggs, and Yan, Lei's smart, beautiful daughter, whose kindness to the farmer master's neurodivergent son allows her to get an education. Both Lei and Lulu must put aside their dreams and suffer indignity after indignity, Lei from her husband, and Lulu from her pimp, while Yan ultimately sacrifices her career to help her family. With a cast of unforgettable characters struggling through China's transition to modernity, and grappling with the impact of mental illness, prostitution, and Aids, And the Ancestors Sing is a stunning gripping historical novel. Radha Lin Chaddah was born in London to an East Indian father and a Malaysian Chinese mother, and grew up in Kenya, the UK and the US, graduating from New Trier High School in Winnetka, IL. She majored in Biology at the University of Chicago, earned medical and law degrees at the University of Illinois, and a Master of Public Health at Harvard University. She completed Internal Medicine residency training, and later practiced, at Massachusetts General Hospital/Harvard Medical School in Boston. Radha and her family moved, over the course of twenty years, from Boston to NYC to Taipei to Shanghai to Beijing to Princeton, and finally to Philadelphia. Radha worked as a primary care physician in Boston, NYC and Beijing; worked with the China CDC to co-write the book, HIV/ AIDS: Beyond the Numbers; and provided mental healthcare to patients in several states as a telemedicine doctor upon settling in Philadelphia. When not reading and writing, Radha enjoys learning new Mandarin characters, tackling novice knitting projects, painting with watercolors and acrylics, catching a live, stand-up comedy show with her husband, Avery, trying out new recipes with their young adult daughters, Yani and Ayo, and, of course, jotting down story notes for her next writing project. You can visit Radha online at radhalinchaddah.com. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices Support our show by becoming a premium member! https://newbooksnetwork.supportingcast.fm/historical-fiction

Kann man sich auf den Verlust eines geliebten Menschen vorbereiten? OIn dieser Folge von Betreutes Fühlen sprechen Leon Windscheid und Atze Schröder über ein Gefühl, das viele kennen – über das aber kaum gesprochen wird: antizipatorische Trauer. Wir hinterfragen die berühmten 5 Trauerphasen, zeigen, warum Trauer nicht planbar ist, und schauen, was die Forschung wirklich sagt. Zwischen persönlichen Erfahrungen und psychologischen Modellen geht es um Abschied, Angst – und die Frage, wie wir mit dem Unvermeidlichen umgehen. Fühlt euch gut betreut Leon & Atze Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/leonwindscheid/ https://www.instagram.com/atzeschroeder_offiziell/ Mehr zu unseren Werbepartnern findet ihr hier: https://linktr.ee/betreutesfuehlen Tickets: Atze: https://www.atzeschroeder.de/#termine Leon: https://leonwindscheid.de/tour/ Quellen Avis, K. A., Stroebe, M., & Schut, H. (2021). Stages of grief portrayed on the internet: A systematic analysis and critical appraisal. Frontiers in psychology, 12, 772696. https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyg.2021.772696 Dieter Bohlen: https://www.spiegel.de/panorama/gesellschaft/gerichtsbeschluss-dieter-bohlen-darf-polizisten-duzen-a-399643.html Fiore, J. (2021). A systematic review of the dual process model of coping with bereavement (1999–2016). OMEGA-Journal of Death and Dying, 84(2), 414-458. https://doi.org/10.1177/0030222819893139 Gerber, I., Rusalem, R., Harmon, N., Battin, D., & Arkin, A. (1975). Anticipatory grief and aged widows and widowers. Journal of Gerontology, 30(2), 225-229. https://doi.org/10.1093/geronj/30.2.225 Majid, U., & Akande, A. (2022). Managing anticipatory grief in family and partners: A systematic review and qualitative meta-synthesis. The Family Journal, 30(2), 242-249. https://doi.org/10.1177/10664807211000715 McCarroll, C. J., & Yan, K. (2024). Mourning a death foretold: Memory and mental time travel in anticipatory grief. Phenomenology and the Cognitive Sciences, 1-19. https://doi.org/10.1007/s11097-024-09956-z Nielsen, M. K., Neergaard, M. A., Jensen, A. B., Bro, F., & Guldin, M. B. (2016). Do we need to change our understanding of anticipatory grief in caregivers? A systematic review of caregiver studies during end-of-life caregiving and bereavement. Clinical psychology review, 44, 75-93. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.cpr.2016.01.002 Stroebe, M., & Schut, H. (1999). The dual process model of coping with bereavement: Rationale and description. Death Studies, 23, 197–224. https://doi.org/10.1080/074811899201046 Was kann uns helfen? Artikel aus der New York Times: https://www.nytimes.com/2025/10/17/well/anticipatory-grief.html Empfehlungen Betreutes Fühlen - Folge zum Thema Trauer: 14. April 2020, “Der Preis der Liebe” https://betreutesfuehlen.podigee.io/29-der-preis-der-liebe Reaktion: Julia Ditzer Produktion: Murmel Productions

Mga kakaibang possession experience, sleep paralysis, at mga multong nanonood. Yan ang mga madidinig natin sa episode ngayong gabi. Padme, thank you uli sa pag share nito. Kakaiba talaga experience ng Mama mo. Di ko makakalimutan ang Hen Lin Siomai

Menopoz 2 00:08 Menopoz Serisine Devam 01:00 Yaşlanma, Kimlik Ve Elder Olmak 05:01 Changes Everything Kitabı 06:10 Perimenopoz Ve Menopoz Nedir? 09:02 Kadınlar Menopoz Hakkında Ne Bilmek İsterdi? 17:01 Menopozu Beklerken: Semptomlar 22:06 Perimenopozda Olduğunu Nasıl Anlarsın? 27:10 Erken Menopoz 28:30 Hormonlar Ve Östrojenin Rolü 33:50 Hormon Tedavisi Ve “Doğal” Yanılgısı 41:15 Beş Aşamalı Meditasyon Bu bölümde Zeynep Aksoy, menopoz serisini sürdürerek yaşlanma, kimlik değişimi ve “elder” olma fikri üzerinden menopozu daha geniş bir çerçevede ele alıyor. Nikki Bezant'ın Changes Everything kitabından yola çıkarak perimenopoz ve menopozun ne olduğunu, kadınların bu süreçte en çok neyi bilmek istediklerini ve beden-zihin üzerinde ortaya çıkabilen çok çeşitli semptomları anlatıyor. Ayrıca hormonların, özellikle östrojenin, bedenin pek çok sistemindeki rolünü vurgulayarak hormon tedavisi etrafındaki “doğal mı, değil mi?” tartışmasını sorguluyor. Bölümün son kısmında ise dış otoritelere körü körüne teslim olmak yerine içsel farkındalığı, sezgiyi ve bedensel duyumu güçlendirmenin önemine değinerek dinleyicileri nefes temelli bir meditasyon pratiğine davet ediyor. Zeynep Aksoy, saygın bir yoga eğitmeni ve Reset platformunun kurucusudur. Web sitesi üzerinden canlı ve kayıttan izlenebilen dersler, üyelik programları ve profesyonel eğitimler sunmaktadır. Online Stüdyo üyeliği ile günlük çevrim içi derslere, geniş bir arşive ve topluluk desteğine erişim imkânı sağlar. Ayrıca Zeynep, katılımcıların hareket, anatomi ve farkındalık konularında bilgilerini derinleştirmelerine yardımcı olmak için yenilikçi Fasyal Yoga Uzmanlık Programı'nı yürütmektedir. Daha fazla bilgi almak ve sertifikalı eğitimlere katılmak için: www.zeynepaksoyreset.com

Last time we spoke about the Wang Jingwei Regime. During the Second Sino-Japanese War, tensions between Chiang Kai-shek and Wang Jingwei escalated amid Japan's aggressive invasion. Disillusioned by Chiang's scorched-earth tactics, such as the Yellow River flood and Changsha fire, Wang defected from Chongqing in December 1938, fleeing to Hanoi to negotiate peace with Japan. An assassination attempt, likely ordered by Chiang, killed Wang's secretary Zeng Zhongming, deepening the rift and sparking retaliatory violence. Wang's group, aided by Japanese agents like Kagesa Sadaaki, navigated scandals and leaks, including a forged agreement exposed in the press. After grueling negotiations in Shanghai and Tokyo, Wang conceded to harsh Japanese terms, including limited sovereignty and economic controls. On March 30, 1940, he established the Reorganized National Government (RNG) in Nanjing, adopting the nationalist flag with a controversial yellow pennant symbolizing "peace, anticommunism, nation-building." Despite Wang's vision of constitutional democracy, the RNG functioned as a wartime puppet, isolated from Chongqing and resented as traitorous. Wang died in 1944, and the regime collapsed in 1945.   #195 The Xiang-Gan Operation Welcome to the Fall and Rise of China Podcast, I am your dutiful host Craig Watson. But, before we start I want to also remind you this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Perhaps you want to learn more about the history of Asia? Kings and Generals have an assortment of episodes on history of asia and much more  so go give them a look over on Youtube. So please subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry for some more history related content, over on my channel, the Pacific War Channel where I cover the history of China and Japan from the 19th century until the end of the Pacific War. In the sweltering grip of August 1939, Chongqing languished under an unbearably hot summer, the air thick with humidity and the weight of impending doom. Perched on a sun-baked hillside along the southern bank of the Jialing River, roughly 10 kilometers from the chaotic heart of the city, loomed a two-story Western-style building. This fortress of stone and resolve, known as the "Huangshan Villa," stood as Chiang Kai-shek's official residence in Chongqing, a sanctuary amid the storm of war. Unless urgent meetings or crises at the Military Affairs Commission demanded his presence, it was here that Chiang orchestrated the fate of a nation on the brink.   One fateful evening, as shadows lengthened across the villa, the Bureau of Investigation and Statistics delivered a chilling report from Wang Pengsheng, the director of the Military Affairs Commission's Institute for International Affairs. Wang was no ordinary operative; he was a knowledgeable, experienced, and sharp-minded intellectual, a master of Japanese affairs, and one of Chiang's most trusted aides, his insights cutting like a blade through the fog of deception. In this urgent dispatch, Wang distilled the latest machinations from Japan. After the traitor Wang Jingwei defected to the enemy, Japan glimpsed a sinister new path to conquer China: ramping up political inducements for surrender, with brutal military offensives reduced to mere supporting roles. On June 20, the Japanese Imperial General Headquarters unleashed "strategy" tasks upon its troops in China—to incite local armies, those ragtag "miscellaneous troops," to betray their own, isolating and pulverizing the central army units. Wang Pengsheng saw through the ruse; this "attacking the heart" and "subduing strategies," drawn from the ancient wisdom of China's military sage Sun Tzu, betrayed the Japanese army's desperate straits, manpower stretched thin, supplies dwindling to the point of desperation.   Chiang Kai-shek's eyes narrowed as he gripped his red pencil, underlining a passage in the report with deliberate strokes, marking it as a thunderclap of importance or urgency: To cooperate with the establishment of the Wang puppet regime and exert military pressure on the Chongqing government, under the direction of the Imperial General Headquarters, the commander of the Japanese 11th Army, Okamura Yasuji, had formulated the "Xiang-Gan Operation Plan" targeting the main forces of the central army in the Ninth War Zone and was intensifying preparations for its implementation. The words hung heavy in the air like a gathering storm. Chiang Kai-shek rose abruptly, his body protesting with a stiff ache from hours of unyielding vigilance. He stretched his weary waist and legs, then pushed open the wooden door beside the vast sun-facing window, stepping out onto the balcony as if seeking solace from the encroaching night.   The balcony commanded a sweeping vista, a momentary escape from the suffocating confines of strategy and betrayal. Gazing downward, the "Fog Capital" Chongqing emerged in rare clarity, serene and layered beneath the fiery embrace of the evening glow. The distant murmur of the Jialing River, flowing ceaselessly like the pulse of a defiant heart, whispered a fleeting sense of ease amid the turmoil. Yet even this pause carried the echoes of war's relentless march. After the Japanese horde seized Wuhan and surged onward to claim Yueyang—only to halt their southward thrust—both Mao Zedong in his Yan'an stronghold and Chiang Kai-shek in Chongqing etched this moment as a pivotal divide in China's War of Resistance Against Japan. Mao proclaimed the war had plunged into the "stalemate phase," a grinding impasse. Chiang, ever the resolute leader, declared the "second phase of the war of resistance" ignited from this very point.   But across the vast national battlefield, the first half of 1939 roared with unquenched fury, the air thick with the acrid smoke of gunpowder. From the year's dawn, the Japanese army, bolstered by five divisions and eight mixed brigades, launched ruthless "security consolidation" operations in North China to fortify their blood-soaked conquests, only to be harried and bloodied by the Communist Eighth Route Army slipping behind enemy lines and the valiant troops of the First and Second War Zones. In late March, the Japanese 11th Army stormed Nanchang, clashing in a maelstrom of fire with the four group armies of the Ninth War Zone under the iron command of front-line commander Luo Zhuoying. For a grueling month and a half, the battle raged, the Japanese claiming the city at a staggering cost in lives. Chiang Kai-shek, his fury mounting, demanded a counterattack from the Ninth War Zone, but it crumbled into tragedy, over 20,000 souls lost, including Lieutenant General Chen Anbao, the indomitable commander of the 29th Army. Nanchang remained in enemy hands, fueling Chiang's rage like an inferno unchecked.   Then, in May, the Japanese Kwantung Army clashed with Soviet and Mongolian forces in the epic conflagration at Nomonhan. What ignited a spark of grim satisfaction in Chiang was not merely the Japanese rout, with nearly 20,000 of their ranks obliterated, but the broader ripple: this Japan-Soviet inferno would heap pressure upon the invaders in China, weakening their grasp. As the war sank into its stalemate phase, Chiang turned his gaze inward, fiercely guarding his military strength while awaiting the winds of change. He clung to a core conviction: the essence of the War of Resistance boiled down to that single, unbreakable word—"resist." Troops could be sacrificed, territories forsaken, retreats endured when battles turned dire, but surrender was unthinkable. As long as resistance endured, the nation would hold its place among the world's powers, and its leaders their rightful thrones. In time, the tides of international intrigue would shift; the imperialist giants, driven by their own insatiable interests, would not stand idly by as China fell to Japan's maw.   With resolve hardening like steel, Chiang Kai-shek strode back to his imposing desk and seized the telephone, dialing Xu Yongchang, the Minister of Military Orders. His voice cut through the line with unyielding command: instruct Deputy Chief of Staff Bai Chongxi, currently in the Ninth War Zone dissecting the bitter lessons of the Nanchang debacle, to hasten and aid Chen Cheng in crafting ironclad military deployments against the looming Japanese "Xiang-Gan Operation" and submit them without delay.   As the last defiant ray of sunlight plunged below the horizon, the sprawl of Chongqing's urban expanse succumbed to an enveloping darkness, a shroud of uncertainty. Since the government had fled southward, Chongqing had become a relentless target for Japanese bombers, their payloads raining death and devastation in waves of tragedy. By night, the city enforced ironclad blackout controls, its citizens huddling in fear behind heavy curtains, their lives reduced to whispers in the shadows. Chiang Kai-shek's mind drifted to the pre-war nights of the mountain city, when thousands of lights danced like stars upon the river's rippling waves. A deep, weary sigh escaped him, carrying the burden of a leader who refused to yield.   Far from the shadowed balconies of Chongqing, as China's War of Resistance Against Japan plunged into its harrowing third year, the misty haven of Guilin clung to its gentle, rain-soaked serenity, a fragile oasis amid the chaos of a nation torn asunder. Farmers, oblivious to the headlines screaming from distant newspapers, trudged barefoot through the lush fields, guiding massive water buffaloes with their backward-curving horns and deceptively gentle temperaments. Verdant tea groves blanketed the undulating hills, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind, while breezes carried the haunting, sweet-and-sour melodies of mountain songs that seemed to defy the encroaching shadows of war. Those weary souls fleeing the bloodied front lines stumbled into this paradise, their eyes widening in awe, as if they had crossed into a dream untouched by the nightmare raging beyond.   Nestled in the northwestern suburbs of the city, the Guilin Office pulsed with the raw energy of command, its operations post concealed within a colossal karst cave, a labyrinth of nature's own fortifications. Amid the jagged stalagmites and dripping stalactites, wires snaked like veins, cables coiled in tense anticipation, and radio antennas reached out like desperate fingers grasping for signals. These were the nerves of war, linking this hidden nerve center to the smoke-choked, blood-drenched front lines where heroes and horrors collided in the unyielding struggle for resistance.   Deputy Chief of Staff of the Military Affairs Commission and Director of the Guilin Office—Bai Chongxi—unfolded the telegram folder thrust into his hands by his confidential staff, his heart pounding with the weight of destiny:   "To Director Bai in Guilin: Telegram received. Deploy operations according to Plan A.   Zhongzheng"   Before departing Changsha, the Second Department had already whispered warnings of the Japanese horde's intent to strike southward, and fatefully, an urgent call from Xu Yongchang had demanded the swift forging of a battle plan to confront the enemy. As Bai Chongxi devoured the enemy intelligence, a bold strategy ignited in his mind like a flare in the darkness. Chen Cheng, the steadfast Commander of the Ninth War Zone, championed the tried-and-true tactic of successive resistance, but with a grim twist: retreat would be capped north of Changsha. Front-line troops would grind down the Japanese invaders, bleeding them dry before slipping to the east and west flanks. There, they would pounce on the enemy's exposed sides as the foes pressed southward, culminating in a devastating annihilation beneath the walls of Changsha with the aid of the garrison. This blueprint minimized troop movements and promised a swift, brutal clash. Yet Chen Cheng, burdened by his dual role as Minister of the Political Department of the Military Affairs Commission, had delegated command to Xue Yue as acting Ninth War Zone Commander. In heated deliberations, Xue Yue tilted toward Chen's vision, his resolve echoing the caution of survival.   But Bai Chongxi, his strategic mind a whirlwind of innovation, saw a bolder path through the storm. The Japanese forces lurking in the Wuhan area were fractured, split between the Yangtze's north and south, facing off against China's formidable heavy troops. Though intelligence on the scale of their assault remained shrouded in mystery, Bai knew their drawable forces couldn't exceed half their might, and their endurance in sustained combat would falter like a dying flame. "To swallow the attackers whole, the battlefield must be vast and unforgiving, our forces luring them deeper while retreating to the Hengyang area, stretching the enemy thin across a sprawling 200-kilometer wasteland." There, the invaders would wither in passivity, their food and ammunition lines stretched to breaking. Then, in a masterful stroke, troops from the Jiuling and Mufu Mountains would surge westward, while those west of the Xiang River drove eastward, severing every land and water escape route in a vise of total annihilation. Both plans stood as ironclad fortresses of logic, each unassailable in its reasoning, and were dispatched simultaneously to Chiang Kai-shek, the arbiter of China's fate.   By rank and protocol, Bai's vision claimed the mantle of Plan A, while Chen's bore the label of Plan B. Bai Chongxi had voiced his conviction and released it to the winds, content to let Chiang's judgment prevail. Bai Chongxi was a master of strategy, whispered among allies as the "Little Zhuge," his intellect a weapon as sharp as any blade. Yet Chen Cheng shared Chiang's Zhejiang roots and the unbreakable bonds of Huangpu camaraderie, drawing him even closer in the inner circle of trust. On such pivotal matters, Bai Chongxi often chose the path of restraint, yielding rather than clashing in futile strife. Five agonizing days after the plans vanished into the ether, Chiang's telegram pierced the tension, affirming the adoption of Plan A. A surge of quiet triumph coursed through Bai Chongxi as he signed the missive and strode toward the operations map, his steps echoing with purpose.   While strategic minds clashed in hidden caves and distant villas, the front lines pulsed with the raw grit of soldiers readying for battle. Guan Linzheng had been assigned a mount since 1930, when he became commander of the 1st Regiment of the 2nd Training Division, during the Central Plains War between Chiang, Feng, and Yan. He led the regiment to cover the retreat of the division's main force under Zhang Zhizhong. Pursued by several times their number of Feng-Yan troops, they fought while retreating in dire straits. From night to dawn, heavy fog descended, obscuring visibility beyond dozens of paces. Guan Linzheng's chestnut horse suddenly neighed loudly and charged back toward the pursuers. After trying to rein it in unsuccessfully, Guan simply ordered the troops to countercharge into the fog. Shouts of killing filled the air, gunfire intense. The Feng-Yan troops, unclear of the situation in the fog, thought Chiang reinforcements had arrived and ordered a retreat. By the time the fog cleared, they were gone. Guan's bold cunning successfully completed the cover mission, and he was promoted to brigade commander of the division's 2nd Brigade after the war.   In July 1932, during Chiang Kai-shek's fourth encirclement of the Hubei-Henan-Anhui Soviet, Guan Linzheng was brigade commander of the 4th Army's Independent Brigade. In battle, he was surrounded by Red Army troops led by Chen Geng and Cai Shenyi of the Red 25th Army Corps in the Anhui town of Zhuanfo Temple. His unit suffered heavy casualties, and a beloved horse was killed, leaving him distressed for a long time. With the outbreak of the War of Resistance, Guan Linzheng's military career entered its golden age. He believed this was truly raising an army of justice, fighting for the people and the nation. After promotions, though equipped with cars, he always kept a warhorse, often riding to survey terrain, inspect work, and command battles. In spare moments, he personally exercised and groomed the horse. That day, he led several staff on horseback to the Xin Qiang River front line, dismounting on the southern bank. 52nd Army Commander Zhang Yaoming and 195th Division Commander Qin Yizhi were waiting.   According to the Ninth War Zone deployment, the 15th Army Group had positioned Zhang Yaoming's 52nd Army and Xia Chuzhong's 79th Army, a formidable force of six divisions along the southern bank of the Xin Qiang River, stretching from Xin Qiang to Maishi beyond the provincial border. This ironclad first line of defense spanned over 100 kilometers, a vast bulwark against the gathering storm of invasion. Fifty kilometers to the south, Chen Pei's 37th Army, with its Divisions 60 and 95, held the Miluo River from Miluo to Pingjiang as the unyielding second line, ready to absorb any breach. Meanwhile, Li Jue's 70th Army, commanding Divisions 19 and 107 along the eastern bank of the Xiang River, was deployed north and south of Xiangyin, fiercely guarding the critical landing points like Yingtian, points that could spell victory or catastrophe.   195th Division Commander Qin Yizhi reported to Guan Linzheng with a voice charged with resolve: troop morale soared like a battle cry, fortifications stood complete and impenetrable, and the army's slogan for this fateful clash thundered: "Fight with the prestige of Taierzhuang!" The division's mobilization slogan echoed even fiercer: "Win fame in one battle!" Guan Linzheng nodded with grim satisfaction toward Zhang Yaoming, his eyes gleaming with the fire of shared history. Guan had once commanded the 52nd Army himself, leading it through a gauntlet of brilliant, blood-soaked battles on the anti-Japanese front. As the Japanese hordes prepared to surge across the Xin Qiang River southward, this was the first, most perilous barrier, a crucible where legends would be forged or shattered. He had entrusted his most loyal unit to the point of greatest impact, knowing full well the stakes. Zhang Yaoming and the division commanders, who had marched at his side for years through hellfire, understood the gravity: Commander Guan was setting an unassailable example, issuing orders that rippled through the ranks, no one could afford the slightest lapse, or face the merciless blade of military law!   "Who's on the north bank?" Guan Linzheng and the others sat on the hard earth, the weight of impending war pressing down; he pointed to the map's symbols for forward positions across the river, his finger tracing lines of fate. "Guarding the Bijia Mountain position is the reinforced 3rd Battalion of the 195th Division's 131st Regiment under Qin Yizhi," Zhang Yaoming replied without hesitation, his tone steady as stone. "Who's on the north bank?" Guan Linzheng repeated as if he hadn't heard, his voice a low rumble, demanding precision in the face of chaos.   Zhang Yaoming hesitated slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face, and Qin Yizhi stepped in: "3rd Battalion Commander Shi Enhua, Huangpu 8th Class."   The Central Military Academy had held its first five classes in Guangzhou's Huangpu, commonly called Huangpu Military Academy. Afterward, the school moved several times, but students continued using the Huangpu name, partly to inherit the revolutionary spirit against imperialism and feudalism from Huangpu's founding, and partly to indicate their central orthodoxy. Army generals, especially the "old Huangpu" big brothers, approved this practice, calling it Huangpu no matter where the school was.   Guan Linzheng glared at Zhang Yaoming, his gaze like sharpened steel, then pressed his knee and rose to his feet. Guan's left knee had been shattered by a bullet in 1925 during the Eastern Expedition against Chen Jiongming, a wound that had nearly claimed his leg and his future. Doctors had decreed amputation to save his life, but Liao Zhongkai, the party representative, had visited the wounded and intervened strenuously, preventing it. Otherwise, there would be no later glory for Guan Linzheng. After careful treatment and diligent exercise, the leg's function mostly recovered, though rising from a squat was slightly difficult. Zhang Yaoming reached out to help, but Guan pushed him away with a fierce independence born of countless battles. The group descended to the riverbank and stood in heavy silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. The horses either stood patiently with heads held high, vigilant sentinels, or lowered them to sniff the grass, casually plucking some to hold in their lips, oblivious to the human storm brewing.   The Xin Qiang River, an unnamed small river that had flowed quietly for countless years, had no great turbid waves in flood seasons and still shallow clear ripples in dry periods. It flowed peacefully from its source to Dongting Lake over dozens of kilometers. At this moment, it reflected the figures and thoughts of several soldiers, utterly unaware that in a dozen days, its name would leap to the front pages of newspapers nationwide, baptized in blood and etched into history.   Amid these preparations on the front lines, deeper internal conflicts simmered among the high command. Xue Yue regretted taking the position of provincial chairman, a decision that now haunted him like a specter from the battlefield's edge.   After the nationwide shock of the "Great Fire of Changsha," Zhang Zhizhong was punished with "suspension with retention," continuing to handle daily affairs amid the ashes. He sent several telegrams requesting resignation from the provincial chairmanship, expressing to the Executive Yuan his "shameless guilt and deep pain." On January 17, 1939, the Chongqing Executive Yuan passed a resolution to reorganize the Hunan Provincial Government. That night, Zhang Zhizhong received Chiang Kai-shek's telegram instructing him to hand over work and report to Chongqing.   In December 1938, when the Military Affairs Commission issued the order for Xue Yue to act as Ninth War Zone Commander, Chiang Kai-shek personally spoke with Xue, asking: "Brother Boling, do you think this arrangement is acceptable?" Boling was Xue Yue's courtesy name. Chiang, nine years older, addressed him as brother in private. Xue Yue said: "With Changsha in such a state, I truly lack the ability to handle such a major war zone task." Chiang Kai-shek understood Xue's implication about the disunity of military and political affairs making military work difficult. He said: "You go first; we can consider unifying military and political affairs later." According to He Yaozu, then director of the Military Affairs Commission Office who witnessed this: "My impression was that Xue Yue didn't want to avoid the acting commander role, but wanted to combine military and political powers. Chiang knew this, telling me 'If he's willing, let him do it,' words Chiang said to many seeking positions."   On February 1, 1939, the Nationalist Government officially appointed Xue Yue as Chairman of the Hunan Provincial Committee of the Kuomintang and Chairman of Hunan Province. With party, government, and military powers combined, troubles followed incessantly, piling upon him like relentless enemy fire. As war zone commander, he first thought of the troops. Upon taking office, Xue implemented a policy to restrict market rice prices for military grain procurement, proposing "flat prices" to acquire grain cheaply, forcing merchants underground. Upon hearing this, Xue angrily summoned major rice merchants, reprimanded them, and ordered them to deliver quotas. The result: insufficient low-price rice, with black market prices rising daily. After half a year, sharp-tongued Hunanese nicknamed him "Xue Pinggui," a name that became household, a mocking whisper that cut deeper than any blade.   Coincidentally, his father passed away. Whether Xue instructed it or subordinates "handled it," obituaries flew everywhere, sent to county-level units across the province. Each county had at least 20 units sending condolences, and higher-level cities and provincial units all sent, leading some to secretly calculate. After Xue Yue took charge in Hunan, his family members were transferred from other provinces, and arranging work according to their abilities was reasonable in that old society. His uncle-in-law Fang Xuefen became head of the Provincial Grain Bureau, brother-in-law Qiu Weiyi head of the Provincial Bank. His brother continued business, transporting Hunan rice to Guangdong for barter.   Xue Yue's talents shone not in officialdom. Only before military maps, on battlefields of gunfire and flying shells, could one find the general-like Xue Yue; "heaven-born talent" was for warfare. This descendant of an ordinary farming family in Lechang County, Guangdong, who entered Huangpu Army Primary School at 10, became commander of Sun Yat-sen's bodyguard regiment's 1st Battalion at 24, and once carried a machine gun through hails of bullets to protect Madame Sun Soong Ching-ling from rebel encirclement, earned the nickname "Tiger Cub" in blood and fire. What propelled him to life's peak was the Battle of Changsha.   On August 21, 1939, with war clouds over Changsha thickening like a noose, Xue Yue received telegrams and calls from Chiang Kai-shek, Bai Chongxi, and Chen Cheng. Chiang's telegram required immediate deployment according to "Plan A." Bai and Chen urged resolute implementation of the Chairman's instructions. Xue Yue stood motionless before the map, his mind a whirlwind of strategy and defiance.   Many articles recalling Xue Yue mentioned his daily habit, or hobby, of studying maps; he could do so all day. With battles, he looked; without, he still studied avidly. Perhaps map-reading had evolved from a commander's work need to a professional soldier's spiritual requirement, a way to express emotions, dispel worries, a soldier's way of existence. After Chiang's order to execute "Plan A," rather than comparing plans on the map for stronger bases for his preferred view, he was organizing thoughts, adjusting emotions, and gathering courage in this soul's sanctuary. Hours later, he turned and called Chief of Staff Zhao Zili, dictating three reasons to persist with "Plan B," instructing him to draft a telegram directly to Chiang Kai-shek.   He reminded Zhao that the wording should be forceful yet resilient, making the Chairman clearly feel his firm determination. The Ninth War Zone has sufficient forces and confidence to annihilate the Japanese north of Changsha. If our forces retreat to Hengyang, the Japanese 21st Army under Ando Toshikichi in Guangzhou (with 18th and 104th Divisions, Taiwan Brigade, and attached air units) might advance north along the Yue-Han Railway in support, forming a pincer on us, making the battle hard to control. Following Plan A and allowing the Japanese south would lead to Changsha's fall, exploited by enemy propaganda, causing adverse effects domestically and internationally. These three points presented the potential military and political disadvantages of Plan A as tangible, imminent dangers, more argumentative and unyieldingly firm than his original inclination toward "Plan B."   Zhao Zili quickly noted the points, his pen flying across the page with the precision of a seasoned warrior, before retreating to the staff office to draft the telegram that could alter the course of battle. A top student of Huangpu's 6th Class, quick-witted and resourceful, Zhao had risen like a comet through the ranks after a few blistering campaigns, pinning the insignia of major general to his shoulders at the tender age of 31, a feat that stirred envy among his classmates like a storm in their hearts. Zhao Zili, of course, understood Xue Yue's true intent, piercing through the layers of strategy to the raw undercurrent of determination and unresolved fury.   In May 1938, to avenge the stinging triumph at Taierzhuang, the Japanese had massed their forces in a vengeful storm, aiming to encircle and annihilate the Chinese main forces east of the Longhai Railway, striking from both east and north with ruthless precision. The northern route's 14th Division, under the cunning Dobashi Kenji, found itself surrounded in Lanfeng by a pantheon of fierce Chinese generals, Song Xilian, Yu Jishi, Hu Zongnan, Qiu Qingquan, Wang Yaowu, Li Hanlun, Gui Yongqing, Sun Tongxuan, and Shang Zhen, warriors whose names echoed like thunder across the battlefields. Chiang Kai-shek himself descended upon Zhengzhou to supervise the carnage, appointing Xue Yue as 1st Corps Commander to orchestrate the generals in a full-throttle offensive on the morning of May 25, with the ironclad goal of obliterating that longtime scourge of China and his 14th Division before the dawn of the 26th shattered the night.   The odds were a gambler's dream: 150,000 elite Chinese troops against a mere 20,000 second-rate Japanese soldiers. Victory seemed not just possible, but inevitable; Chiang invited journalists to the front lines for live dispatches, while the Wuhan Political Department feverishly prepared celebrations for the "second great Taierzhuang victory." Chiang Kai-shek was exceptionally angry, his rage boiling over in orders that scorched the ranks, reprimanding army commanders for "inept command, cowardly actions, leading to low morale and hesitation," and that "most army, division, and brigade commanders lacked courage and self-motivation, prolonging the battle." After the Lanfeng Battle, Chiang ordered the dismissal and investigation of future Nationalist Navy Commander Gui Yongqing and 1950s Taiwan Army Commander and Provincial Chairman Huang Jie, and executed 88th Division Commander Long Muhan. But he did not hold Xue Yue accountable for leadership responsibility. For a highly self-respecting person, self-blame is more painful than others' blame. Thereafter, Xue Yue spent more time buried in maps, his eyes tracing lines of terrain like a man possessed, seeking a monumental battle to avenge his wounded pride and redeem his tarnished honor.   On March 8, 1939, shortly after Xue Yue assumed the mantle of acting Ninth War Zone Commander, Chiang telegraphed him with urgent resolve: "To secure Nanchang and its rear lines, decide to strike first, take the offensive to thwart the enemy's intentions." Chiang valued Nanchang's strategic position, as did Okamura Yasuji, but Chiang was a step slow, his hesitation a fatal crack. The Japanese, wielding two divisions bolstered by the bulk of their army's tanks and artillery, seized the initiative like predators in the night, storming Nanchang before the Chinese heavy forces could muster. Chen Cheng remained the nominal Ninth War Zone Commander, relegating Xue Yue to a watchful perch in Changsha while entrusting the Nanchang front to his confidant Luo Zhuoying. Xue Yue haunted the command room day and night, monitoring the inferno through frantic phone calls and telegrams, his discomfort gnawing at him like an unhealed wound. He bore witness to Nanchang's fall and the counterattack's agonizing collapse.   The Nanchang Battle loss was not Xue's fault, but it scarred the Ninth War Zone under his watch, with generals' whispers spreading like venom, knotting his heart in a tangle of regret and resolve. Months of intense map study and on-site inspections had etched Hunan's terrain into Xue Yue's very soul, birthing a strategy that was bold, unique, and brimming with promise—a phoenix rising from the ashes of defeat. But as Zhao Zili understood with crystal clarity, Commander Xue's telegram to Chiang, a forceful plea to reverse the decision, sprang less from cold military "strategy" than from the seething "resentment" accumulated through repeated failures and humiliations, a fire that demanded reckoning. With Chen Cheng's help, Chiang finally agreed to change the plan, bending to the tide of persuasion. Xue Yue was delighted, his spirit soaring like a liberated eagle; Bai Chongxi was angry, his frustration simmering like a storm held at bay. After the battle erupted, Bai, dispatched by Chiang to assist Xue Yue, arrived at the war zone headquarters on Yuelu Mountain atop the Xiang River's west bank in Changsha but remained silent like a mute bodhisattva, his words locked away in disapproval. Even decades later, in his Memoirs of Bai Chongxi, discussing the First Battle of Changsha, he still did not consider it a victory, saying the Japanese "conducted a planned retreat without much loss, which is a fact."   I would like to take this time to remind you all that this podcast is only made possible through the efforts of Kings and Generals over at Youtube. Please go subscribe to Kings and Generals over at Youtube and to continue helping us produce this content please check out www.patreon.com/kingsandgenerals. If you are still hungry after that, give my personal channel a look over at The Pacific War Channel at Youtube, it would mean a lot to me. In 1939, amid the Second Sino-Japanese War's stalemate phase, Chiang Kai-shek received intelligence on Japan's Xiang-Gan Operation, aimed at pressuring Chongqing through military advances in Hunan. Deputy Chief Bai Chongxi proposed Plan A for a deep-lure annihilation south of Changsha, while Chen Cheng and Xue Yue favored Plan B for resistance north of the city. After tense debates, Chiang approved Plan B, influenced by Xue's insistence to avoid Changsha's fall and counter Japanese propaganda.   

진행자: 홍유, TannithHumanoid race with China may be won by the hand, not on foot기사요약: 중국이 휴머노이드 로봇의 양산과 이동 기술에서는 앞서가고 있지만, 정밀한 ‘손' 조작 기술에서는 여전히 한계가 있어, 한국이 센서·촉각 데이터 기반 경쟁력으로 핵심 주도권을 노리고 있다는 분석이다.[1] Earlier this month, Seoul's COEX hosted an event whose name said it all: the China Humanoid Conference, "First Journey to Korea." Unitree, Fourier, Leju and Huawei presented humanoids already working in Chinese factories and retail stores.host: 주회하다, 열다retail store: 소매 상점[2] It felt less like an introduction than a declaration. The Korean engineers in the audience knew the scoreboard: China ships the vast majority of the world's humanoids, with over 140 companies in the race. On volume and speed, the contest was over.declaration: 선언vast: 어마어마한[3] Not everyone on stage was triumphant, though. Yan Weixin, a senior researcher at Shanghai Jiao Tong University's AI institute, acknowledged from the stage that his team had defined 33 fundamental hand motions and succeeded with 32. The exception: chopsticks, a task that demands "very precise force control and tactile perception." Even China's humanoids, Yan conceded, cannot yet perform the kind of delicate manipulation that most 5-year-olds master at the dinner table.exception: 예외precise: 정확한, 정밀한tactile: 촉감의concede: 인정하다, 수긍하다[4] The distinction matters because it maps onto two very different competitions. Walking is an engineering problem China solved with speed and scale. Dexterous manipulation is a data problem no country has solved yet, and South Korean companies believe they hold some of the missing pieces.distinction: 차이dexterous: 손재주가 비상한기사원문: https://www.koreaherald.com/article/10698201

Chinese Vice President Han Zheng was in Kenya this week, where he oversaw the first shipment of agricultural products that will enter the Chinese market duty-free. There's a lot of excitement across the continent about China's removal of all import tariffs for goods from 53 African countries. But Yan Liang, an economics professor at Willamette University, argues it's not going to make much of a difference to reduce the swelling trade deficit that most African countries now have with China. Yan joins Eric to discuss a recent paper she wrote that explores China's evolving economic relationship with Africa and how the continent's lack of industrial capacity, among other factors, will keep the trade relationship between these two regions largely intact.

Trophies? Polished. Audience? Seated. Shrimp? Cocktailed. The inaugural Comic Sans Awards are about to begin… but where are the hosts?! Don't tell me they're running around the alleyways of 1950s Singapore, busting crooks and solving crimes with "The Five-Foot-Way Detective" by Joshua Chiang! Please, somebody call them… our venue deposit — and season finale — are on the line!---In this episode, Nat reads pages 1–17.Show notes and bibliography coming soon.Hear an interesting ad? Learn more about our advertisers here.If you enjoyed the show, consider supporting us on Patreon! You'll get access to the exclusive Comic Sans Aftershow, ad-free episodes, bonus content, and more.Tag us @comicsanspod on Instagram and Bluesky — we'd love to hear from you!---00:00 - Preamble06:44 - Introducing "The Five-Foot-Way Detective"09:41 - Nat's Three Words & Yan's Recap13:19 - Discussion27:55 - Yan's Usual Questions31:56 - The Inaugural Comic Sans Awards!56:27 - Reflections on Season Four---Comic Sans is an Andas Productions podcast hosted by Myle Yan Tay and Nathaniel Mah, produced by Scott Lee Chua and Roshan Singh Sambhi. Edited by Maddy Searle (audio) and Kit Ling Leong (video). Cover art by Isabel Fang. Motion graphics animation by Knikni Studio (Maryana Rudakova).And a huge thank you to the members of our Patreon Inner Circle: Eugene Choo, Melody Lau, and Smith Chua — your support makes this show possible!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

In Episode 301, Rob sits down with Yan Shanklin for an in-depth conversation, exploring her journey as a digital creator, author, actress, and passionate sports fan. The discussion begins by introducing who she is beyond her titles, highlighting how her path into digital content creation started and how she developed and evolved her personal brand. The episode explores the importance of authenticity in content creation, the balance between creativity and strategy when building a platform, and the metrics that matter most when evaluating impact in today's digital landscape. Yan also reflects on her identity as a devoted fan of the Cleveland Browns fan and how sports fandom influences her content, community connections, and memorable moments as a supporter. The conversation then shifts to her work as an author, including her inspiration for writing Navigating Life in Uncertainty, and how her lived experiences shaped her storytelling, and a look back at her earlier Lemon Pepper cookbook. Additionally, Yan discusses her passion for acting, how she prepares emotionally and mentally for roles, and the types of characters she hopes to portray. The episode concludes with reflections on legacy, impact, and on where listeners can follow her on social media and find her latest book. To buy Yan's book click the link below: https://tr.ee/ff-JIQU-2B

Tickets, please! We're your tour guides, Yan and Nat, and this is the bus bound for the wishful world of "Shubeik Lubeik" by Deena Mohamed. For your own safety, do refrain from eating, drinking, or expressing your desires aloud while the bus is in motion. Audio commentary is available through the provided headset. From all of us at Comic Sans, we wish you a pleasant journey.---In this episode, Nat reads pages 12–63.Show notes and bibliography coming soon.Hear an interesting ad? Learn more about our advertisers here.If you enjoyed the show, consider supporting us on Patreon! You'll get access to the exclusive Comic Sans Aftershow, ad-free episodes, bonus content, and more.Tag us @comicsanspod on Instagram and Bluesky — we'd love to hear from you!---00:00 - Preamble04:48 - Introducing "Shubeik Lubeik"11:27 - Nat's Three Words13:37 - Yan's Recap18:05 - Discussion41:18 - Yan's Final Questions47:32 - Up Next on Comic Sans---Comic Sans is an Andas Productions podcast hosted by Myle Yan Tay and Nathaniel Mah, produced by Scott Lee Chua and Roshan Singh Sambhi. Edited by Maddy Searle (audio) and Kit Ling Leong (video). Cover art by Isabel Fang. Motion graphics animation by Knikni Studio (Maryana Rudakova).And a huge thank you to the members of our Patreon Inner Circle: Eugene Choo, Melody Lau, and Smith Chua — your support makes this show possible!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

In this episode of Lead-Lag Live, I sit down with Derek Yan, Senior Investment Strategist at KraneShares, to explore why humanoid robotics is moving from research labs into real-world deployment — and what that means for investors.From embodied AI and general-purpose robotics to global supply chain dynamics between the U.S. and China, Yan explains why the KraneShares Global Humanoid and Embodied Intelligence ETF (KOID) focuses on the full ecosystem — not just headline mega-cap names — and even brings KOID, a working humanoid robot, into the interview to demonstrate the theme in real time.In this episode:– What “embodied AI” actually means– Why humanoids are reaching an inflection point now– How labor shortages are accelerating adoption– Why the “body” of robotics may hold the most value– How KOID captures the entire humanoid value chainLead-Lag Live brings you inside conversations with the financial thinkers who shape markets. Subscribe for interviews that go deeper than the noise.#HumanoidRobotics #EmbodiedAI #ArtificialIntelligence#FutureOfWork #ThematicInvestingSupport the show

In 2018, Chinese director Zhang Yimou (Hero, House of Flying Daggers) returned once again to the wuxia genre with the Shadow, a tale of court intrigue, starring Chao Deng, Li Sun, and Ryan Zheng, about a double forced to play the part of a commander in order to retake lost territory from a rival nation.  Tune in for the full review! Timestamps: [00:00] Intro + The Heroic Trio, Onward Towards Our Noble Deaths, Yan, Steel of the Celestial Shadows, Ashita no Joe, Dynasty Warriors Origins [37:45] Review: Shadow (2018)

El chisme… Esto no es chiste. Falso: Si no lo es, ¿por qué divierte tanto? Los Alexis tienen opiniones encontradas en cuanto a la tiraera y el valor humorístico de La Comay, así que buscaron a un experto que ha sido parte de esta industria del entretenimiento: Yan Ruiz, quien nos comparte detalles sobre Kobbo, la ética del cotilleo y la coyuntura de la noticia mezclada con el vacilón. Al terminar, Yan nos dijo: "hablé cosas aquí que nunca he dicho".

Brendan is back after a ridiculous weekend — from a cowboy-themed celebrity party in Franklin, Tennessee to one of the most chaotic UFC cards of the year.

On today's episode of Good Guy / Bad Guy, Daniel Cormier & Chael Sonnen recap an eventful UFC 323, starting with Petr Yan becoming the new bantamweight champion! Was the victory over Merab Dvalishvili more about Yan's stellar performance or the former champion biting off more than he can chew with his 4th fight in a calendar year? Does 'The Machine' warrant an immediate rematch or should the UFC turn to a different opponent for Petr Yan? In the flyweight co main event, Alexandre Pantoja lost his title to Joshua Van due to an arm injury… how do the guy think Van should feel about winning his first championship in this fashion? Much like the main event, is an immediate rematch in store at flyweight? And, Triple C officially hangs up the gloves following his loss this past weekend… DC & Chael dive into what his legacy is to the sport.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices