Not enough Japanese devils to kill? 1.4 billion people volunteer for the Battle of Shanghai.

The one-eyed company commander pulled Xiao Hubei close and held him against his chest.

He lowered his head and carefully examined the young face with his only remaining good eye.

I remember this kid was a new recruit who joined three months ago; he was only seventeen years old.

When he first arrived, he was timid and couldn't bear to look at corpses, and he had nightmares at night. The veterans laughed at him, and he would just blush and remain silent.

but now……

The company commander lowered his head and gently touched Xiao Hubei's forehead, which still retained a trace of body warmth.

Her lips moved, but the sound was so soft that only she could hear it:

"...Enshi children."

"Well done."

Yao Lin lay down next to Xiao Hubei.

His injuries were more severe.

His right leg bone was shattered by a bullet, and his left scapula was fractured.

But he was more clear-headed than Xiao Hubei.

I was consciously feeling the increasingly clear pain emanating from each wound.

He turned his head to look at Xiao Hubei.

"Brother..." Yao Lin's voice was hoarse, "Don't die so soon..."

"Wait for me a moment..."

"Let's...set off together."

"On the road to the underworld... I'll have someone to keep me company..."

Beside Yao Lin, a young boy held his hand tightly.

He is Yao Lin's younger brother, Yao Shan.

It was that young soldier who had rushed out to save his brother.

At this moment, Yao Shao's tears fell in a steady stream, landing on Yao Lin's hand, mingling with blood and stains, spreading into dark red patterns.

"Brother...brother, don't die... Waaah, I don't want you to die..."

Yao Lin looked at his younger brother, at that face that resembled his own by seven parts, but was even more youthful.

He remembered the day he joined the army.

Father squatted on the threshold of our old house, puffing on his pipe, the embers flickering. Finally, Father stood up, patted him on the shoulder, and said only one sentence:

"Once you're in the army, listen to your superiors."

"Fight the Japanese devils well."

His mother wiped away her tears inside the house, packing his luggage as she cried.

There wasn't much to pack, just two sets of coarse cloth clothes to change into, a pair of newly sewn cloth shoes, and a small bag of fried noodles.

Mother said, "Baby, you must take good care of yourself."

She paused, then added, "Take good care of your younger brother."

Yao Lin looked at his younger brother, his lips twitching, which aggravated the wound on his face, causing it to burn with pain.

But he still smiled.

His smile was clean and pure, like the sky after the rain in his hometown in Henan—even though he hadn't seen the sky of his hometown for almost two years.

"Brother, don't cry."

Yao Lin's voice was very soft:

"Be a man."

At this moment, Yao Lin suddenly recalled the scenes he had witnessed on the Shanghai battlefield over the past few months.

He remembered the names of some of the fallen brothers, only their faces, and some he couldn't even remember their faces.

They fell like wheat harvested in autumn, one crop after another.

He once thought that the war would never end.

He once thought that he would become an unnamed corpse in the scorched earth, like countless fallen brothers.

But now...

He saw those steel behemoths.

I saw how they tore apart Japanese tanks like paper.

I witnessed how they used a torrential storm of metal to turn more than four hundred Japanese soldiers into pieces of flesh scattered all over the ground.

I saw the Chinese soldier standing on the tank, roaring to the sky.

I saw... hope.

A hope so powerful it sends shivers down your spine, yet so warm it makes you want to cry.

"With this hope..."

Yao Lin thought to himself, his vision already beginning to blur.

He could feel his body heat draining away, like a pot of charcoal slowly going out.

"……younger brother……"

"...I should be able to...live a good life..."

"...You're doing well, aren't you..."

This was Yao Lin's last thought; his breathing grew weaker and weaker.

But he used his last bit of strength to raise his still-movable right hand and clench it into a fist.

Then, with the last of his strength, he punched his fist—

He pounded his left chest hard!

The wound was jolted, and the excruciating pain caused his whole body to spasm, but he did not stop.

boom.

A very soft sound.

Yet it seemed as if he had used up all his life force.

He looked at his younger brother, at the wounded brothers who had surrounded him, and at the one-eyed company commander.

His lips moved, the sound as soft as a sigh, yet as clear as a vow:

"In later generations..."

"The New China..."

"Powerful...incomparable..."

He paused, took his last breath, and with his last ounce of strength, forced out two words from his chest:

"New...China..."

"Long live……"

The words fell.

His fist was about to drop.

Eyes slowly closed.

But the corners of his mouth still held that clean smile.

It looks like it's asleep.

It was like having a long, tiring dream, but with a happy ending.

In my dream, my younger brother grew up, got married, and had children.

In my dream, the wheat in my hometown of Henan was ripe, golden yellow, and the wind blew, making the wheat waves look like the sea.

In my dream, there were no more gunshots, no corpses, no scorched earth.

Only peace.

Only... the new China.

"elder brother--!!!"

The younger brother's cries were heart-wrenching.

At this moment, a murky tear finally rolled down the one eye of the one-eyed company commander.

He raised his hand, which was missing two fingers, and wiped his face.

Then, he punched his chest hard and fiercely.

boom.

Like a farewell.

Like a tribute.

Like... the final military salute.

Just as the sorrow in the trenches was about to freeze into ice—

A voice came from the depths of the smoke-filled ruins.

It wasn't the sound of cannons.

It wasn't the sound of gunfire.

It wasn't the roar of a tank engine.

It was a woman's voice.

Clear, calm, with a strange penetrating power, as if it could soothe all pain and dispel all gloom.

"I allow it—"

The sound came from afar and approached.

"you--"

Footsteps sounded, crunching crisply on the scorched earth and broken bricks.

"Is he/she dead?"

The moment the last three words fell.

A figure emerged from behind the burning wreckage of a Japanese tank...