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

"Comrade."

Old Gun suddenly spoke up.

Fu Hao turned her head away.

Old Gun didn't look at her.

He continued to gaze in the direction of the roaring artillery fire.

"Tell me," his voice was hoarse, "can they hold out over there?"

The Battle of Shanghai has been going on for some time now.

When they came back from the front lines, they knew how difficult the situation was.

Japanese 3rd Division.

That was one of the most elite standing divisions of the Japanese Army.

The killings on Chinese soil began as early as the First Sino-Japanese War.

He participated in the Russo-Japanese War.

He participated in the "September 18 Incident".

Now, they're back again.

With more advanced weapons, more ammunition, and more troops.

Old Gun knew how terrifying this division was.

He saw it with his own eyes on the front lines.

I've seen their artillery barrage.

I've seen their tanks advance.

Fu Hao's gaze also turned towards the north bank of Luodian.

There, gunfire roared like a tide, and artillery fire thundered like a thunderclap.

The firelight turned half the sky a dark red, like a blood-stained sunset, like an inextinguishable infernal fire.

Fu Hao looked at the firelight.

Looked for a long time.

Then she spoke.

The voice was very calm.

It's like saying something that's already been determined.

"We can hold on."

Old Gun turned his head and looked at her.

"Why?" Old Gun asked.

Fu Hao did not answer immediately.

She thought about it.

Then, she turned to look at Old Gun.

I looked at the taciturn vice class monitor.

"Because the people there," she said, "are like me, just like us."

"They are all Chinese soldiers."

Old Gun was stunned.

Then, he looked down at the gun in his hand.

The gun barrel was empty.

The bullets were long gone.

But he's carried that gun with him ever since he joined the army.

He thought of the men who had held guns with him.

I think of those brothers who retreated from the front lines and then retreated from the front lines again.

I think of those who can no longer hold a gun.

He raised his head.

Then he looked out the window at the firelight.

That direction where artillery fire was raging.

That area is in the direction where people are dying.

He nodded.

"right."

His voice was very soft.

But I'm very determined.

"Just like us."

Outside the window, the sound of gunfire grew closer and closer.

It's not an illusion.

It's getting closer and closer.

The rumbling sound, like muffled thunder, was even clearer than before.

The flashes of light became more frequent than before.

Shuanzhu tensed up.

He gripped the brick tightly in his hand; the brick was soaked in blood, slippery, and almost impossible to hold.

"Sister..." his voice trembled, "They...they attacked?"

Fu Hao stood up.

She walked to the window.

The armored boots crunched on the gravel with a crisp "crunch, crunch" sound.

She stood by the window, gazing at the distant battlefield flickering with fire.

Looking at those explosions.

Looking at those flames.

Then, she turned around.

He looked at the people inside the room.

Li Dajiang leaned against a pillar.

He gripped the tiger-headed broadsword.

The blade was bent and the body was cracked, but he gripped it tightly.

The knuckles are turning white.

The stone pillar leaned against the door panel.

He propped himself up.

A person without legs can only support themselves with their arms, like a wounded wild beast waiting for the final pounce.

Old Zhao fumbled around.

He grabbed a wooden stick—he didn't know who had thrown it down, but it was about as thick as an arm.

He held it in his hand and weighed it in his hand.

Old Gun stood up.

He fixed the bayonet to the muzzle of the gun.

The bayonet was already chipped, but it could still kill.

Shuanzhu gripped the brick tightly.

His hands were still shaking.

But his eyes did not look away.

Everyone is watching Fu Hao.

Waiting for her orders.

Waiting for her to tell them—

Next step, how to fight?

Fu Hao looked at them.

Looking at these people who just brushed past death and are now preparing to stand up again.

She took a deep breath.

He took a deep breath.

Very deep.

Then she spoke.

"The embroiderers and anvils are holding the line," she said. "The Qilin tanks are there too."

"I don't know how long they can hold out."

She paused.

But I know one thing—

Her voice suddenly became firm.

"Bian Yun will be back soon."

The Chinese soldiers here have heard of Bian Yun to varying degrees.

Li Dajiang had heard Tiezhen mention it.

Old Gun had heard the embroiderer mention it.

Shi Zhuzi, Lao Zhao, Shuanzhu, and the others pieced together the story of this name from the discussions among the wounded.

That person can come from a very, very far place.

That place is called "New China".

Every time that person goes back, he brings even more people back with him.

Bring back better equipment.

bring--

I hope to come back.

Fu Hao's tone left no room for doubt:

"Bian Yun will bring even more people with him this time."

"Those people we brought back."

They will be stronger than us.

"The equipment will be better than it is now."

Inside the room, Shuanzhu asked in a low voice:

"So... how much longer do we have to hold out?"

The woman looked at him intently.

I noticed a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

I also saw what lay beneath that hint of tension—

That is belief.

It's because they believe she will help them survive.

It's because they believe that the person named "Bian Yun" will come.

It is belief—

Everything will be alright.

"We don't need to stay here for long," she said.

"Just hold out a little longer."

"But before the wingers return—"

Fu Hao walked back to the window.

Together with these Chinese garrison troops.

Looking into the distance.

Looking towards the north bank of Luodian.

Looking out at the battlefield engulfed in flames.

I looked up at the night sky that was about to dawn.

There, the fighting continues.

The sound of the explosion was like the heartbeat of a giant.

a bit.

a bit.

a bit.

Shuanzhu stood beside Fuhao.

He gripped the brick, looked up at the woman covered in blood, and then at his squad leader.

Li Dajiang held the broadsword in his sleeve.

The blood on the knife had dried.

But he still wiped it with his sleeve.

It was wiped very slowly.

Very meticulous.

He didn't want the Japanese soldiers' blood to corrode the broadsword.

Fu Hao's eyes were gazing into the distance.

She spoke, enunciating each word clearly:

"Before Bian Yun returns."

"We'll stay here and guard him."

Then, she added:

"And once Bian Yun returns, we can—"

"Launch a counter-offensive against the Japanese Third Division."

…………

distance.

The battle on the north bank of Luodian has entered a fierce stage...