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

Just then, Lei Gang walked over carrying a rocket launcher. The iron pipe was still hot, emitting a wisp of thin blue smoke, like the muzzle of a gun that had just finished a battle.

He walked over to Gu Yunshan and slammed the rocket launcher into the ground, planting it in the soil.

Then he smiled, looking at Gu Yunshan, at this brigade commander who was covered in blood, with a bayonet still stuck in his left shoulder, yet stood straighter than anyone else.

"Brigade Commander," he said, his voice loud enough to be heard throughout the entire position, "these two brothers are tough as nails."

Gu Yunshan looked at him without saying a word.

But he waited for Lei Gang to continue. He knew that this soldier from later generations wouldn't say such things without reason.

Lei Gang pointed at the stone. The Hebei boy lying on the ground had his left leg wrapped in bandages, his right shoulder bandaged, and a small box with green numbers jumping on it taped to his chest.

"That kid, he charged at the tank with a grenade in his hand. He threw the grenade, it exploded, the tank stopped, and shrapnel flew past his ear." Lei Gang paused, his voice lower, but every word was clear. "He was lucky, he didn't die."

He then pointed at Shen Qinghe, Gu Yunshan's adjutant, who had a bloody hole in his left shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, but a pale yellow liquid was still seeping from the wound.

"This guy rushed in and blew up the tank. The flames of the explosion went right over his head, but he didn't die."

Lei Gang stopped and looked at Gu Yunshan. His eyes gleamed like knives in the smoke of battle.

What does this mean?

Gu Yunshan looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

Lei Gang said, word by word, "It means that God won't take them. It means they still have to live, and still have to watch—how we drive the Japanese devils out of China."

Gu Yunshan stood there, on that land that had been ravaged by artillery fire for three years, amidst the corpses and among those who were still alive.

"Okay," he said, his voice hoarse like sandpaper grinding iron, "then they live."

He squatted down, next to the stone, next to Shen Qinghe. His knees hit the gravel on the ground, making him wince in pain.

But he didn't stand up. He looked at the stone, at the nineteen-year-old boy from Hebei, at that face as pale as paper.

"Did you hear that? You have to live." His voice was very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something. "Live and see how we drive the Japanese out."

Stone smiled. The smile, though weak on his pale face, was genuine. "Traveler," his voice was soft, as soft as the wind, "I'm not going anywhere. I'll just follow you."

Shen Qinghe smiled too. His smile was weaker than a stone's, his lips were chapped, and his face was pale, but his eyes shone. "Commander, me too."

Su Qing stood up. She stood there, looking at Shi Tou, then at Shen Qinghe, and then at Gu Yunshan. Her hands were still stained with blood—Shi Tou's blood, Shen Qinghe's blood.

Her face was expressionless, the kind of expression typical of military medics on the battlefield—not indifference, but the suppression of all emotions, leaving only the most level-headed judgment. But her eyes shone even brighter than before.

"Commander," she said, "these two people need further treatment."

Gu Yunshan looked at her, at this military doctor from the future, at this person who saved his two brothers with things he had never seen before.

"Will he survive?" he asked.

Su Qing nodded. "Yes."

One word is enough.

Gu Yunshan stood up. He stood there, looking at Shi Tou, looking at Shen Qinghe, looking at the two men who risked their lives to blow up the tank. His hands clenched and unclenched, unclenched and clenched again. Then, he took a deep breath.

"Shitou, Qinghe," he said, his voice hoarse but firm, "You two go to the rear first. Come back when you've recovered."

Shi Tou wanted to say something. His mouth opened, his lips trembled, but no sound came out. But Su Qing held him down. "Don't speak. Rest and recover." Her voice was soft, but firm.

Her hand rested on Shi Tou's shoulder, lightly, but Shi Tou couldn't move. He could only shut up, looking at Gu Yunshan, at the brigade commander, at the man covered in blood with a bayonet still stuck in his left shoulder.

"Traveler..." His voice was very soft, as if it were drifting from a great distance, "You must live too."

Gu Yunshan smiled. The smile shone brightly on his blood-stained face. "Don't worry, I'm tough too."

Su Qing began packing the medical kit. She squatted down and put the bottles and jars back one by one.

The hemostatic powder, more than half a jar left, the white powder sloshing around in the transparent container. The antibiotics, three vials remaining, the pale yellow liquid in a slender glass tube.

One bag of blood plasma substitute has been used, and one bag remains. The pale yellow liquid is sloshing around in the soft bag.

She put the items back quickly but carefully, placing each item in its designated spot, as neatly as if she were reviewing a military parade.

The soldiers around them stared at the things, at the white, transparent, unfamiliar objects. They had never seen this kind of medicine before. The medicines they had seen were herbs, iodine, and red-hot iron sheets.

They had never seen anything like it before—a powder that stops bleeding when sprinkled on, an injection that stops fever when injected, and a box that lets you see a heartbeat when you stick it on.

An old soldier asked in a low voice, so softly it was as if he were afraid of disturbing those things: "What...what kind of medicine is that? How is it so potent?"

Su Qing didn't answer. She just continued packing, zipping up the medical bag all the way, very tightly. But Lei Gang answered.

He stood there, carrying the still-smoking rocket launcher, looking at the soldiers, at the men in their grey-blue uniforms, at those whose eyes still held fear, hope, and curiosity. He spoke, his voice loud enough to be heard throughout the entire position.

"Those are medicines from the new China," he said, emphasizing each word. "Things from later generations. A shot of antibiotics can cure a wound infection. A bag of blood plasma can save a life."

He paused, looking into the soldiers' eyes. Those eyes lit up when he said the word "afterlife."

"We've brought a lot." His voice grew louder. "More medicine, more weapons, more soldiers, starting from 2026, in a dozen hours."

Silence reigned on the position. Only the wind howled, the crackling of burning tank wreckage echoed, and the heavy, disbelieving breaths of the soldiers stood there, watching Lei Gang, watching the still-smoking rocket launcher, watching the man who had come from the future.

A young soldier spoke, his voice trembling: "You...you're sending more people?"

Lei Gang nodded. "Come on. There are many people."

Another soldier asked, "How many men are coming?"

Lei Gang looked at him, at the soldier whose face still held a touch of childishness. "A lot," he said. "Enough to drive the Japanese out."

The soldier froze. His mouth was open, as if he wanted to say something, but he couldn't utter a word. He just stood there, looking at Lei Gang, looking at this person who came from the future.

Then he smiled. It was a terrible smile; tears were still on his face, but he smiled.

"Okay..." he murmured, "Okay..."

Gu Yunshan stood there, listening to those words. He heard "New China," he heard "more medicine," he heard "more soldiers."

"You…" he asked softly, "You really… can bring so many people?"

Lei Gang looked at him, at the brigade commander covered in blood, at the light in his single eye. "Yes."

He said, "In about ten hours, 64 people will arrive, carrying 64 cubic meters of equipment: medicine, weapons, and ammunition."

He paused, then continued, "And then there will be even more. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions, tens of millions, hundreds of millions, 1.4 billion."

Gu Yunshan's tears flowed again. He didn't wipe them away, letting them stream down his face. "Fourteen billion people..." he murmured, "Fourteen billion people..."