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

Japanese positions. It was still dark.

But those tan figures had already begun to move. Not just one or two, not just a hundred or two, but three thousand.

They are gathering, lining up, and preparing.

Division Commander Munetake Yamamuro stood on the ruins of a bombed-out house, using a few broken bricks to make himself taller than everyone else.

His military knife hung at his waist, its scabbard gleaming coldly in the morning mist.

Before him stood a vast, dark array of soldiers, stretching as far as the eye could see and numbering innumerable.

The fog swirled above the soldiers' heads, and their bayonets appeared and disappeared in the fog, like a moving forest of knives.

"Gentlemen. Before you stands Liu Xing. He has less than two thousand remnants of the Chinese army. No artillery, no airplanes, no tanks. They only have people. Only those people—carrying outdated weapons, wearing tattered uniforms, and who can't even get enough to eat."

He paused, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Can they stop us?"

No one answered. Because he didn't need to answer.

"No," he answered himself.

"From the First Sino-Japanese War onwards, the Chinese have been losing. They've lost to our warships, to our rifles, to our bayonets. They've lost their entire lives, and they'll continue to lose. Because they are Chinese. Because they are the sick man of East Asia. Because they—"

He said, word by word: "They don't deserve to win."

Within the formation, some began to laugh. Not loud laughter, but a suppressed laugh, squeezed from deep within the throat, like insects crawling across leaves, like a snake's tongue trembling in the air.

The laughter was contagious, spreading from the first row to the second, and from the second to the center of the formation, like a plague, like a wildfire. Twenty thousand people were laughing. Laughing at the Chinese soldiers, laughing at little Liu Xing, laughing at those who overestimated themselves.

Yamamuro Munetake's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "Today, we'll show them what the Imperial Army is. What it means to be invincible."

His voice suddenly rose: "Next, artillery regiments, fire all your shells! Cavalry regiments, flank us! 10th Infantry Brigade—"

He drew his military knife, the tip pointing at Liu Xing and the position still shrouded in mist: "A frontal assault! Flatten Liu Xing! Kill them all!"

"Heavenly Black Card - Banzai -!!!"

He roared. His voice tore through the morning mist, ripped through the silence, and shattered the last darkness before dawn.

Within the formation, thousands simultaneously raised their rifles. Bayonets, like a forest, gleamed coldly in the mist. They opened their mouths and roared with all their might.

"Banzai—!!!"

"Banzai—!!!"

"Banzai—!!!"

The roar shook the mist, caused the leaves to fall in a rustling sound, and startled the birds in the distance.

It spread through the woods, through the open fields, and reached Liu Xing's position.

Gu Yunshan was awakened by the noise. He was awakened by the fanatical shouts of the Japanese soldiers to the northwest of Liu Xing.

The voice was like a bucket of cold water, poured on his face, on his heart, and on his still-dreaming mind.

He suddenly opened his eyes. The bayonet in his left shoulder was still there, the wound in his chest was still there, and the gunshot wound in his right shoulder was still there. They were all there, and they all hurt.

He woke up.

At this moment, dawn was just breaking. The eastern sky was tinged with a pale, fish-belly white, like the belly of a dead fish, deathly pale and bloodless.

Liu Xing's position was shrouded in a thin mist, grayish-white, like a veil, like a coffin lid. The trenches, the sandbags, and the survivors were all obscured beneath this veil, hazy and indistinct.

Behind the grove of trees in the distance, tan-colored figures were gathering. They were a dark mass, like a swarm of locusts approaching.

Their roars continued, echoing one after another.

Gu Yunshan recognized the name as "Banzai".

He had heard it at the Great Wall, in North China, and in Shanghai. Every time he heard that sound, it meant—the Japanese army was coming.

He stood up, shook his head, and his neck cracked a few times, like a rusty machine starting to turn again.

How long did he sleep? He didn't know. All he knew was that it was the deepest sleep he had had in three years.

No dreams, no startled awakenings, no getting up in the middle of the night to keep watch. Just sleeping, a deep, restful sleep.

He touched the bayonet on his left shoulder; it was still there. He touched the wound on his chest; it was still bleeding. He touched the pistol at his waist; it was still there.

He is alive.

"Brigadier, you're awake, hehe." A voice came from the side, tinged with laughter.

Gu Yunshan turned his head. It was a young soldier, seventeen or eighteen years old, with a childlike face and only a layer of soft down on his lips.

He was reinforcing the position with sandbags, his small body carrying sandbags heavier than himself, running back and forth at lightning speed.

His left arm was in a sling, and there was blood on the sling, but he ran as if nothing had happened.

Gu Yunshan knew him. His name was Chen Xiaogou, he was from Jiangsu, his family was poor, and his parents gave him a humble name so that he would be easier to raise.

He had only been in the army for six months and his shooting accuracy was still poor, so he was scolded by his squad leader.

Later, he came from Jiangsu to participate in the Battle of Shanghai.

The squad leader died, and his unit was scattered.

Later, Gu Yunshan met him again.

So they let him join the 021st Brigade of the 18th Army.

Gu Yunshan had a deep impression of the puppy; it was fast, hardworking, and had a silly smile.

"Little dog," Gu Yunshan said, his voice hoarse like sandpaper grinding iron, "why didn't you wake me up?"

Chen Xiaogou put down the sandbag, wiped his sweat, and chuckled:

"Brigadier, seeing you were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to disturb you." He paused, then laughed even louder, "Brigadier, you're snoring!"

Gu Yunshan was taken aback. Snoring?

Let alone snoring.

He couldn't remember the last time he had a good night's sleep.

But last night, he started snoring.

He stood there, looking at Chen Xiaogou's still smiling face, at this silly child, at this soldier who couldn't even shoot accurately but was still desperately moving sandbags.

Then, he smiled too.

He stepped forward and helped Chen Xiaogou reinforce the sandbags. He held the sandbags with one hand and piled them up with the other. His movements were slow because the bayonet was still stuck in his left shoulder. With each movement, the tip of the blade twisted in the bone, making him grimace in pain.

But he didn't stop, carrying bag after bag, stacking them up one by one.

Chen Xiaogou stared at the bayonet, at the hilt embedded in the brigade commander's shoulder, at the blood-soaked strip of cloth on the hilt. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, wanting to say, "Brigade commander, does it hurt?", wanting to say, "Brigade commander, please pull it out."

But he couldn't bring himself to say it, because he knew that if he pulled it out, he would bleed even more. He just kept moving the sandbags and running even faster, as if he were racing against someone.

Gu Yunshan looked at him, and a strange feeling suddenly welled up inside him. He couldn't quite explain it.

It's not about feeling at ease or reassured; it's like—it's like there's a wall behind me, an umbrella over my head, and—finally, I don't have to carry this burden alone anymore.

Since the soldiers from later generations came to his aid, he seemed to feel much more at ease.

Previously, he was a light sleeper.

The slightest noise woke me up.

He dared not sleep too soundly, fearing he would never wake up again.

The soldiers looked at him, his brothers pointed at him, and the dead waited for him. He couldn't sleep, he dared not sleep, for he feared that if he closed his eyes, he would never open them again.

But last night, he slept. He slept very soundly and snored.

This feeling is really great.

"Brigade Commander." Beside Gu Yunshan, Chen Xiaogou's voice suddenly changed:

"The Japanese are coming up."