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

In the woods, the Japanese soldiers were still running.

They only regretted that their parents hadn't given them two more legs. Like a group of wild rabbits darting through the woods, rolling in the bushes, tripping over fallen tree trunks, and then getting up and continuing to run.

"Devil... There are devils among the Chinese..."

A young Japanese soldier was shouting like a madman. His name was Sato Ichiro, a private second class, and he had just turned twenty.

Three months ago, he was farming in the countryside of Hokkaido, wearing straw sandals, bending over, and planting rice seedlings one by one into the paddy fields.

Three months later, in this unfamiliar land, he was being hunted down by an unseen demon.

His face was scratched and bleeding from the thorns, and he had lost one shoe while running, but he dared not stop. Only two words occupied his mind—

Run, run, run.

"Baka! Shut up!" a Japanese soldier nearby roared. "Run!"

Sato shut up. He gritted his teeth and kept running. As he ran, he suddenly stopped. Not because he wanted to stop, but because he saw it. He saw the person ahead of him, running, and suddenly their head was gone.

It wasn't falling down, it was disappearing. It was the kind of disappearance that's like being erased with an eraser.

The headless corpse took two more steps forward before collapsing.

Blood sprayed out, splattering on his face. Warm, sweet-smelling, like the first rain of spring in Hokkaido.

Sato's legs went weak, and he knelt on the ground, trembling all over. His mouth was open, as if he wanted to shout, but no words came out.

His eyes were open, staring at the still convulsing corpse, at the spreading blood mist, at that nightmare from which he could never escape.

Two thousand eight hundred meters away, Lin Mo lay there, his eyes pressed against the scope.

In the crosshairs, the young Japanese soldier knelt on the ground, trembling all over. His lips were moving, but Lin Mo didn't need to know what he was saying.

His finger pulled the trigger directly. Without hesitation, without pity, without any other emotion.

Because he is a sniper, because his gun is called Silence, because Silence—never hesitates.

The bullet flew out of the barrel, traveled 2,800 meters, and pierced the young man's head. Sato Ichiro no longer needed to fear, because his head had exploded too.

His body remained kneeling for two seconds before collapsing next to the headless corpse.

Two people from Hokkaido died on Chinese soil, killed by the same sniper.

Lin Mo's scope searched through the woods. The Japanese soldiers were still running, but fewer and fewer were escaping.

Some were killed, some lay on the ground pretending to be dead, and some hid behind trees, trembling with fear.

He saw a sergeant hiding behind a tree, only half his head peeking out. That half-head, appearing and disappearing through the gaps in the leaves, looked like a mouse peeking out.

Press the crosshairs down. Breathe, pause. Fingers, clench.

The bullet flew out of the gun barrel, traveled 2,800 meters, passed through the tree, and passed through the sergeant's head.

The sergeant's head exploded, and blood splattered on the tree trunk, on the leaves, and on the bark he thought would stop the bullets.

Koji Yamamoto was still running. He was the fastest runner, the one in the lead, and the one furthest away from that devil.

His lungs felt like they were about to burst, his legs felt like they were filled with lead, and his heart felt like it was about to leap out of his throat. But he still dared not stop, because he knew that if he stopped, he would die.

He ran past a tree, past a rock, past a corpse, past a thicket of bushes. Only two words echoed in his mind—leave this deadly jungle.

Then he saw a man ahead. He was also a Japanese soldier, running. That man was running just as fast.

The two Japanese soldiers were positioned one in front of the other, in a straight line.

Yamamoto paused for a moment, but he didn't stop.

He kept running, towards the man. He wanted to catch him, to overtake him, to make him take the bullet for him.

This was the most important thing he learned during his three years in the army—to let others die so that he could live.

The man in front of him also saw him. He was a young Japanese soldier, his face full of fear, his eyes wide open, his mouth agape, and he was breathing heavily.

He was running in the direction of Yamamoto.

Two people, facing each other, in a straight line.

"Run—!!!" Yamamoto roared, "There's a devil behind us—!!!"

The young Japanese soldier hesitated for a moment. Then, he roared, "Run together!!!"

Two people passed each other by.

Just as they were brushing past each other, they both stopped. Not because they wanted to stop, but because they heard each other.

I heard the sound of the bullet flying by. It was light, fast, like the wind, like a sigh, like the footsteps of death.

The bullet flew from a very, very far place, traveling 2,800 meters, passing through the forest, the bushes, and the still-running corpses, before finally reaching them.

It didn't come from the front, nor from the side; it came from their side—the extension of that straight line.

It pierced through Yamamoto's head.

Then, it pierced through the young soldier's head.

The bullet disappeared deep into the woods, leaving behind only two headless corpses.

In the woods, the remaining Japanese soldiers lay prone on the ground, trembling. No one dared to move, no one dared to run, and no one dared to raise their heads.

A Japanese soldier lay prone behind a tree, burying his face in the soil like an ostrich burying its head in the sand.

Some Japanese soldiers lay prone in a pile of fallen leaves, covering their heads with leaves, like unburied dead men.

A Japanese soldier lay down next to a corpse and smeared the corpse's blood on his face, pretending that he was also dead.

Some people saw the shot, some didn't, but everyone heard it.

The gunshot came from a very, very far place, very far, but very accurate. One shot was enough.

With a single sound, the two sunsets were gone.

Those lying on the ground were waiting, waiting for the next gunshot.

Waiting for that bullet that might fly from who-knows-where, waiting for that unseen demon to come and take them away.

Liu Xing's position. Lei Gang stood in the trench and saw the two Japanese soldiers standing face to face, their heads exploding at the same time, like two watermelons smashed by the same hammer.

He burst into laughter, his voice like thunder:

"Two dead with one shot," he muttered. "That Lin Mo... he's a real monster."

Chen Xiaogou lay prone at the edge of the trench, his eyes wide open. His eyesight was better than anyone else's; he saw the trajectory of the bullet and the two Japanese soldiers who fell at the same time.

"Brigade Commander! Brigade Commander!" He grabbed Gu Yunshan's sleeve, pulling so hard it almost fell off. "Brother Lin killed two more! One shot! Two!"

Gu Yunshan nodded: "Yes, I saw it."

He didn't actually see it because his eyesight wasn't as good as Chen Xiaogou's.

But he knew that Lei Gang had heard him because his voice was so loud. He heard "two dead with one shot," and he heard "that guy Lin Mo."

Chen Xiaogou laughed even louder:

"Brother Lin is amazing! The Japanese devils don't dare to run away! Look, look, they've all fallen down! Like turtles! Like turtles hiding their heads!"

Gu Yunshan turned his head and looked in the direction of the clock tower ruins.

There were no people to be seen there, only a pile of rubble.

But he knew that person was still there.

The man named Lin Mo was carrying that gun, walking through the smoke, among the rubble, in places unseen by the world.

Gu Yunshan knew that Lin Mo was still protecting them.

They knew that Lin Mo, like them, was willing to risk his life to protect this land.

In the woods, the Japanese soldiers were still lying prone on the ground. No one dared to move, no one dared to run, and no one dared to look up.

Because they didn't know if the sniper had left, when he would fire again, or who the next bullet would hit.

They only knew one thing—

You mustn't look up. If you do, you'll die.