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

"So exciting, so inspiring, let's go to Henan this weekend." Bian Yun read it again, then smiled, "That's well said."

He raised his head and looked at everyone:

"Then I'll recommend Henan first."

"What's in Henan?" one of the wounded asked.

Start counting from the edge of the cloud:

"There is braised noodles, spicy soup, Longmen Grottoes, Qingming Riverside Landscape Garden, and the Yellow River."

As soon as Bian Yun finished speaking, the live chat exploded again.

Netizens from other provinces were outraged and started flooding the screen with comments.

"So close, so beautiful, let's go to Hebei this weekend."

"The most beautiful scenery in the north is found in Heilongjiang."

"Welcome to Shandong, a land of beauty."

Bian Yun looked at these comments and laughed:

"Look, your compatriots in 2025 are inviting you."

"Once you've recovered from your injuries, we'll go to each place one by one."

"If you want to go to Henan, then go to Henan."

"If you want to go to Shaanxi, then go to Shaanxi."

"If you want to go to Sichuan, then go to Sichuan."

"Let's see all the beautiful landscapes of our new China."

"Let's try all the delicious food in our new China."

…………

"Countdown to the return of the People's Republic of China - 15 minutes."

Just then, hurried footsteps came from outside the cabin, and the messenger shouted:

"The main forces of the Japanese 3rd and 11th Divisions are assembling towards Luodian! There are at least six infantry battalions, 50,000 men, supported by tank companies and heavy artillery regiments!"

5 Japanese troops marched in large numbers to Luodian.

The war continues.

Chen Jiliang came to Bian Yun's side and took out a pocket watch from his pocket—the case was dented by shrapnel and the glass was broken, but the hands were still moving.

"This," he handed the pocket watch to Bian Yun, "was a gift from my wife. It was in 1931, the year we got married."

The pocket watch was old, but very clean. Inside the case, a small black and white photograph was pasted on it.

A gentle young woman, with a hairstyle reminiscent of the Republican era, smiled demurely.

"Her name is Wanjun," Chen Jiliang said softly. "She's from Fuzhou. After I joined the army, she stayed home alone, taking care of my parents and waiting for me to return."

He paused:

"She died of malaria in 1935. There was no medicine back then, she just toughed it out, but she couldn't make it."

"Before she died, she asked someone to pass on a message to me, saying: 'Ji Liang, lead your troops well and guard the sea. Don't worry about me.'"

Chen Jiliang's fingers gently caressed the photograph:

"I couldn't see her one last time."

He slipped the pocket watch into Bian Yun's hand:

"Please take her back for me."

"Until 2025."

"Let her see the new China."

"So that future generations will also know—"

His voice choked, and he paused before continuing:

"Know that we are not born wanting to fight."

"We also have families, lovers, and the life we ​​want to live."

"But we chose this path."

"Once you've made your choice, there's no going back."

Bian Yun gripped the pocket watch tightly; the case was cold, but it seemed to still carry her body heat.

"Commander Chen," he said, "I will definitely deliver it."

"And also," Chen Jiliang added, "help me... look at Wanjun's grave. It's on Gushan Mountain in Fuzhou. If the grave is still there, please... offer her a bouquet of flowers. Tell her that I... did right by the country in my life."

"But I'm sorry to her."

After saying this, Chen Jiliang resolutely turned around, summoned his men, and set sail on all the movable boats along the Yangtze River towards the direction closest to Luodian.

Gao Zhihang also came to Bian Yun's side. He took off the goggles from his flight helmet—the lenses were cracked and the frames were deformed.

"This," he handed to Bian Yun, "is what I wore when I was the first to shoot down a Japanese plane."

"Bring it to 2025 and show it to today's pilots." Gao Zhihang grinned. "Tell them—China's first generation of air force pilots dared to fight the Japanese with this piece of junk."

Bian Yun accepted it: "Definitely."

"That's settled then," Gao Zhihang said softly. "Thanks, Brother Bian Yun."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"Thank you for coming," Gao Zhihang said. "Thank you for letting us know—there is a new China in the future."

"Thank you...for remembering us."

Bian Yun knelt down and took his hand:

"Captain Gao, it's not 'I still remember'."

"It means 'I have never forgotten'."

Gao Zhihang smiled, turned and left.

The roar of an engine could be heard from outside the porthole.

Four Hawk III fighters, still barely able to fly, are undergoing final maintenance.

The pilots surrounded Gao Zhihang—his left leg was still in a splint, but he had already stood up using a makeshift wooden crutch.

Gao Zhihang was speaking; his voice could be faintly heard:

"...Luodian cannot be lost."

"If we lose it, Shanghai is finished."

"All of you in our fourth squadron who can still fly, come with me."

A pilot with a still-childish face shouted, "Captain! Your leg!"

He grinned and patted the splint: "My leg's lame, but my hand isn't. I can fly a plane with one hand."

Just before takeoff, Gao Zhihang looked up and gazed in the direction of the "Yangtze River".

Their eyes met by the porthole.

"Brother Bian Yun—" he shouted from the plane.

Bian Yun pushed open the porthole: "Captain Gao!"

"I'm waiting for your J-20!" Gao Zhihang shouted with a smile, his laughter dazzlingly bright in the morning light...