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

It was 9:00 AM.

The voice of an angel came through the walkie-talkie.

"The cleaning work is now completely finished."

"I assured the wingman that there were no more living Japanese soldiers here."

Bian Yun nodded and opened the hatch of the Qilin 104 tank.

He stood on the roof of the cabin, raised his right hand, and shouted:

"We won!"

Bian Yun's roar cleaved through the air above the southern position of Luodian, where the smoke of battle had accumulated all night.

The sound echoed through the ruins, crashed against the broken walls, rolled into the craters, and finally rose into the sky, mingling with the morning light and sprinkling it on this blood-soaked land.

In the trench, there was an old soldier with a broken arm—his name was Lao Hei.

A man from Hunan, 42 years old this year, with three knife wounds on his body—he used his only remaining left hand to support himself on the edge of the trench and slowly stood up.

His right arm was blown off by a Japanese grenade launcher last night, and the medic used a red-hot bayonet to brand the wound to stop the bleeding.

He didn't make a sound while being branded, but he just bit off half of the wooden stick.

Now, he looked at the five steel behemoths parked in the center of the battlefield, at the Chinese soldiers from 2025 standing on the tanks in strange uniforms, and at the Japanese corpses scattered everywhere...

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no sound came out.

Only tears, murky, scalding tears, welled up from the old soldier's sunken eyes, flowing down the knife-like wrinkles on his face and into the corners of his mouth, salty and bitter like blood.

The young soldier next to him, Gou Sheng, was from Henan. He was sixteen years old but lied about being eighteen when he joined the army.

By this time, he was trembling all over from crying. He knelt in the trench, his hands gripping the soil tightly, his nails digging into his flesh, blood mixed with mud, but he felt no pain.

"We won, we won." Gou Sheng repeated over and over, his voice hoarse like a broken bellows.

"Squad Leader Wang... Brother Li... Uncle Zhao... Did you hear that...? We won... We don't need to risk our lives for the tanks... We don't need to..."

He thought of last night.

He recalled how Squad Leader Wang, carrying a cluster of grenades, charged towards the Japanese tanks, then turned back and smiled at him, saying, "Gousheng, after we're done fighting, go see my mother in Henan for me."

Remembering how Brother Li's intestines were shot out and forced back in, he continued firing until he bled to death.

He remembered that before Uncle Zhao died, he stuffed half a moldy pancake into his hands and said, "Kid, eat. You'll have the strength to take revenge if you eat your fill."

Now, revenge has been served.

With these five steel behemoths that descended from the sky, with weapons he couldn't understand at all, and with an overwhelming victory, he avenged himself.

But those who died can never come back.

"ah--!!!"

Gou Sheng suddenly roared to the sky, like a wounded wolf.

The roar contained suppressed grief and indignation, the ecstasy of escaping a desperate situation, the excruciating pain of losing a loved one, and all sorts of complex emotions that were too difficult to express.

One, two, three...

In the trenches, all the surviving Chinese soldiers wept.

howling.

It's not weakness.

It is release.

It's a release that finally allows me to stop being on edge, stop being prepared to die at any moment, and let me cry my heart out like a living person.

Bian Yun stood on the roof of the No. 104 "Qilin" cabin, watching all of this, quietly waiting for them to release their pent-up emotions.

He looked at the soldiers who were burying their faces in their hands and weeping, at the broken but still upright spines, and at the battlefield that had finally quieted down.

The morning light shone on him, giving him a golden outline.

He took a deep breath, mustered all his strength, and spoke to everyone:

"Brothers—!"

The sound exploded, drowning out the crying.

Everyone looked up at him.

They looked at the person who had descended from the sky, bringing with him steel warriors to save them.

"The Sixth Regiment has been completely wiped out by us."

"But I'm telling you—this is nothing!"

Bian Yun's voice grew louder and louder, like war drums, like thunder:

"The new China in 2025 will be far more powerful than this!"

"We have planes that can fly—not those buzzing, broken-down contraptions the Japanese have, but stealth fighters that can reach altitudes of 20,000 meters and travel at twice the speed of sound! The Japanese planes are like sparrows before an eagle!"

"We have warships that can go to sea—not those tin cans like the Japanese, but aircraft carriers, with decks 300 meters long that can hold 80 planes! One ship can take on an entire Japanese fleet!"

"We have rockets that can fly to the moon—and I'm not bragging, it's true!"

With each word he spoke, the soldiers in the trenches widened their eyes a little more.

With each word they spoke, their breathing became more rapid.

These descriptions, which seemed like myths in 1937, carried an undeniable truth when spoken by Bian Yun.

Because they saw it.

I saw these tanks.

I saw how these tanks crushed the Japanese troops.

Hope has been seen.

Real, tangible hope.

"What we brought today is just a drop in the ocean!" Bian Yun roared, "but even this drop is enough to make the Japanese devils cry for their parents!"

So, don't be afraid!

"Starting today—"

He paused, then his voice suddenly rose, like a sword drawn from its sheath:

"We have tanks now!"

"They have guns!"

"The cannon's ready!"

"We've got something that even the Japanese could dream of!"

"There's only one thing we need to do—"

He raised his right fist, his knuckles white from clenching it in the morning light:

"Fight back!"

"Get the Japanese devils—"

"Drive them out of Luodian—!!!"

"Drive them out of Shanghai—!!!"

"Drive them out of China—!!!"

The words fell.

Bian Yun turned around and took out a neatly folded flag from the tank compartment.

Red background.

In the morning light, it was as red as blood and as bright as fire.

He unfurled the flag, gripped the flagpole with both hands, and then—

It is inserted on the top of the turret of the "Kirin" tank.

The specially designed latches on the flagpole base clicked shut.

A morning breeze blows.

The flags fluttered in the wind.

The red smoke billowed like a burning sunset, illuminating the scorched earth and every pair of eyes looking up.

A brief silence.

A deathly silence.

Everyone was looking at the flag.

Looking at the pattern I'd never seen before.

Looking at that dazzling, bright red color.

Then--

"Long live the People's Republic of China!!"

Bian Yun used all his strength to roar out these eight words.

The sound exploded, like a thunderclap, striking the morning of October 6, 1937, in Luodian.

A brief delay.

Then, the earth-shattering response:

"Long live the People's Republic of China!!"

The first one to shout it out was Gou Sheng.

He shouted with all his might.

"Long live--!!!"

The second one is Lao Hei.

This veteran, a veteran who had fought since the warlord era, suddenly understood as he looked at that red flag—

This is the true color of China.

The color of blood.

The color of fire.

The color of hope.

"Long live--!!!"

The third, the fourth, the fifth...

In the trenches, all the surviving Chinese soldiers stood up, raised their guns, their tattered hats, some even bare-armed, and shouted hoarsely at the red flag:

"Long live the People's Republic of China!!"

"Long live--!!!"

"Long live--!!!"

The sound waves, like a tsunami, rolled over the battlefield, over the ruins, over mountains of corpses and seas of blood, rolling into the distance, rolling towards the whole of China.

At this moment, Zhao Tieshan, the captain and battalion commander of the 98th Division, staggered to the side of the tank.

He looked up at the red flag fluttering on top of the turret.

I watched it for a very long time.

The morning light shone through the flag, casting red patches of light on his face.

He reached out, wanting to touch it, but hesitated, his hand trembling slightly as it hovered in mid-air.

Then, he turned to Bian Yun.

Tears welled up once again in the eyes of this tough soldier.

"Brother Bian Yun..." Zhao Tieshan's voice choked, each word seeming to be squeezed out of his chest, "This flag... is truly wonderful."

He paused, as if searching for the most accurate word:

"Red...like blood."

"The blood shed by our brothers."

"It's so bright...like light."

"The light we've been waiting for for so long."

Bian Yun jumped off the tank and walked up to him.

The two looked at each other.

A figure from 2025, dressed in futuristic military uniform, with a resolute gaze reflecting the future eighty-eight years in the future.

A man from 1937, covered in wounds, with hope for rebirth in his despair.

"Battalion Commander Zhao," Bian Yun grasped his hand, "this flag is more than just a flag."

"What is it?"

"It's a promise," Bian Yun said. "It's a promise that 1.4 billion Chinese people will make to you 88 years from now."

He pointed to the red flag:

"The land you stained red with your blood—"

"We made it bloom."

"The peace you bought with your lives—"

"We preserved it and turned it into a golden age."

"The story you didn't finish reading—"

"We wrote it into a legend."

As Zhao Tieshan listened, tears welled up in his eyes.

He nodded vigorously, so much so that it seemed he wanted to etch these words into his very bones:

"good……"

"good……"

"We have received this promise..."

He turned and shouted hoarsely at all the soldiers in the trench:

"Brothers—do you hear that—!"

"Eighty-eight years later—someone will remember us!"

"Someone's here to pick us up—!"

"Our blood—was not shed in vain—!"

"Our lives—we didn't die in vain!"

"Our country—"

He took a deep breath, and with all his might, roared out the name on the red flag:

"Long live the People's Republic of China!!!"

"Long live--!!!"

"Long live--!!!"