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

At the same time, in 2025.

In China, everywhere there is a screen—

Mobile phones, computers, televisions, large screens in plazas, subway screens, giant LEDs on office building exteriors, and even mobile TVs on buses—

The entire scene in Luodian was broadcast live.

The red flag that was stuck on the gun barrel of the "Kirin" main battle tank during the live broadcast?

Live broadcast of the tears of Chinese soldiers in 1937.

The live broadcast of this reunion spanning 88 years—soldiers from 1937 touching the armor of tanks from 2025, as if touching a miracle.

Sichuan, Chengdu, Tianfu Square.

Tens of thousands of people gathered here, looking up at the huge screen that occupied the entire building.

The moment Bian Yun shouted "Long live the People's Republic of China!", in the southeast corner of the square, a trembling, centenarian veteran—

His chest was covered with medals, the most conspicuous of which was the "Sichuan Army's Expedition to Resist Japan Commemorative Medal," which had oxidized and turned black.

At that moment, he suddenly pushed away his granddaughter who was supporting him and tried to stand up straight.

Then, raise your right hand, fingers together, and bring it to your temple.

salute.

Facing the red flag on the screen.

He shouted to his comrades from 1937, who were wearing tattered uniforms and covered in soot:

"These are all my former brothers..."

"I was in the Sichuan Army... the 20th Army... I left Sichuan in 1937..."

"Our entire company... 127 men... only nine were left when we got to Shanghai..."

"Nine..."

Tears streamed down his face, but his back remained ramrod straight.

"Now... now our tanks... have driven past..."

"Our flag... has been planted..."

"It was worth it...it was all worth it..."

In the square, tens of thousands of people raised their right hands simultaneously.

Everyone's hands were raised in the air, like a forest that had suddenly risen.

Then, they roared in unison, their shouts shattering the tranquility of the morning:

"The Sichuan Army is mighty!!!"

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

Henan, Zhengzhou, at the foot of the February 7th Memorial Tower.

At this moment, tens of thousands of people from Henan have gathered in the square below the tower.

On the screen, as Gousheng cried out, "I miss my mother," a construction worker in his sixties suddenly squatted down, covered his face, and his shoulders trembled violently.

A young coworker nearby helped him up: "Uncle, what's wrong?"

The old worker looked up, his face covered in tears:

"That kid... has a Henan accent..."

"In 1937...that's how my grandfather passed away...at the age of seventeen...He said as he left, 'Mother, I'll come back after I've defeated the Japanese'..."

"Never came back..."

"We don't even know where the remains are..."

He stood up, wiped his face, and suddenly shouted into the screen in a thick Henan accent:

"Baby—don't cry—!!!"

"We Henan people have never backed down!!!"

"China—our tanks are here—!!!"

"China—our flag has been planted—!!!"

In the square, all the people from Henan, whether they knew each other or not, turned around at the same time to face the screen.

What they shouted wasn't standard Mandarin, but the earthy, passionate Henan dialect:

"Henan people—awesome!!!"

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

Shaanxi, Xi'an, beneath the Yongning Gate of the city wall.

This place was once the starting point of the Silk Road and the heart of thirteen ancient capitals.

At this moment, thousands of Qin people had gathered at the foot of the city wall.

Among them were old men from northern Shaanxi, with white towels tied around their heads, squatting in the corner smoking their pipes.

The man from Guanzhong, with his robes open, revealed his muscular chest.

There was a girl from southern Shaanxi, wearing a floral blouse, with tears welling up in her eyes.

On the screen, Zhao Dashan—the old soldier from Hebei who was now being treated as one of their own by the Qin people—was wiping away tears with his one arm.

An elderly man in his eighties from Guanzhong suddenly slammed his pipe to the ground.

He stood up with a "whoosh".

He walked to the front of the crowd, facing the screen and the red flag, and suddenly started singing at the top of his lungs—

It wasn't singing, it was yelling.

The shouting is Qinqiang opera.

It's the kind of Qinqiang opera that grew out of the soil of Qin Shi Huang's terracotta army, rolled under the iron cavalry of Emperor Wu of Han, and was hammered out from the tolling bells of the Tang Dynasty's golden age:

"For the country—how could I—cherish my life—!!!"

(Bang! The old man stomps his foot, dust flies up)

"For the sake of the people—I have never—disregarded life or death—!!!"

(Stomp again!)

"Today—we will see in the future—banners surging—!!!"

(The ground shook violently after the third stomp of the foot.)

"I - I can die - with my eyes closed -!!!"

After roaring, the old man looked up at the sky and laughed, tears streaming down his face.

"Worth it—!!!"

"The land we Qin people guarded—has been taken over—!!!"

"Kids—!!!"

He turned around and faced all the Qin people behind him:

"Give a shout to our ancestors from 1937—!!!"

Thousands of Qin people spoke at the same time.

It wasn't a shout, it was a roar.

The roar exploded from the chest, from the ravines and gullies of the Loess Plateau, and from the very souls of all Qin people, from Qin Shi Huang to Yang Hucheng:

"The Qin army is mighty!!!"

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

Northeast China, Shenyang, in front of the "September 18th" History Museum.

This place is where the first drop of blood from the fourteen-year War of Resistance against Japan is buried.

At this moment, the square in front of the museum, marked by the Broken Calendar Monument, is packed with people.

Many of them are descendants of the Northeast Anti-Japanese United Army, and they wear small red flag badges on their chests.

When the screen showed the "Kirin" tank crushing Japanese positions, a woman in her nineties...

She was the orphan of a Northeast Anti-Japanese United Army soldier. Her father died in battle in Changbai Mountain in 1938. Suddenly, she pushed away her wheelchair and struggled to stand up.

Her son and grandson quickly helped her up.

The old woman steadied herself and pulled out a piece of blackened red cloth from her bosom—the only relic left by her father, a hand-sewn, palm-sized red flag with a five-pointed star drawn in blood on it (no yellow cloth could be found at the time).

She held up the red cloth, facing the huge, bright five-star red flag on the screen, tears streaming down her face.

"Father...look..."

"Our flag...is so big now..."

"They've become so famous..."

"So... so many people are holding it..."

She turned around and, facing all the people from Northeast China in the square, shouted hoarsely:

"The men and women of Northeast China—!!!"

"The blood of our Anti-Japanese United Army—was not shed in vain—!!!"

"Our fourteen years of hardship—it wasn't for nothing—!!!"

"Our flag—has been planted back—!!!"

In the square, all the people from Northeast China—regardless of whether they came from Liaoning, Jilin, or Heilongjiang—simultaneously raised their brand-new national flags.

Then, they sang that song etched into the bones of Northeasterners:

My home is on the Songhua River in Northeast China...

"There are forests and coal mines there..."

"And the hillsides are covered with soybeans and sorghum..."

He choked up as he sang this part.

But the next second, the singing suddenly turned into a roar:

"September 18th—September 18th—!!!"

"From that tragic time—!!!"

"I've left my hometown—!!!"

"Abandoning endless treasures—!!!"

"Wandering—wandering—!!!"

Then came the deafening roar:

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

"Northeast China—I'm home!!!"

Shandong, Taierzhuang Battle Memorial Hall.

Shanxi Province, the site of the Pingxingguan Victory.

Hunan Province, Changsha Battle Memorial Monument.

Yunnan, Western Yunnan Anti-Japanese War Memorial Hall.

The site of the Battle of Kunlun Pass in Guangxi.

Jiangxi Province, Nanchang Uprising Memorial Hall.

Fujian, Mawei Naval Battle Memorial Park.

Zhejiang, Siming Mountain Anti-Japanese Base Area in Ningbo.

Anhui, the Martyrs' Cemetery of the Southern Anhui Incident.

Guizhou, Dushan Shenhe Bridge Anti-Japanese War Site.

Gansu, Lanzhou Eighth Route Army Office; Ningxia, Yanchi Revolutionary Memorial Hall.

Qinghai, Xining, the site of the anti-Japanese national salvation movement.

Xinjiang, Urumqi, Memorial Hall of the Eighth Route Army Office in Xinjiang.

Inner Mongolia, Daqingshan Anti-Japanese Guerrilla Base Area.

From the reefs of the South China Sea to the outposts in Mohe, from the Pamir Plateau to the fishing grounds of the East China Sea.

Every inch of Chinese land, every place where Chinese people live.

Everyone in front of the screen had tears in their eyes.

Their hands were all trembling.

They all had hoarse throats.

They all use those eight words—

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