Holding the original shares, they fought all the way to the Korean War!

He recalled the scene when he first saw materials related to the Nanjing Massacre.

At that time, he was still studying at a military academy, and the library had many books about the history of the War of Resistance against Japan.

One section specifically discusses the fall of Nanjing.

The writing in that book was not sentimental; in fact, it could be said to be quite restrained.

But it was precisely that restraint that made those numbers seem even more somber.

Three hundred million people.

When he first saw this number in that book, his first reaction was disbelief.

He felt it was exaggerated propaganda, and that it was just part of war propaganda.

But later he read more information.

It includes survivor testimonies.

I read the diaries of foreign journalists who remained in Nanjing at that time.

The materials from different perspectives corroborated each other, pointing to the same fact.

Three hundred million people, no less.

He recalled a chapter specifically about the various atrocities committed by the Japanese army in Nanjing.

He remembers sitting alone in his dormitory for a long time after reading those details.

He also remembers some more specific scenes.

There was a survivor who witnessed his father being bayoneted to death by Japanese soldiers.

He saw his mother being dragged away by several Japanese soldiers and never returning, and he saw the neighbor's child being thrown into a fire.

The text was so concise it was almost cold, devoid of any embellishment.

But this simplicity, ironically, etched those images deeply into his mind.

I can't forget it even after many years.

He also remembers the old photos included in another book.

Those photos were taken by foreign missionaries and journalists after the fall of Nanjing.

Most of them are blurry.

Even though they were blurry, those images remained unforgettable for him for many years.

One street was piled high with corpses, stacked on top of each other, carelessly discarded like abandoned cargo.

One of the photos shows a scene by the river.

The river water was dyed red, and clothes were scattered on the banks, but no living people could be seen.

There is also a photo of a little girl.

They huddled among the rubble in the corner, not knowing where to go.

These images kept replaying in his mind for a long time.

Even while carrying out a mission.

Sometimes when I wake up at night, those images will unexpectedly resurface.

He is not the kind of person who easily gets caught up in his emotions.

But those things are something he can't completely let go of.

Later, he gradually understood why he couldn't let go.

It's because every name behind those numbers and images represents a living, breathing person.

They were once like him, with their own families, their own lives, and their own dreams.

And those people, right here on the land beneath their feet, were swallowed up by a senseless disaster.

At that moment, he was only a few miles away from that city.

The next morning, Zhou Tianyang left the deserted temple alone.

He was wearing a straw hat and looked like a country bumpkin on his way to town.

The city gates of Nanjing are much more magnificent than those of Qufu.

Dozens of Japanese soldiers stood at the city gate, along with more than a hundred puppet troops maintaining order.

People entering the city lined up in long queues, and one by one they were questioned.

Zhou Tianyang stood in the middle of the line, head down, not looking around.

When it was his turn, he took out his pass and handed it over.

The puppet soldier who was checking the documents looked up at him.

He glanced down at the photo on the ID again, then waved him over.

The whole process took less than ten seconds.

When Zhou Tianyang entered Nanjing.

Their steps paused slightly at the city gate.

The city streets were wider than he had imagined, but there weren't many people on them.

Occasionally, you can see a few Japanese women in kimonos walking by on the street, chatting and laughing.

Most of the shops along the road were closed.

The few that were open were mostly small shops selling daily necessities, with Chinese flags hanging at their entrances.

He walked slowly along the main street, his gaze sweeping over the buildings and pedestrians.

This city carries an overwhelming weight of history in his memories of his past life.

Those words and photos had appeared countless times in his reading.

Now he finally stands on this land.

I saw with my own eyes things that I had only read about in books.

He turned into an alley that was narrower than the main street.

The houses on both sides of the alley were noticeably more dilapidated than those on the main street.

Some walls still had bullet holes, and some doors had half burned off, revealing dark, gaping doors.

The alley was deserted; there wasn't a single person in sight.

Zhou Tianyang slowed his pace.

He stood in the middle of the alley, looking at the marks on the walls.

He recalled those old photos, and for a moment he felt as if the scenes in those photos overlapped with the alley in front of him.

He continued walking, passing through several alleys before arriving at a more open area.

That area used to be a residential area, but now only a few broken walls and some rubble remain.

Zhou Tianyang stood there, neither moving nor speaking.

After a while.

He squatted down and picked up a piece of tile from the ground.

The edges of the tiles were charred black, and their original color was no longer visible.

He held the tile in his hand.

It's like a silent reminder.

It reminds him that what lies buried beneath this land is heavier than any words.

Zhou Tianyang squatted for a while, then stood up.

He tucked the tile into his pocket and glanced again in the direction of the open space.

He turned and walked out of the alley.

He walked into the backyard of a temple. The temple was not large, but it was clear that it had once been a very popular place of worship.

At this moment, no trace of the war can be seen.

Only the pile of broken tiles in the corner of the courtyard wall still holds some memories of those days.

Zhou Tianyang stopped in front of a stone statue.

The statue's face is blurred, but its outline remains dignified, and its lowered gaze seems to be looking at something far away.

He stood there quietly for about a few minutes.

A breeze blew by, carrying a damp scent from the direction of the Yangtze River.

Those people and events are separated by decades.

At this moment, through this land and the sound of the wind, I reconnected with him.

He turned and walked out of the temple's backyard.

After passing through several quiet, almost deserted streets, we exited the city gates of Nanjing.

There were few pedestrians on the dirt road outside the city gate.

Zhou Tianyang walked at a moderate pace, the brim of his straw hat pulled down slightly, obscuring most of his face.

It was already noon when we returned to the deserted temple.

Ma Yong squatted at the entrance of the side hall.

Upon seeing Zhou Tianyang appear, he stood up and quickly walked over to him.

"Commander."

Zhou Tianyang entered the side hall, where Liu Ping was sitting against the wall, holding a book in his hand.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up and his gaze lingered on Zhou Tianyang's face for a moment.

Then he closed the book and asked a question in a casual tone.

"How's it in the city?"

Zhou Tianyang sat down on the haystack and remained silent for a moment.

"I saw a lot of things."

He didn't say anything more.

Liu Ping did not ask any further questions.

The side hall was quiet for a while.

Then Zhou Tianyang took the tile out of his pocket and placed it on the ground next to him.

Liu Ping's gaze lingered on the tile for several seconds before he looked away.

He didn't ask anything, but he seemed to understand something.

One o'clock in the afternoon.

The group repacked their belongings and left the deserted temple.

The group continued south along the dirt road outside the city.

Zhou Tianyang walked in the middle of the group, his steps steady and his expression normal.

However, his hand would occasionally unconsciously touch the tile in his arms.

Then he would put his hand down and continue walking forward.

The city of Nanjing gradually receded into the distance behind them.

Zhou Tianyang took one last look back at the outline of the city.

Then he looked away and strode forward.