Chapter 28: A Brave Heart (Part Three)

The captain of the company, instead of getting angry, burst out laughing, “What an arrogant youngster! Today you’ll learn just how vast the world truly is!” He stepped forward, swinging a punch straight at Luo Hanya’s chest with lightning speed. Midway through, his left fist surged ahead, faster than the first, striking toward Luo Hanya’s face with a ferocious and murderous intent.

Seeing the left fist approaching, Luo Hanya immediately employed a move from Tai Chi called “Grasp the Sparrow’s Tail.” His right foot was solid, left foot light, and he executed the “Press” technique, staying connected and responsive. His right palm landed on the captain’s left wrist, issuing a lateral force.

The captain’s body lunged uncontrollably forward, taking four or five strides before he managed to steady himself. He glanced at Luo Hanya in surprise, realizing he had encountered a formidable opponent. The surrounding crowd, witnessing Luo Hanya’s skill, cheered loudly. The lieutenant colonel deputy regimental commander raised his brows, his heart brimming with joy. Recruiting soldiers was always a gamble, and today he’d struck gold with three promising candidates—how could he not be pleased?

The captain knew he’d underestimated his opponent. He turned, cupped his fists, and called out, “Be careful!” Instantly, his demeanor shifted to that of a battlefield warrior, launching a flurry of rapid punches like a fierce tiger or wolf attacking. His arms blurred, gusts of wind arose, and his onslaught was as relentless as a storm, leaving the spectators breathless with anxiety.

Luo Hanya felt as though he’d finally met his match. He unleashed the profound subtleties of Tai Chi, each move flowing like water, and even the techniques that had once eluded him became clear in the heat of battle. For a moment, he felt as though he’d gained enlightenment, mastering the rhythm of combat, leaving the captain unable to exert his strength or release his energy. It was as if hundreds of pounds of force were poured into the vast ocean—silent, traceless, and vanished.

“Enough, enough! I concede!” The captain, after hundreds of punches, was utterly exhausted, yet he found no satisfaction, only frustration and helplessness against Luo Hanya.

“Well done! Marvelous skill!” “Brother, you’re outstanding!” “Ha ha, impressive! I, Kong Sun, admit defeat!”

Those who had been eliminated watched as the once-dominant captain gasped for breath and admitted defeat, feeling as if a great vengeance had been exacted. Laughter erupted, voices rose in praise, and the cheers soared skyward.

The lieutenant colonel, full of smiles, clapped his hands and strode over. “Ha ha ha, brother, what splendid skill! Would you be interested in joining my guard platoon as the platoon leader?”

Luo Hanya, aware of his own limitations, scratched his head apologetically. “I possess martial prowess, but I’m not skilled with firearms.”

The lieutenant colonel waved off his concern. “With a bit of practice, you’ll master them easily. For someone trained in martial arts, handling firearms is no great challenge.”

“Thank you for your kindness, sir, but I have one more humble request.” Luo Hanya smiled shyly.

“Speak your mind—whatever you need.” The lieutenant colonel responded heartily.

“I have two junior disciples, both skilled in martial arts. We are close as brothers and find it hard to part. Could they also be assigned to the guard platoon?” Luo Hanya gestured to two men standing nearby.

Upon hearing that Luo Hanya had two junior disciples, the lieutenant colonel’s smile widened. “Of course! It’s reassuring to have you all together.” He called over Wang Yibo and Li Song, “Hey, you two—are you his disciples? Write your names down and head to the barracks—you’re accepted.”

The crowd erupted once more, then quickly settled. The reasoning was clear: if the senior disciple was so impressive, how poor could the juniors be? But in truth, it was a bit of a sham. The onlookers, however, knew nothing of this and could only watch with envy as Wang Yibo and Li Song walked over.

“By the way, I don’t know your name yet, brother.”

“Sir, my name is Luo Hanya.”

“A fine name.”

As the five of them entered the barracks, a system voice chimed in:

Current task completed. Main quest updated.

Opening the task menu, the previous mission to join the 200th Division was now highlighted in gold and checked off. A new quest appeared below: “A Brave Heart Lies in Fearlessness.” Seeing this, Luo Hanya was bewildered. It was just a single line, with no further hints—almost like a riddle.

Wang Yibo pondered, “I’ve played many games and seen similar quests. This is likely an open-ended task—so long as you fulfill the spirit of that phrase, you’ll be rewarded.”

“A brave heart lies in fearlessness? Then let’s do something big! Since we’ve arrived in this era, why not change its history?” Li Song’s eyes sparkled as he licked his lips, fearless and bold.

“Let’s take it one step at a time. We won’t be here long—soon enough, we may be fast-forwarded to some major battle.” Luo Hanya was less optimistic, shaking his head and rejecting Li Song’s proposal.

“Ah, I thought we could accomplish something grand. How awkward.” Li Song laughed sheepishly.

Just as Luo Hanya predicted, their time was brief. They underwent a few basic drills, quickly gained some temporary skills, then darkness swept over them. When their vision returned, they found themselves in a stone fortress.

“Brats, we’ve been fighting the enemy for four days now. Are you still afraid of them?” The lieutenant colonel, his demeanor roguish, shouted from atop a stone stair.

“Afraid? I’ve already killed two of them!”

“That’s right! The enemy’s soldiers are flesh and blood, just like us, so what’s there to fear?”

“Good, none of you are cowards. See this command saber in my hand? I seized it from an enemy officer. I, Huang Jingsheng, have already pledged to the division commander. I said success is uncertain, but I’m resolute to die with honor. You’ve seen how I’ve led you these past days. If any of you are less bold than me, go home and find a wife to nurse you!”

Only now did Luo Hanya realize that the lieutenant colonel was Huang Jingsheng. He looked at this hearty man with a complicated expression and, recalling his own identity, gripped the standard-issue Thompson submachine gun with determination. He silently resolved, “Don’t worry, commander—I won’t let you die here. I will change history!”

March 23, 1942. Clear skies. The sun rose slowly from the eastern horizon, tearing through darkness and painting the sky red. Dozens of fighters and bombers, like starving vultures finally finding prey, swept ferociously through the clouds, ravaging the positions of the 598th Regiment.

“Take cover!”

Experienced junior officers shouted themselves hoarse, but some new recruits were still slow to react, only to be met by a hail of bombs screaming from above.

No matter how deep the trenches were dug, how sturdy the fortifications, or how many sandbags were piled, all seemed feeble and powerless before the pure destructive force of heavy bombs. The battlefield was filled with towering smoke and deafening explosions that could rupture eardrums.

All the soldiers could do was lie flat, minimizing their exposed bodies, waiting either to be blown to pieces by a bomb, or, if they survived the barrage, to push aside corpses and dust and face the enemy’s frenzied assault.

“When have we, the 598th Regiment, ever fought such a humiliating battle? Has the higher command lost their minds? We’re a mechanized division, yet our equipment hasn’t arrived and we’re ordered to attack. Now we’re being bombed like fools—half my men die before even seeing the enemy. After a few days, my platoon barely has a squad left!” A platoon leader, clutching his rifle in the shelter, cursed with bloodshot eyes.

“Aren’t we fighting in Burma with American and Japanese support? Where is it? Why do I only see Japanese planes—where are theirs? Damn Americans, damn British gentlemen, using us as cannon fodder!” He raged, his eyes glaring, until suddenly a bomb weighing hundreds of pounds landed beside him, blasting him into unrecognizable fragments.

Such scenes unfolded ceaselessly across the battlefield. In this hellish bombardment, the 598th Regiment suffered over sixty deaths and one hundred fifty wounded. Countless recruits were terror-stricken, many leaving a warm stain in their trousers.

But in these moments, there was no laughter, no disdain—only a profound bond among comrades. Veterans gently pulled the new recruits from the mud, speaking not with sternness, but with simple words: “Kid, stay alive.”

If these new soldiers survived the battle, they would shed the awkward label of “rookie.” Even if their skills were still rough, they’d have learned to apply their training in combat, learned to face death, and gained the ability to survive alone in the brutal arena—perhaps even become true veterans.

The more veterans a unit has, the stronger it becomes. Aside from medical care, the survival rate of rookies on their first battle determines how many veterans there will be. Yet veterans die too—“under fire and blood, no bones remain.” Who can claim invincibility on the battlefield? Some generals prefer to hide far in the rear, their legs long enough to flee, and perhaps can confidently say, “I simply won’t die.” But that is another matter, and not discussed here.