101: Chapter 101 Welcome to Hell on Earth

When consciousness returned, the first thing that rushed into Chen Xi's mind was the smell.

Intense, pungent.

It was the scorched scent of gunpowder mixed with something burning, and beneath it lay a thick, metallic layer of blood.

Then came the sound.

In the distance, there was the continuous crackle of gunfire, like popping beans.

Further away were cries and screams.

The sounds were stretched long by the wind, intermittent, swirling around his ears.

Chen Xi opened his eyes.

The sky was red.

Not the red of a sunset, but a dirty, dark crimson, as if soaked in blood.

He sat up and found himself lying on a messy dirt slope.

This place looked like a landfill, yet also like a hastily buried graveyard.

He looked down.

By his feet was a small white wildflower, its petals splattered with a dried, blackened drop of blood.

He stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes.

His gaze turned toward the source of the firelight.

The silhouette of a massive, burning city.

Nanjing.

[Welcome to "Leisurely History Tour" Version 2.0]

[Dungeon: Jinling 1937]

[Wishing you... a pleasant game.]

The system's voice was as cold as ever, devoid of any emotion.

Chen Xi ignored it.

He moved his limbs, confirming his body was fine, and then began to sneak toward the city gate.

He needed intelligence.

He needed to confirm the specific time and location he was in.

Like a leopard cat, he used the ruins and gullies as cover, silently approaching that wailing city bit by bit.

The Livestream room opened simultaneously at this moment.

When the screen lit up, hundreds of millions of viewers were still immersed in the joy of the Sihang Warehouse victory and their reverence for the heroes.

[He's here, he's here! Master Xi is online!]

[Nanjing! Holy crap, the next stop is directly to Nanjing? This pace is way too fast!]

[Quick, quick, let me see what's fun in the Nanjing dungeon. Are we going to have tea at the Presidential Palace?]

The bullet chat was still rolling merrily.

But the next second, when the livestream camera followed Chen Xi's perspective and zoomed in near the city gate.

All the bullet chat disappeared.

As if an invisible giant hand had instantly gripped everyone's throat.

Beneath the city gate.

A group of Japanese Soldiers in khaki uniforms were surrounding a group of unarmed civilians.

Twisted, excited smiles were plastered on their faces.

One Soldier used his bayonet to nonchalantly lift a swaddled infant from a mother's arms.

The infant's crying instantly turned into a piercing scream.

Then, it stopped abruptly.

The Soldier laughed maniacally as he tossed the tiny body into a nearby fire.

Another Soldier was chasing a running young woman; he didn't shoot her immediately, but like a cat playing with a mouse, he shot her in the leg, watching her collapse with a scream before slowly walking over.

Gunfire, laughter, cries, and pleas for mercy.

They intertwined into a symphony from hell.

In the Livestream room, there was dead silence.

A full ten-plus seconds passed.

Before a line of text slowly drifted across.

[...Holy shit.]

Then.

[This isn't a game...]

[Ugh... I want to throw up...]

[This is... this is what was in the briefings...]

[Stop filming! Master Xi! Please stop filming! I can't take it!]

Anger.

Sadness.

Powerlessness.

All the viewers' emotions were violently smashed into a bottomless abyss at this moment.

The "anger" and "sadness" emotion points in the system's backend soared crazily at an unprecedented speed, the red alerts almost breaking through the screen.

Chen Xi hid behind a broken wall.

He watched everything before him.

His body began to tremble uncontrollably.

Not because of fear.

Because of... memory.

The scene before him overlapped with the sealed, blood-colored memory deep in his mind.

The same dusk.

The same flames.

The same screams of innocent civilians.

That was on an overseas peacekeeping battlefield.

His partner, Sasha, was hit by a stray bullet while trying to protect a local woman holding a child.

When he fell, he was still smiling at him.

Speaking unintelligible Russian.

(Chen, live... on for me...)

"Sasha..."

Chen Xi's teeth were chattering.

A familiar, cold darkness that wanted to drag him into the abyss surged up from his heart.

PTSD.

The most severe kind.

He was almost losing control of himself.

He wanted to rush out.

He wanted to tear these devils in human skin into pieces, one by one.

The weeding sickle at his waist seemed to feel its master's killing intent and began to emit a low hum.

(No...)

(I can't go...)

(Going out now is just suicide...)

His remaining rationality, like a rusty iron chain, tightly locked his body that was on the verge of going berserk.

He used all his strength to force himself to curl up.

Burying his head deep between his knees.

Like a cold, lifeless stone.

Only those tightly clenched fists, with nails digging deep into his palms and drawing blood, proved he was still alive.

He didn't speak.

Nor did he cry.

But every viewer in the Livestream room could feel the extreme, suppressed grief and indignation emanating from him, which almost froze the air.

And beneath that grief and indignation.

Something was crazily sprouting and condensing.

Something deeper, purer, and more devoid of any human emotion than back at the Sihang Warehouse.

Killing intent.