26: We need a flag

The joy of victory did not linger in the warehouse for long.

As the two piles of molten iron gradually cooled and the first light of dawn pierced through the smoke once more, something more grueling than defeat began to spread quietly through the air.

Exhaustion.

A young Soldier leaned against the sandbags, clutching his rifle, and fell asleep just like that. His face was still covered in black soot from the smoke, but a simple smile hung at the corners of his mouth as he dreamed of home.

Another veteran was mechanically wiping his bayonet over and over again with a tattered rag. His eyes were vacant, as if his soul had drifted to somewhere far away.

Chen Xi watched all of this in silence.

He realized that the sickle, which could cut through iron as if it were clay, could sever the bodies of his enemies.

That water gun actually possessed divine power capable of melting the enemy's tanks.

But all his "divine power" could not wipe away the bone-deep exhaustion, soaked in war and despair, from these men's faces.

They were an isolated island.

An isolated island forgotten by everyone in the middle of a vast ocean.

"All officers at the company and platoon level and above, meeting at headquarters."

Xie Jinyuan's voice broke the suffocating silence.

In the temporary headquarters, the atmosphere was oppressive.

Several officers kept their heads bowed; no one spoke.

Even Shangguan Zhibiao, who was usually loud and blustery, sat there dejectedly like a defeated rooster.

"I have seen the state of our brothers," Xie Jinyuan's voice was calm, but beneath that calm pressed a force like an impending storm. "We repelled the Japanese Army's attack and even destroyed their tanks. But our morale is lower than it was on the first day of the war."

He looked around, his gaze sweeping across everyone's faces.

"Why?"

He asked and answered himself.

"Because we are cut off. We don't know what's happening outside, and the people outside don't know we're still alive."

"We are like a pack of wild dogs abandoned by the world, waiting to be slowly worn down to death in this cage."

These words were extremely blunt and cruel.

The officers present buried their heads even lower.

"Therefore," Xie Jinyuan's voice suddenly rose, "we need a flag!"

"A national flag!"

"We are going to raise it, right on the roof of the warehouse! Let our compatriots on the other side see it! Let the foreigners see it! And let those little devils see it clearly for me!"

"We are still here!"

"The 88th Division is not wiped out!"

These words were like a basin of scalding-hot liquor poured over their heads!

All the officers jerked their heads up, a fire reigniting in their previously dull eyes!

That's right!

A flag!

They needed a flag!

...That afternoon.

On the roof of the Sihang Warehouse.

Xie Jinyuan stood behind the bullet-riddled parapet wall, using a simple megaphone made of tin. He roared with all his might toward the International Settlement hundreds of meters away across the river.

"Compatriots—!"

His voice, somewhat hoarse from the exertion, carried far in the wind.

"We are the 88th Division of the National Revolutionary Army!"

"We are still here—!"

"We have not surrendered—!"

On the other side of Suzhou Creek, in that "peaceful world" separated from the battlefield by a single river, everything instantly fell silent.

The ladies in fashionable qipaos, the foreign firm agents watching the spectacle with coffee in hand, the patriotic students shouting and running... everyone's gaze turned toward that hellish warehouse, which was still billowing thick smoke.

They heard it.

In the intervals between the artillery fire, they clearly heard that unyielding cry from hell.

"We need a flag—!"

"Please send a national flag to us—!"

"Long live the Republic of China—!"

That cry of "Long live" was like a cuckoo weeping blood, carrying endless tragedy and determination as it crashed into the heart of every Chinese person.

After a brief silence, the crowd completely erupted!

"Long live the Republic of China!"

"Long live the 88th Division!"

Countless people raised their arms and shouted; some female students even covered their faces and wept on the spot.

They wanted to do something.

They wanted to rush over.

But standing in their way was the cold river of death, tightly blockaded by Japanese Army machine guns and snipers.

Amidst the crowd.

A girl wearing a Girl Scout uniform with two braided pigtails, looking only sixteen or seventeen, clenched her fists tightly.

Her face was flushed red with excitement; there were no tears in her eyes, only a blazing fire.

Her name was Yang Huimin.

She looked at that isolated island shrouded in war, at that empty flagpole that seemed to be weeping.

A thought sprouted wildly in her heart.

I'll go.

I'll deliver the flag.

Without telling anyone, she silently squeezed out of the crowd and ran toward the Shanghai Chamber of Commerce.

She knew that only there could she find a flag large enough, worthy of those heroes—the Blue Sky, White Sun, and a Wholly Red Earth flag.

A great adventure, initiated by a young girl, thus began.