40: The final tranquility

The Japanese Army's positions were as quiet as death.

Chen Xi controlled the drone, circling above the Sihang Warehouse.

On the screen, that patch of scorched earth, which had been repeatedly bombed, showed no movement at the moment.

There were no patrolling Soldiers, no cooking smoke, and not even the sound of a cough could be heard.

It was as if everyone had evaporated overnight.

"It's too quiet."

Xie Jinyuan's voice sounded behind him, carrying a trace of gravity that was hard to detect.

Chen Xi didn't look back; he simply pushed the drone's camera lens further out.

"They're preparing."

His voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself.

The lens moved past those empty trenches and stopped at an area tightly covered by canvas.

Under the silhouette of the canvas were several hideous, massive artillery pieces that had never been seen before.

Further away, squads of combat engineers were assembling, carrying explosive packs with solemn expressions.

Xie Jinyuan also saw all of this through another monitor screen beside Jiang Han.

His heart suddenly constricted.

Heavy artillery.

Combat engineers.

The answer was already self-evident.

The enemy was preparing for a final, devastating general offensive.

In the livestream room, the bullet chat that had been celebrating due to the previous "Kite Bombing" also gradually sensed that something was wrong.

[What's going on? Did all the little devils run away?]

[Something's not right; this atmosphere is too eerie. My hair is standing on end.]

[Zoom in! Quick! What's that thing under the canvas?!]

When Chen Xi's drone clearly presented the silhouettes of those heavy guns hidden under the canvas,

The entire livestream room instantly fell into a deathly silence.

Everyone knew what that signified.

The oppressive atmosphere, like a plague, quickly spread from the headquarters to the entire warehouse.

The joy of victory vanished without a trace.

In its place was a suffocating silence.

The air seemed to freeze, mixed with the smell of blood and disinfectant, weighing heavily on everyone's heart.

The Soldiers no longer talked; they just silently wiped their weapons over and over again.

The sound of bolts racking—crisp and mechanical—was the only sound in this silence.

A Soldier leaning in the corner pulled out a half-pack of crumpled cigarettes from his chest pocket.

He hesitated for a moment but still pulled one out and handed it to the comrade beside him.

The comrade took it, lit it, took a deep drag, and silently handed it back.

A single cigarette was passed back and forth among several people; no one spoke.

But everyone knew that this might be the last cigarette they would ever smoke.

In the infirmary for the wounded, the groans also quieted down.

Those slightly wounded Soldiers who could still move began to pull out paper and pens from their chests and pockets.

If they didn't have paper and pen, they would find a cleaner piece of cloth or a flat wooden board.

Using fountain pens, pencils, or even charred charcoal,

They began to write letters.

Writing to their fathers, writing to their mothers.

Writing to the fiancées they hadn't yet married.

Writing to the sons playing with mud at the village entrance, who might already have forgotten what they looked like.

A young Soldier who looked only seventeen or eighteen years old lay on a sandbag, biting his pen, facing a yellowed piece of letter paper, unable to write a single word for a long time.

His hands were shaking violently.

An older veteran nearby patted his shoulder, his voice hoarse.

"Just write that you've killed many devils here."

"Tell your family that you didn't bring shame to your ancestors."

The young Soldier's eyes instantly turned red.

He lowered his head, and hot tears fell onto the paper, blurring a patch of ink.

He wiped his eyes and gripped the pen tightly again.

These scenes were clearly transmitted to every corner of 2026 through Chen Xi's livestream camera.

The bullet chat no longer contained any laughter or teasing.

[They are... writing Suicide Notes...]

[Fuck... I can't take it... I really can't take it...]

[The person in front, don't leave! You're not allowed to leave! If we leave, who will remember them?!]

[My grandfather was in the 88th Division back then... He never told me about this... He only said that when they guarded the warehouse, it was very cold.]

[Streamer... Brother Xi... I beg you, take them away! Run! This isn't a game anymore! They'll die! They'll really die!]

[Run? Run where? Have you forgotten where this is? This is the Sihang Warehouse; this is Shanghai in 1937!]

[This isn't a drill... This isn't a movie... This is our history...]

The flow of the bullet chat was slower than ever before.

Every comment was like a heavy tombstone.

The viewers finally realized that what they were witnessing was not a game that could be reloaded.

But an irreversible, bloody, real history of sacrifice and farewell.

Panic and worry were, at this moment, replaced by a deeper, more tragic emotion.

[I finally understand... why Master Xi was so sad before.]

[We were still cheering for the 'Kite Bombing,' but what he saw was the meat grinder that would next be filled with lives.]

[Stop shouting 'Streamer run,' it's too childish.]

[All we can do is watch. Remember every single one of them.]

[Heroes, go well.]

[Salute to the ancestors.]

The lines of bullet chat were no longer requests to the streamer, but the most painful farewell to history.

The emotions of the entire internet were, at this moment, pushed to the first true, tragic climax.

Inside the warehouse.

Chen Xi turned off the screen.

He walked to Xie Jinyuan's side, and the two stood side-by-side at the window that had been blasted open, gazing at the silent enemy positions in the distance.

The wind poured in from the window, carrying a hint of chill.

"Is it worth it here?"

Chen Xi suddenly spoke, his voice very soft.

Xie Jinyuan did not look at him; his gaze remained fixed on the distance.

He was silent for a long time, so long that Chen Xi thought he wouldn't answer.

Only then did he slowly say, in a voice that was almost a murmur,

"I don't know."

"I only know that if our generation doesn't bleed dry,"

"Our next generation will have to live on their knees in humiliation and insignificance."

Having finished, he turned his head and looked at Chen Xi; those eyes behind the lenses were calm, yet startlingly bright.

"Mr. Chen, are you afraid?"

Chen Xi did not answer.

He just raised his hand and gently stroked the cold wall.

The wall was covered with bullet holes.

Behind every bullet hole could be a departed young life.

Was he afraid?

He was afraid.

But what he feared more was failing them.

Failing these four hundred-plus brothers behind him who regarded him as a god and entrusted him with their lives.

Failing that young life who had jumped down with a smile, asking him to see the future of China for him.

He slowly withdrew his hand and clenched it into a fist.

In his eyes, that last trace of confusion and powerlessness completely vanished.

In its place was a cold, tangible killing intent.

Right then.

"Screeech—"

A sharp, air-tearing whistle came without warning from the distant horizon.

That sound was like the Reaper's scythe, slicing through this final tranquility.

The final bloody battle had begun.

The whistle of the first heavy shell approached from afar.