Chapter 1

Although I am somewhat cowardly, I am not someone who lacks loyalty. Just now, that scar-faced man can be said to have saved my life, and I cannot simply abandon him now.

At this moment, I couldn't help but recall what the old man had told me: when artillery shells are coming, you should lie down on the ground. The lethality of artillery shells mainly relies on shrapnel, which scatters like exploded clumps of dirt and flies upwards. Therefore, as long as you stay low, you generally won't be harmed. If you are too unfortunate and get hit directly by a shell, there won't be much pain.

But thinking about the old man, considering that he survived on such a battlefield, I feel somewhat unconvinced. Why can he do it while I cannot? Am I really inferior to the old man?

As I drew closer to the enemy, I felt myself drawing nearer to death. A profound fear gripped my heart, nearly suffocating me. At times, I even thought it might be better to let the scar-faced man shoot me dead; after all, death was inevitable. A single bullet would be a more merciful end.

At that moment, I was worried that a second scar-faced man might execute us as deserters... It was not until I heard the retreat order coming from behind that I finally breathed a sigh of relief

Thinking of this, I could only grit my teeth, get up from the ground, raise my gun, aim at the head of that Japanese soldier, and pull the trigger

Kill (Vietnamese pronunciation: sát)

I am well aware of what it means to be a deserter in this era, so I can only turn around with trepidation and take a step forward. I intended to slow my pace and drag my feet, but unexpectedly, the scarred face struck me with the muzzle of a gun from behind.

With a deafening roar, before I could react, I was knocked to the ground by the scar-faced man behind me. Following that, two explosions went off nearby with a "bang bang". My ears rang with a deafening noise, but fortunately, I was unharmed.

However, I knew that this was not the time to vomit; every second I wasted could cost me my life. Therefore, I helped the scarred face up from the ground and ran back.

Although my mind has nearly ceased to function, the instinct for survival still tells me to leave this place of turmoil as soon as possible

At that time, I was quite skeptical, thinking to myself, if you are so experienced, how could you let the shell be blown to such a state

However, this was certainly not said out loud, as I did not want to receive a slap on the head. Sometimes I find it strange; is the old man blind or not? Yet, he strikes with remarkable precision, almost like the skill of discerning sounds in martial arts novels. As the saying goes, a hero does not suffer immediate losses; I shall not stoop to his level.

The lightning is not lightning, but a series of bright flashes coming from afar; the thunder is not thunder, but a series of explosions; as for the torrential wind and rain... it seems that what is flying in the sky is not raindrops, but rather a barrage of bullets

Thus, I continued to walk forward with difficulty, and as I walked, I became increasingly certain that I had arrived in the era when the old man fought, for I had already seen the appearance of the Vietnamese soldiers, as well as their distinctive conical hats that served as helmets

Lightning, thunder, fierce winds and heavy rain

Everything seemed no different from before, but when I emerged from the mud, I realized that the reality was not so.

Now that I think about what the old man said, it seems quite relevant. It appears that I really need to revisit the old man's experiences when I have the time, as preserving my life is of utmost importance

Lie down

What are you doing? The owner of the pistol, with a scarred face, shouted at me fiercely: "Is there no organizational discipline left? Charge at me..."

With a loud bang, the enemy's head exploded before me like a watermelon, the force of the bullet causing his head to tilt back, and then he fell heavily to the ground. At the moment he collapsed, I saw the surprise and unwillingness in his eyes, as well as the twisted pain on his face. A wave of nausea surged in my stomach, a strong urge to vomit continuously assaulted my throat. At the moment he collapsed, I saw the surprise and unwillingness in his eyes, as well as the twisted pain on his face. A wave of nausea surged in my stomach, a strong urge to vomit continuously assaulted my throat

I continuously comfort myself, yet everything before me compels me to believe that this is all real... The blood of the warrior, the severed legs, and the eyes devoid of hope and vitality...! ... A living person has thus died before my eyes; this is the ironclad truth

Since this moment, I have been at a loss, harboring a deep-seated hatred for that scarred face: with so many people on this battlefield, why is he fixated solely on me

I climbed up the small mound in front of me using both my hands and feet, and when I looked out, I was taken aback. All around me, soldiers in military uniforms were charging towards a high ground, rifles in hand. The uniforms... seemed to be exactly the same as those left by the old man. Indeed, they were the People's Liberation Army. Although the modern PLA uniforms are not quite the same as those from the past, I have still seen them in television and movies.

Look beside me, the mountain is still that stone mountain, but the coffin has vanished without a trace. For some inexplicable reason, I am dressed in military uniform, with two grenades hanging from my waist and a rifle clutched in my hand

I had never seen such a scene before, and I was instantly stunned, lying on the ground motionless, hoping they wouldn't see me. The scar-faced man raised his hand and shot down the two closest enemies, but he was then knocked down to the ground by another enemy who rushed over and struck him with the butt of his gun.

However, before I could take a few steps back with my weak legs, I was stopped by the dark muzzle of a gun

What is happening? Am I not dreaming?

After a considerable amount of time, when my hearing gradually returned, I heard a series of screams akin to the wailing of a slaughtered pig. Wiping away the dust and looking up, I saw a blood-soaked warrior collapsed before me. His legs had long been blown off, and blood was continuously gushing from the severed thigh, staining the surrounding yellow earth a deep red.

With a strange cry, before the smoke from the cannonball had dissipated, several Vietnamese soldiers suddenly emerged from nowhere, brandishing bayonets and charging fiercely towards us.

It was as if it were responding to me; a shell landed nearby with a loud "bang." I only felt a buzzing in my ears, and then a large mass of earth and stones came pouring down on me like rain, nearly burying me.

Bullets flew overhead, shells exploded beside me, and soldiers fell before and behind me... I had heard the old man recount his experiences on the battlefield countless times before, but it was merely hearsay and I never truly felt anything. It was only when I found myself in this situation that I understood what the old man was talking about and what he was feeling.

This is not true This is not true

I want to do something, yet my limbs feel weak and powerless, leaving me just staring blankly at the scar-faced man struggling helplessly beneath the Vietnamese soldier... I think to myself, it is clear that this Vietnamese soldier believes I am already dead, so he is completely unguarded. If I continue to pretend... No! This is enemy territory, and it is evident that this charge has already failed. Continuing to feign death will only lead to a dead end!

I was stunned by the scene, only staring blankly at the soldier who helplessly clutched at his nonexistent legs, screaming and shouting in desperation. The voice grew weaker and weaker, until finally his head tilted and he collapsed lifelessly to the ground