Chapter 530: Pillar

He wore a uniform of coarse gray cloth, a German M35 Stahlhelm on his head. His yellow face was covered in dust and dried blood. This soldier held his Mauser 98k rifle, his eyes fixed on the flat ground in the distance.

There was a patch on the elbow of his uniform, and the corners were frayed from friction, but it was clear that he still cherished this uniform, because it represented a respectable profession: a soldier.

Years ago, on the platform of the Nanjing railway station, he had stood with his chest puffed out, accepting the applause of the local gentry and of the Generalissimo himself. A young girl had pinned a red flower to his chest, and at that moment, he knew his future would be filled with hardship.

Those officials had never been so kind to a mud-legged peasant like him. When they started being kind, it was either because they were about to collect rent or to snatch your daughter.

But later, his educated company commander had taught them many things. He had taught them what it meant to protect their homes and defend their country, what it meant to be a conquered slave. He had told them about the Qing soldiers entering the Shanhai Pass, about the First Sino-Japanese War. In any case, he felt that if he had been at Shanhai Pass back then, the Qing soldiers would have had to step over his dead body to get through. In any case, he felt that if he had been in the Beiyang Fleet back then, he would have fought the Japanese to the last man.

And so he had stood in the trenches of Shanghai, with his rifle on his back. And so he had poured his anger into the bullets he fired, one by one. Because he was a Chinese soldier. Because he remembered what his company commander had told him before he died: “As long as we are alive, we will not let the Japanese harm our girls!”

But he was still alive. He had retreated from Shanghai to Nanjing, from Nanjing to Wuhan. He was still alive now, living a wretched existence, watching the occupied territories expand, bit by bit, but not daring to face death as generously as his old company commander had.

Crack! He pulled the trigger. A Japanese soldier holding a rifle fell to the ground. And behind this Japanese soldier, more Japanese troops, with bayonets fixed to their rifles, were charging the positions of the Chinese army, screaming “Long live the Emperor!”

He calmly worked the bolt of his rifle, ejecting a spent cartridge. The hot casing clattered to the ground at his feet, making a crisp sound as it hit a rock. He closed the bolt, steadily raised his rifle, and pulled the trigger again. Another bullet left the barrel, and another invader fell.

This was his position. This was the land of the Chinese people! You want it? Then pay for it with your lives! Pay until all four hundred million are gone, until there are no Chinese left who can still breathe, then you can take it! As long as the blood of our ancestors still runs hot, everything here belongs to the Chinese people! Not even the Jade Emperor himself can take it away!

He had never been to school, so he only knew this one simple truth. It was what his old company commander had said. The old company commander wasn’t actually old; he was seven years younger than him, only 23. But when he was starving to death, this young man had smiled and given him half of his biscuit. And that sincere half of a biscuit was worth his entire life. He had never been to school, so he only knew this one simple truth.

The company back then had 120 men. They had to share 40 biscuits, and those who couldn’t get one would starve. Now, 119 men lay in the enemy-occupied territory. They had not failed the 40 biscuits the common people had given them. The company flag was in the pack on his back. As long as he was not dead, the company was still here, and it was a company that could not be beaten!

Behind him, the wartime capital of Chongqing was getting closer and closer. Around him, the familiar faces were becoming fewer and fewer. The reinforcements wore American helmets and carried all sorts of different rifles. Their clothes were also much newer than the ones they had worn back then.

But he still liked to wear the M35 helmet, still liked to wear the combat boots that were a size too big and whose soles had been worn smooth, still liked the triangular bayonet that General von Seeckt had introduced to China and the shorter, more accurate Mauser 98k rifle in his hands. Because as long as he wore this uniform, generals would dismount and ministers would step down from their sedans. Even the Generalissimo, Chiang, would have to give him a military salute first.

Why? Because of the 119 brave men who lay in the enemy-occupied territory! Because of the fact that the five German-trained divisions had fought to the last man and had not lost Shanghai! Because for every Chinese soldier who wore this uniform, the Japanese had a bounty of 1,000 yen! Because every Chinese soldier who dressed like this had fulfilled those four simple but heavy words: protect your home and defend your country.

He worked the bolt, and another casing fell at his feet. The rain pattered on his helmet, making a pinging sound. The Japanese were getting closer, and the machine-gun nest on his side had long since fallen silent. They were out of bullets again. A cruel but very real reason.

He looked at his empty magazine and helplessly closed the bolt. He patted his breast pocket, which he had already checked countless times, and gave a bitter smile, lowering his hand. There were indeed no more bullets there. He had known that for a long time.

“I’m not retreating today!” he laughed, shouting his words into the rain. He bit his lip, took off the pack from his back, and hastily buried it at his feet. Then, from his side, he drew the nearly two-foot-long triangular bayonet and, with a click, fixed it to his rifle.

“Little devils! Today, grandpa will teach you how to use a bayonet!” He crouched low, his cold gaze fixed on the front. The soldiers beside him had long since run out of bullets and had been holding their bayoneted rifles for some time. The two of them looked at each other and saw the firm courage in each other’s eyes.

The Japanese were closer now. He could clearly hear their gobbling tongue. The gleaming bayonets of the Japanese army looked even more terrifying, more visually effective than the non-reflective, dark bayonets on the Chinese side.

“Lay down… your arms… surrender… and you will not be killed!” a Japanese soldier shouted in broken Chinese, trying to persuade the nearby Chinese defenders to surrender. But from somewhere, a last bullet was fired, hitting the Japanese soldier in the forehead.

“Fuck your ‘not be killed’! Even if you don’t kill me, I’m still going to kill you!” a voice with a northeastern accent cursed from the Chinese position. “If you have the guts, come up here, and let’s see who’s the real grandpa!”

“Charge!” The Japanese officer, who was protected in the center of his men, seeing that the Chinese army was still not recognizing the situation, waved his command sword in a rage and gave the order to charge. In his eyes, an army that could match the Japanese in a bayonet fight had not yet been born.

The distance between the two sides grew even closer. It was no longer a distance for shooting at each other. The Japanese army had a glorious tradition of bayonet fighting, and the Chinese side had only bayonets left to solve the problem. So the two sides, by mutual agreement, crashed into each other.

The old Chinese soldier who had been crouching in the trench leaped up. With a burst of strength, he parried the Japanese bayonet that was thrusting at him. In the next instant, he pushed his rear hand forward, and the long bayonet slid into the Japanese soldier’s chest as smoothly as if it were cutting through lard.

Blood spurted from the bayonet’s fuller, splattering all over the old Chinese soldier. But he paid it no mind. With a slight effort, he pulled out his bayonet and charged towards the next target. This was now a competition: to kill as many of the enemy as possible in as much time as possible, until he himself was dead. The competition would not end.

“Ha!” With a roar, he impaled another Japanese soldier. With the force of the falling Japanese, he continued to press forward valiantly. The Japanese opposite him were clearly intimidated by his aura and actually took a step back.

This Japanese soldier was about 20 years old, a very young man. He looked like he hadn’t been in the army for long. He was terrified by the scene of the soldiers from both sides locked in a melee, his face pale. Seeing the appearance of the Chinese soldier, he became even more timid and subconsciously retreated.

On the battlefield, if the enemy retreats, I advance. The old Chinese soldier was used to seeing life and death. At this moment, there was no room for sympathy. With a burst of strength, he thrust out his bayonet and plunged it into the body of the young Japanese man.

“Ah!” With a scream, the young Japanese man staggered and fell, his cowardly retreat not having bought him a few more seconds of life. And at this moment, the Chinese soldier who had been fighting side-by-side with the old veteran was stabbed to the ground by two Japanese soldiers, red foam bubbling from his mouth.

More Japanese soldiers swarmed up, and one after another, the Chinese soldiers fell. The blood of the two sides mingled together, making the road under their feet muddy. On this nameless little hill, the shouts of battle still did not stop, without end.

“Get the one with the German helmet! Get the one with the German helmet!” the Japanese commander shouted shrilly, seeing his own troops being cut through by a sharp blade in the sea of men, as if they were a fragile piece of silk under a pair of scissors. He wanted his soldiers to overwhelm that god-of-war-like existence.

The blood-soaked old Chinese soldier was at this moment like a small boat in a great sea, constantly advancing under the encirclement of the Japanese soldiers. His movements were steady and accurate, accurate and ruthless. Because he had had no bullets to waste in training, all he could practice frequently was stabbing and parrying.

He parried a sharp bayonet, then thrust his own directly into the enemy’s eye, stopping only when it hit the back of his skull. At the same time, the old Chinese soldier’s leg was pierced by the bayonet of another Japanese soldier. Blood spurted out, and a wave of pain came.

The old soldier didn’t even look back. He pulled out his bayonet and stabbed the Japanese soldier who had wounded him. After a scream, another Japanese soldier fell, clutching his chest. But on the other side, another Japanese soldier plunged his bayonet into the old soldier’s side, making his movements even slower.

He pulled back his bayonet and mechanically stabbed in another direction. Another scream was heard, but this time the old soldier could not pull his bayonet back, because two Japanese soldiers had quickly rushed forward and had grabbed the barrel of his rifle.

How many have I taken? the old Chinese soldier asked himself in his mind. Then he opened his mouth and smiled, a smile full of blood.

“My name is Zhuzi! The company commander said I am the pillar of this country!”

Published: 2025-09-02T03:53:50.000+00:00
Last Edited: 2025-12-13T19:37:32.000+00:00
URL: https://www.patreon.com/caleredhair/posts/mtr-c530-pillar-137921207

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