When Uncle Jianguo arrived at the military unit, it had already been several years since the 1979 defensive campaign deep into Vietnamese territory had ended. What does “deep into” mean? It simply meant a group of people charging into their homes, banging their heads against the wall—teaching those little rascals a lesson, making sure they wouldn’t dare act up again. In ’79, the push was deep, penetrating over a hundred kilometers into Vietnam. Once the warning had been served, the troops were pulled back.
The Vietnamese bowed and scraped, admitting their mistakes and swearing never to do it again. But who would’ve thought that while they mouthed apologies, they secretly ramped up their military and kept crossing the border to harass us. According to Uncle Jianguo, over time, the border guards suffered over a hundred casualties, and Chinese civilians near the border also suffered similar losses.
On the other hand, over a thousand Vietnamese dog soldiers were killed.
Uncle Jianguo added that nowadays, many Vietnamese brides marry Chinese men. While some do it for money, many genuinely want to come over because Chinese men are honest, hardworking, and devoted to their families—unlike some Vietnamese men who laze around at home while their wives go out to earn money.
From 1979 to 1984, Vietnam harassed the border over a thousand times, but each time, they were beaten back by the brave border troops.
In the first half of 1984, Uncle Jianguo’s border unit suddenly received intel that a group of Vietnamese soldiers had occupied Chinese territory at Mount Zheyin, setting up over a hundred defensive positions. The artillery was ready to bombard the mountain and reclaim the land.
Uncle Jianguo’s squad was given a mission: infiltrate under the cover of darkness to map out the enemy’s fortifications.
The squad was made up of handsome young men in their early twenties, all full of energy and excitement about the mission. Some were even itching to rush in that very afternoon and “give ’em hell.”
Little did they know, for Ma Shangqian, this mission would be the last journey of his life.
Uncle Jianguo admitted that, as squad leader, he never expected the enemy to be so cunning.
The border between Yunnan and Vietnam is mountainous and densely forested, prone to rain. That night, as they set out, a light drizzle began. Uncle Jianguo didn’t think much of it—rain was common here. But he didn’t realize that whenever it rained, Vietnamese troops would release poisonous insects along the mountain paths.
The rain pelted the six young faces, the faces of those who had devoted their youth to defending their country.
Regiment Commander Geng Zhi saw them off with a simple farewell: “Liu Jianguo, Tian Fugui, Shui Jinbao, Shi Dazhuo, Ma Shangqian, Fu Wulong—make sure you all come back safe. You have from now, eight o’clock, until midnight tomorrow to complete this mission.”
In other words, they had twenty-eight hours.
If they didn’t return, the unit would assume they had all been killed, and artillery would launch a full-scale strike on the enemy.
Geng Zhi shook each of their hands, wishing them success.
Fu Wulong grinned and said, “Once we win this battle and I get a commendation, I’ll ask my mom to find me a wife.” Uncle Jianguo was about to scold him for joking around, but Geng Zhi waved him off and asked, “Will you invite me to the wedding?”
Fu Wulong nodded eagerly. “Of course! Don’t let your loud voice fool me—I bet I can outdrink you.”
A military jeep quietly dropped them off two miles from the mountain to avoid detection.
Each man was equipped with a grenade, a piece of compressed biscuit, a small bottle of water, a triangular bayonet, and a Type 54 7.62mm pistol—though they were strictly forbidden from firing unless absolutely necessary. The grenade was their last resort—to take their own lives rather than surrender.
The six of them slipped toward Mount Zheyin.
Uncle Jianguo’s plan was to split into three teams of two, meet at the mountainside at dawn to map the coordinates, and if they couldn’t descend by day, hide until nightfall.
The rain, while a hindrance, also provided cover.
Crawling through a narrow ditch, thorns and wild grass scratched their faces, leaving bloody marks.
Then, a massive pit viper blocked their path, its tongue flicking in the dark. Uncle Jianguo’s throat tightened—this snake wasn’t wild. Someone had planted it here.
Pit vipers rank among the deadliest snakes in the world. It lay motionless, guarding the ditch.
Uncle Jianguo barely breathed. The five behind him, all elite scouts, froze as well.
Slowly, he drew his bayonet. Just five meters away, two Vietnamese soldiers grumbled about being on duty in the rain. One boasted about his poison darts, itching to “kill some northerners for fun.”
Above them, soldiers smoked and chatted.
The viper swayed its head.
In the darkness, its scales blended with the mud, making it nearly invisible. But Uncle Jianguo, a trained scout, had honed his night vision. The absence of frogs and other small creatures told him something deadly lurked here.
A flash of lightning lit the mountains. As thunder roared, Uncle Jianguo lunged, clamping the snake’s neck and slicing off its head with his bayonet.
Venom sprayed, narrowly missing his face and sizzling against the grass before the rain washed it away.
The whole thing happened in seconds.
With the viper dead, they slipped past the first checkpoint. Behind them, Vietnamese soldiers practiced throwing poison-tipped darts with deadly precision.
Uncle Jianguo sneered. “Wait till the artillery hits—see if you can still throw those damn darts.”
Past the checkpoint, they split into three teams: Uncle Jianguo and Tian Fugui took the center, Shui Jinbao and Shi Dazhuo went left, while Ma Shangqian and Fu Wulong headed right.
Before parting, Uncle Jianguo ordered them to finish their water—no refills. Why carry water in heavy rain? Because the forest canopy could taint rainwater with poison or bacteria.
By dawn, the teams had nearly completed their mission and regrouped at the rendezvous point.
Uncle Jianguo, Shi Dazhuo, and Ma Shangqian had mapped the enemy positions. As daylight approached, they ate their biscuits and prepared to hide until nightfall.
Surviving a full day in enemy territory would be the real test.
But then, disaster struck.
Fu Wulong’s left hand was bitten by a “Seven-Star Insect.” His arm turned black, his lips darkened. He insisted he was strong as an ox, but Uncle Jianguo drained the poisoned blood and bound his arm tightly to slow the spread.
At sunrise, they chewed harmless leaves, smeared the paste on their faces for camouflage, and covered themselves with foliage. To stay awake, they chewed tobacco.
For the next day, they had to lie still as stones, waiting for night.
They curled into a circle on a hidden slope.
By 7 PM, dusk settled in.
Meanwhile, Vietnamese insect master Ruan Sanjia discovered his prized viper had been killed and his Seven-Star Insects had been disturbed.
(Don’t mistake these for ladybugs—Uncle Jianguo described them as the size of old-fashioned lightbulbs, fist-sized when flying.)
Ruan Sanjia, whose lineage traced back to one of the outlaw heroes of Liangshan who fled to Vietnam, immediately knew scouts had infiltrated.
He reported to Vietnamese commander Hu Yin, who flew into a rage, cursing his troops as useless.
Ruan Sanjia calmed him, insisting the Chinese scouts were still hiding, waiting for night to escape. Hu Yin ordered a search party.
Ruan volunteered to lead the hunt, vowing to feed the killer of his snake to his insects. Hu Yin put him in charge of fifty men, granting him full control over any captives.
Ruan murmured to his Seven-Star Insect, commanding it to track the scent of the one who harmed it.
Meanwhile, Fu Wulong’s limbs grew numb. He secretly drew his pistol, pressing it to his chest—if Uncle Jianguo tried to drag him to safety, he’d rather die than slow them down.
Sometimes you wish the day would last longer. But Uncle Jianguo prayed for it to pass in a second, so they could escape and deliver their intel.
Yet the first shadows of night refused to come…
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