Chapter 67: Fire at Us

Uncle Jianguo always felt that something was off. His eagle-like eyes scanned the darkening sky, but his heartbeat uncontrollably quickened.

An instinct told him that danger was approaching.

As it turned out, his intuition was reliable. As the light dimmed, Uncle Jianguo decided it was time to move.

He let out a coded call—something like the caw of a bird—and the group quickly gathered around.

Fu Wulong, his body already numb, didn’t want to burden the others. He said if they won the fight, all they had to do was bring his bones back to his hometown.

Uncle Jianguo, as the squad leader, didn’t wait for Fu Wulong to shoot himself. He cursed at him, “Go home and die by yourself! Don’t make me collect your bones—I don’t have time for that.”

With that, he ordered Shi Dazhuo and Ma Shangqian to carry Fu Wulong on their backs. Under the cover of darkness, they advanced toward the mountain pass. Just as they moved a hundred meters away, hundreds of venomous snakes slithered into the spot where they had been hiding. Uncle Jianguo wiped cold sweat from his brow.

He knew their reconnaissance mission had been compromised. Leading the five men to safety would require not just brains, but near-suicidal courage—qualities he possessed, which was why he had been chosen as squad leader for this mission.

But what Uncle Jianguo hadn’t anticipated was that his enemy was no ordinary man—it was a cunning monster who commanded poisonous creatures.

This oversight would ultimately lead to their downfall. It wasn’t my intention to reveal the ending so soon, but there it is.

After running a hundred meters, the venomous creatures caught up. Ma Shangqian, the bravest of the group, volunteered to stay behind and hold them off. Uncle Jianguo immediately rejected the idea. “No need to engage. The enemy only suspects someone’s here. If you fight back, you’ll confirm it.”

Fu Wulong burst into tears, cursing himself for slowing the squad down.

Shui Jinbao joked, “I’m just worried about those two packs of cigarettes you owe me—who’ll pay if you die?” Uncle Jianguo said, “They’ll assume we’re retreating, not pushing forward. Let’s head south toward Vietnam to throw them off.”

Tian Fugui asked, “But what about sending the intel?”

Uncle Jianguo replied, “We still have about six hours before the 12 o’clock deadline. We’ll fake them out by heading toward Vietnam for an hour, then double back to cross the defense line.”

Landmines were buried along some paths in the area. A wild boar from China had triggered one earlier, creating an opening for Uncle Jianguo’s squad. Descending a ten-meter cliff, the six men moved silently—until a faint beeping sound came from a nearby tent.

Shui Jingui, who had experience with radios, immediately recognized it as an enemy transmitter. Uncle Jianguo, Shi Dazhuo, and Ma Shangqian infiltrated the tent, where Vietnamese soldiers had set up a signal station due to the terrain.

Like phantoms, the three killed the operators and seized a radio. But as soon as they had it, they heard pursuit closing in. Across the cliff, a young man with a dangling iron snake earring—the insect master, Ruan Sanjia—spotted them.

With a furious shout, bullets tore through the leaves toward them. Uncle Jianguo hadn’t expected to be caught so quickly—all their decoys had failed.

Ruan Sanjia hadn’t been fooled by their tricks; he had simply followed the scent with his swarm. For two hours, they played cat-and-mouse in the mountains. By 10 PM, escape seemed impossible.

Uncle Jianguo drove his bayonet into a tree and roared, *”We know only of loyal bones buried on the battlefield—who needs a horsehide shroud to return home?”* Then he sent an open transmission.

An invisible radio wave carried their final message to the motherland.

Geng Zhi hadn’t slept in twenty hours. With only one hour left, the radio crackled to life. For ten minutes, coordinates of enemy artillery and key targets poured out in plaintext. The transmission ended with five words:

**”Fire on our position.”**

Geng Zhi’s hands trembled, but he knew hesitation was a luxury. He relayed the intel. At exactly midnight, artillery rained down on the enemy stronghold, paving the way for the final assault with minimal casualties.

After sending the message, Uncle Jianguo laughed. “Scared?”

Fu Wulong, barely breathing, forced his eyes open. “Scared of *what*? I just wish I could’ve fought those bastards face-to-face!”

Uncle Jianguo distributed the last of the cigarettes, biting down on his own.

What happened in that final hour? Uncle Jianguo never elaborated. In life-and-death moments, everyone reveals their truest self—bravery and fear intertwined. Somehow, amid the bombardment, Uncle Jianguo crossed the battlefield like a tiger and made it back.

The following details are reconstructed, but Uncle Jianguo never disputed them—likely because they weren’t far from the truth.

…

Some of the men chewed tobacco leaves, tears streaming down their faces. As squad leader, Uncle Jianguo turned away so no one would see his own. “Next life, we’ll drink and feast like kings!”

Fu Wulong grinned weakly. “Nah, I can’t stand Shui Jingui’s nonsense—I don’t want him as a brother.”

Shi Dazhuo chuckled. “Then let’s have Shui Jingui reborn as a woman and marry you. That’ll fix it.”

Shui Jingui laughed. “Never got a wife in this life—being one in the next wouldn’t be bad.”

Uncle Jianguo suddenly shoved Shui Jingui’s head down as a poisoned dart whizzed past, embedding itself in a tree.

Ruan Sanjia had caught up. From a distance, he called out in broken Chinese, “We won’t kill you. Surrender, and you live.”

The Vietnamese favored poisoned darts and held grudges. Knowing they’d already killed enemy soldiers, surrender meant execution. Uncle Jianguo shouted back, “You’re the ones at the end of your rope! Real men don’t kneel!”

War stories often have the same trope:

*”Report your ammo!”*

*”Three rounds, sir!”*

*”Two here!”*

*”Hah! I’ve got a grenade stashed!”*

The squad leader would scold, “You stingy bastard! Throw everything you’ve got!”

Uncle Jianguo ordered the same—expend all grenades, save one bullet each.

Just then, two seven-star insects darted toward them. Fu Wulong, seeing his nemesis, hurled a grenade with perfect timing. The explosion turned the creatures to ash.

“Still got that grenade aim,” Uncle Jianguo praised.

Fu Wulong wept. “The elders say bones not buried in our village become lost spirits. Promise you’ll find us.”

Uncle Jianguo smiled. “We’ll haunt this foreign land together. What’s there to fear?”

After killing the insects, Fu Wulong collapsed in agony and ended his own life with his last bullet.

Ruan Sanjia laughed. “Why kill yourselves? Come out—you could still live!” He needed live subjects for his new insect experiments and didn’t want to waste them.

Then the artillery barrage began.

Uncle Jianguo lay on the ground. “We did it.”

Shui Jinbao and Tian Fugui hauled him up and shoved him downhill. “Run, sir! Just bring our bones home!”

Uncle Jianguo tumbled ten meters before roaring, “You heartless bastards! I’ll—”

Shi Dazhuo and Ma Shangqian had already thrown their last grenades, their explosions blending with the shelling. Uncle Jianguo discarded everything but his bayonet, whispering, *”I’ll come back for you, brothers.”*

He ran like a beast, leaping over rocks. Ruan Sanjia, spotting him, ordered his men to fire while sending more seven-star insects in pursuit.

At the mountain pass, Uncle Jianguo turned briefly—just long enough to hurl his bayonet. It struck Ruan Sanjia’s arm, the wound bleeding profusely. The bayonet’s design made it nearly impossible to stitch.

Ruan Sanjia, clutching his arm, spat, “If you don’t come back, you’re a coward!”

Uncle Jianguo ran until the venom overwhelmed him. He collapsed…

Geng Zhi received a report: *”A naked man singing the national anthem is approaching our lines.”*

His lips quivered. *”One made it back.”* He sprinted out, watching as the figure drew nearer. Even the toughest men shed tears that day.

Then a hidden snake struck Uncle Jianguo’s leg. He tore it off with his teeth, glaring at Ruan Sanjia in the distance.

*”Wash your neck clean. I’ll come for it.”*

The thrown bayonet found its mark, and Ruan Sanjia retreated, howling, *”If you don’t return, you’re less than a man!”*

Uncle Jianguo ran until the venom took him. He fell…

But not before crossing the line.

The artillery had ceased. Dawn approached.

And so did the final assault.