You are ordered to support the War of Resistance against Japan; China enters Level 1 combat readines

It's almost dawn.

The roosters of the city began to crow, one crow after another, their calls carrying from the east to the west of the city.

The first to wake up was Aunt Li from South Street. She lived in the family quarters of the arsenal. Her husband worked as a lathe operator in the factory, earning several silver dollars a month, something he would never have dared to dream of before.

She got out of bed in the dark, put on her cotton-padded coat, and went to the kitchen to start a fire. The firewood in the stove had been brought back from outside the city yesterday afternoon; it was completely dry and would light easily. The flames licked the bottom of the pot, illuminating half of the kitchen warmly.

She added water to the pot, then scooped two ladles from the vat. The water was freshly drawn from yesterday; it was clear and bright. She poured it into the pot with a splash.

She put the pot lid on and went to knead the dough again.

The flour was provided by the government; it was white flour mixed with a little bit of other grains, and the steamed buns were white and fluffy.

She was kneading the dough, humming a little tune. The words were indistinct, the melody was old, but she hummed it lightly.

Mrs. Wang from next door peeked over first.

"Aunt Li, so early?"

"It's getting late. His dad has to go to work today; the factory's rushing him." Aunt Li didn't look up, her hands kneading the dough in the basin. "What about yours?"

"They've gotten up, eaten, and are leaving."

Wang Sao leaned against the door frame, holding a bowl of porridge in her hand, and slurped a mouthful.

"You know, this kind of life was something we never dared to dream of before. His father worked in a factory, and he earned enough to feed the whole family in a month, with a few dollars left over."

"I embroider at home and sell the finished products at the market, which earns me some pocket money. Two years ago, I wouldn't have dared to dream of doing this."

Aunt Li laughed: "That's right. The day Quancheng was captured, his father came back and said that the Japanese would never dare to come again. I didn't believe him, but look what happened? It's been so many days, and we haven't even seen a single Japanese soldier."

"That's because the Eighth Route Army was powerful."

Wang's wife lowered her voice, but her tone was full of smugness.

"A letter came from my family saying that in the battle of Jinan, the Eighth Route Army's tanks roared over, and the Japanese soldiers knelt on the ground, too busy begging for mercy."

"Serves you right!"

After kneading the dough, Aunt Li covered it with a damp cloth and let it rest before going to the stove to lift the pot lid.

The water boiled, bubbling and steaming, filling my face with steam.

She grabbed a handful of rice and sprinkled it in, then chopped up a few pieces of sweet potato and threw them all into the pot.

"What kind of life did we live in those years? When the Japanese came, they demanded food; when the traitors came, they demanded money. We couldn't even get a full meal all year round."

"Now things are much better. The Eighth Route Army has arrived, there's more grain, we're making money, and even the governance of this city is like a completely different world."

Aunt Wang nodded and finished the last mouthful of porridge in her bowl: "That's right. I heard they're going to build an airport. Those planes, like big birds, will buzz as they fly by, and the Japanese will run away when they see them."

As the two talked, dawn slowly broke. Movements began in the alley: neighbors opened their doors, poured water, and the cries of children and shouts of adults mingled together in a noisy din. Li's husband, a man in his forties, got up, still looking sleepy in his factory uniform. He sat down by the stove, and Li served him a bowl of sweet potato porridge and two steamed buns. He took them and slurped them down quickly, eager to get to work.

"Slow down, no one's going to take it from you." Aunt Li rolled her eyes at him.

The man gave a muffled reply, his mouth stuffed with...

The buns were full.

Over on North Street, Old Sun also got up.

He wasn't a worker at the arsenal; he was part of a team of laborers building the airport.

Old Sun is over sixty years old and can't do heavy work, so he watches over the tools at the construction site, keeps watch at night, and goes home to sleep during the day.

It was someone else's turn to keep watch today, so he took a break, but couldn't sleep. He got up early and went for a stroll in the street.

The mornings in Zhicheng are very lively.

Vegetable vendors, breakfast vendors, and tofu pudding vendors carrying loads on shoulder poles crowded the street.

Old Sun sat down in front of the tofu pudding stall, ordered a bowl, and added two fried dough sticks.

The stall owner was a young man, quick and efficient, chatting with customers while he worked.

"Old Sun, I heard the airport is almost finished being repaired?"

"It'll be done soon." Old Sun broke off half a fried dough stick and soaked it in a bowl. "The runway is almost finished. I heard they're going to build a big house for airplanes."

"Could that plane really fight the Japanese?"

Old Sun glared at him: "Why not? Didn't you hear about the battle outside the city? The Eighth Route Army shot down all the Japanese planes!"

A middle-aged man nearby chimed in: "That's right, my cousin saw it with his own eyes. It was an Eighth Route Army plane, it didn't have a propeller, it just whizzed by, like lightning."

The group was chatting animatedly, and a crowd gathered around the stall.

Some people talked about the arsenal, some about the newly built school, and some about the prices at the market.

The streets gradually became more crowded. Some people walked towards the arsenal, some towards the airport, and some carried loads to the market.

The arsenal's chimneys billowed black smoke and could be seen from afar.

The sound of pile driving came from the airport, rumbling like a heartbeat.

The sun rose and shone on the city walls and on the people coming and going in the streets.

Zhicheng is only so big, but it's lively and vibrant, like an old tree that's been dry for many years, suddenly sprouting new buds that are lush and green, a delightful sight.

Old Sun took a stroll and then went home.

His home was at the end of North Street, a small courtyard with two mud houses. There was a jujube tree in the courtyard, but all the leaves had fallen, leaving bare branches sticking up to the sky.

He sat under the jujube tree for a while, the sun warming his back, and he felt sleepy. He yawned and was about to go inside for a nap.

The courtyard gate was pushed open.

She's the young wife next door, surnamed Liu. Her husband works at an arms factory.

She stood at the door, her face pale, her lips white, and a thin layer of sweat on her forehead.

"Old Sun, do you have hot water? My child has a high fever."

Old Sun stood up, went to the stove, poured a bowl of hot water, and handed it to her.

"You caught a cold? It was windy at night, and you weren't covered up properly."

The young woman took the bowl, her hands trembling: "I don't know. She was fine this morning, but after eating, she became listless, her face turned red, and she even vomited."

As she spoke, her eyes reddened, "I'm going back now. His father went to call the doctor."

She carried the bowl away, her steps unsteady, almost tripping on the threshold.

Old Sun watched her leave, shook his head, and didn't take it to heart.

It's not unusual for kids to get sick every few days.

He went inside, took off his shoes, lay down on the kang (a heated brick bed), and fell asleep in no time.

Unbeknownst to him, while he was asleep, several people in the city had already developed fevers.

First, in Lijia Lane on South Street, a young man working at an arsenal suddenly collapsed to the ground, foaming at the mouth, startling his coworkers.

Next was the owner of the tofu shop on North Street. She was selling tofu when she suddenly started shaking all over. The spoon in her hand fell to the ground. The customers thought she was having an epileptic seizure and hurriedly helped her to a chair.

Then there were the children on East Street, the old ladies on West Street, the vendors selling sesame cakes at the city gate, and the truck drivers transporting sand to the airport from South Gate...

One, two, three, more and more, like someone throwing a handful of pebbles onto a calm lake, the ripples spreading outwards in concentric circles.

By the afternoon, there were already more than a dozen people.