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

North China.

Shimen POW Camp.

Several meters high barbed wire fences surrounded the entire camp, with sharp barbed wire wrapped around them, gleaming coldly in the gloomy light.

Every fifty meters there was a brick watchtower with a dark machine gun muzzle protruding from it, looking down at every corner of the camp.

The ground of the camp was compacted yellow earth, full of potholes and pools of black sewage.

When the wind blows, rotten vegetable leaves, rags, and human and animal excrement in the sewage surge up, emitting a nauseating stench.

Rows of low adobe houses were crammed together, their walls riddled with cracks and their roofs sparsely thatched, offering no protection from the wind or rain.

More than 30,000 KMT prisoners of war are held here, most of whom were captured during the Battle of Zhongtiao Mountain.

There were also veterans who had been captured in the earlier Battle of Taiyuan and Battle of Xinkou.

The longest they've stayed here is almost four years.

Four years is enough time to turn a strong, healthy man into a skeleton with only skin and bones.

But today, the atmosphere in the prisoner-of-war camp is a little strange.

"Old squad leader, look at these Japanese soldiers today, their faces are all grim, like they've lost their fathers. We have to be careful, and make sure we don't become their punching bags."

Chen Weiguo shrank back, tugged at the sleeve of his old squad leader Wang Tiezhu, and lowered his voice, speaking in a tone only the two of them could hear.

Wang Tiezhu nodded, his eyes full of vigilance.

He was captured during the Battle of Taiyuan and spent four years in this POW camp, where he witnessed far too many things.

He knew these Japanese soldiers' nature all too well; if they were in a bad mood, they could kill a prisoner of war on any pretext.

"That's right, everyone be smart."

Wang Tiezhu whispered, "Last week, Old Zhang was hung on a telephone pole and left to dry for three days and three nights just because he picked up a cigarette butt from the ground. In the end, not even his body was left."

Li Erniu, who was standing next to him, also came over, his face showing lingering fear: "That's right! And there was Old Wang from last month, who got stabbed in the stomach by a Japanese soldier with a bayonet just because he took an extra spoonful of wild vegetable soup with his meal. He was then thrown into a mass grave to be fed to the dogs."

"These beasts don't treat us like human beings at all."

"Shh! Keep your voice down!"

Chen Weiguo quickly pulled him aside and glanced warily at the Japanese guards not far away.

"Don't let them hear, or we'll all be in trouble."

Li Erniu quickly shut his mouth, lowered his head, and followed the group slowly forward.

Everyone kept their heads down, walked hurriedly, and dared not make any eye contact with the Japanese soldiers.

They had long been accustomed to this kind of life, accustomed to beatings and scoldings, accustomed to hunger, accustomed to the possibility of death at any time.

In this hell on earth, simply being alive is the greatest luxury.

But today is a little different.

At this time of day, the Japanese guards would usually be moving around the ranks with whips and bayonets, whipping or stabbing anyone they didn't like.

Today, although their faces were so gloomy they could drip water, they simply stood there with their hands behind their backs, not even cracking their whips.

One of the prisoners of war tripped and fell, dropping his tools on the ground.

Normally, he would definitely be beaten up, and might even be dragged away and shot.

But today, the Japanese guard closest to him only glanced at him coldly, said nothing, and didn't even move.

The prisoner of war stood there, stunned, for a long time before he could react.

It wasn't until someone pulled him up that he hurriedly picked up his tools, got up, and continued walking forward, his back already soaked with cold sweat.

"Something's not right," Chen Weiguo muttered to himself. "Why have these Japanese devils changed their tune today?"

Wang Tiezhu frowned and shook his head: "I don't know, but it's always better to be careful. Who knows what bad things they're up to?"

Everyone was on edge, wondering what these Japanese devils were up to.

They worked cautiously all morning, anxiously awaiting the Japanese soldiers' beatings and scoldings, but by noon when they finished work, not a single Japanese soldier had laid a hand on them, or even uttered a loud rebuke.

This is very unusual.

It was so unusual it gave me the creeps.

"Dinner's ready!"

With a shout, two puppet soldiers carried over two large wooden buckets.

At this time of year, the wooden buckets are usually filled with wild vegetable soup mixed with sand and insects, and moldy cornbread that is as black as a stone.

The cornbread was so hard it could break your teeth; it was full of bran and chaff, and sometimes you could even find rat droppings inside.

But today, when the lid of the wooden barrel was lifted, all the prisoners of war were stunned.

There was no wild vegetable soup or moldy cornbread in the wooden bucket.

Inside were plump, white steamed buns, steaming hot and emitting an enticing aroma of wheat.

The entire camp fell silent instantly.

Hundreds of prisoners of war stood there, staring blankly at the white steamed buns in the wooden bucket, their eyes wide open.

No one spoke, no one moved; it was as if time had stood still.

Chen Weiguo rubbed his eyes hard, thinking he was seeing things.

He pinched his thigh, wincing in pain, before realizing this wasn't a dream.

"White...white flour steamed buns?" he muttered to himself, his voice trembling. "Am I seeing things? They really are white flour steamed buns?"

Wang Tiezhu's eyes widened, and his breathing became rapid.

He's been here for four years. Four years have passed, and he's almost forgotten what wheat flour tastes like.

The last time he ate wheat flour was before he joined the army, when his mother steamed it for him.

"It's a white flour steamed bun...it really is a white flour steamed bun..." Wang Tiezhu's voice was also a little choked up.

Li Erniu swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. His eyes were filled with longing, but even more so with fear.

"Something's not right...something's not right..." His voice trembled.

"How could these beasts possibly feed us white flour buns? This...this isn't our last meal before we're executed, is it?"

The moment the words "last meal before execution" were uttered, the faces of all the prisoners of war turned deathly pale.

Yes, how could that be?

These Japanese soldiers wouldn't even give them moldy cornbread, so how could they suddenly give them white flour steamed buns?

There's no other explanation besides the last meal served to someone before their execution.

"I remember now!" a prisoner of war suddenly screamed, his face turning deathly pale.

"Three days ago! Three days ago they took two hundred people away, saying they were going to build fortifications, but they never came back! Later someone said they were all executed!"

These words struck like a thunderbolt, exploding in the crowd.

Panic spread instantly.

Everyone understood.

No wonder the Japanese weren't attacking people today; no wonder they were given white flour buns to eat.

It turned out they were being sent on their way.

"It's over...it's all over..."

A young prisoner of war collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down his face.

"I'm only twenty years old... I haven't even gotten married yet... I don't want to die..."

"My mother is still waiting for me back in our hometown... I promised her I would definitely go back..."