Chapter 487: Bullets Won't Wait for You

"You useless trash! You can't even hold a gun steady—how can you go to the battlefield?!"

"Charge! Put force into it! Imagine the bayonet as your hatred! The enemy is right in front of you!"

"Crawl forward quickly! The bullets won't wait for you!"

Hao Er's hands have already developed thick calluses, his knees and elbows are covered in abrasions. Yet he doesn't feel pain; instead he feels a strange sense of fulfillment. During training breaks, when they sit on the field to rest, Zhongcun often rubs his shoulders and complains, "This is just too exhausting..."

"Only fatigue yields results," Hao Er says seriously. "The instructor said the European battlefield is a hundred times harsher than training. Sweat more now, bleed less on the battlefield."

Shan Kou comes over, speaking mysteriously, "I've inquired; most of our batch will be assigned to Deguo. Going by land routes is safe."

"Is fighting over there in Deguo good?" someone asks.

"Of course it's good! Doesn't the newspaper report victories every day? The Som River great victory, Degjun—including our units—pushed back twenty kilometers!"

Hao Er recalls the latest Asahi Shimbun; the front-page photo shows a group of Sakura Nation soldiers standing beside a destroyed British Army tank, grinning broadly. Caption reads: "The Imperial Army assisted Degjun in destroying the British steel beast, demonstrating outstanding combat power."

"I also want to stand beside a tank and take a photo," Hao Er says.

"You will," Shan Kou pats his shoulder. "When you reach the front, earn merit—don't just take photos, you'll earn medals too."

After dinner comes "spiritual education" time. All recruits are gathered in the main hall to listen to an officer's lecture. Today's lecturer is a Major, wearing glasses, looking like a scholar.

"Gentlemen," the Major's voice booms through the loudspeaker across the hall, "the journey you are about to embark on is the most glorious campaign in Imperial history. It is not to invade, not to plunder, but to aid our allies, to showcase the courage and honor of the Yamato people!"

Behind him, the screen projects a map of Europe. The Major points a teaching rod at northern France: "Here, the Som River, Imperial sons are making history. Did you know? Yingguo and Faguo, those white nations, have always looked down on us Asians. But now they must admit—on the battlefield, Sakura Nation soldiers' bravery is no less than anyone's!"

Applause erupts in the hall.

"Moreover," the Major continues, "your sacrifices are rewarded. Every month, your wages will be transferred home on time. For the fallen, families receive death benefits; children get education subsidies. The survivors, upon returning home, will be given priority employment. This is not only serving the nation but investing in your own future!"

Hao Er feels his heart surge. He recalls that before leaving home, his father secretly slipped him ten yen, saying, "Take good care of yourself." His mother wept all night, yet the next day she still helped him pack. His younger brother Jian Ta said, "Big brother, bring me foreign candy when you return."

For them, I must survive and come back. He thinks. And I must return with honor and money.

After the lesson ends, the recruits return to the barracks. Sixteen per room, bunk beds. Hao Er lies on the hard board bed, listening to the surrounding intermittent snores, unable to sleep.

He quietly pulls a photo from his jacket pocket—a family portrait taken at Senso-ji last New Year. In the picture, his father still wears the only decent suit, his mother smiles, Jian Ta makes a funny face, and he himself stands at the far left, his expression a bit stiff.

"I will make sure you have good lives," he murmurs to the photo. "Definitely."

Outside the window, the training camp's searchlight sweeps the night sky like a massive light sword, cleaving the darkness.

Cao County, same period

Transport at Renchuangang never ceased.

Every three days, a cargo ship loaded with "labor personnel" departs the port. The ships bear different names—"East Sea", "Japan Sea", "Fusang"—but the scenes aboard are identical: cargo holds packed with people, foul air, and desperate silence.

Jin Shuntai has been adrift on the "Yellow Sea" for twenty days.

He doesn't know where he is, only that the ship keeps moving. In the first few days, many suffered seasickness; vomit and excrement mixed, turning the hold into hell. Several people died—no one knows exactly how, perhaps illness, perhaps suffocation. The bodies were dragged out by Sakura Nation crew and tossed straight into the sea.

Food is issued once a day: a cold rice ball and a bowl of water. The rice ball often molds, but when starving you have no choice. Jin Shuntai learned to break the rice ball into three pieces, eating a bit for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so at least he wouldn't faint from hunger.

A fever spreads in the hold. Some develop high fevers, speak incoherently, and break out in rashes. Sakura Nation crew occasionally descend to spray disinfectant; the acrid smell makes one gag, yet the illness continues to spread.

"Where... will we be sent?" a weak voice asks in the darkness.

No one knows. Some say it's to the Sakura Nation homeland, some to South Ocean, some to a place called "Faguo". Jin Shuntai recalls his brother Shun Zhi—who left a few months ago and should now be somewhere. Is he still alive?

"I want to go home..." the boy beside him cries. His name is Piao Zaiying, only fifteen, and was captured while foraging wild vegetables in the fields.

Jin Shuntai said nothing, merely patted his back. What could he say? "It will be okay"? That's a lie. "Resign yourself"? Too cruel.

The cargo hold door suddenly opens, a blinding light flooding in. Several Sakura Nation crew members, wearing masks, descend and shine flashlights around.

"Those who can still move, get up! Move the supplies!"

Jin Shuntai struggles to rise. His legs are swollen, each step feels like being pricked by needles. Yet he knows, without work there is no food.

They are taken to a lower-deck cargo hold, stacked with burlap sacks containing unknown items. The task is to carry the sacks from here to there—a meaningless, repetitive labor meant only to drain their strength and prevent "trouble".

During a break, Jin Shuntai peers through the porthole. An endless sea, no land in sight, only gray sky and gray water. Occasionally a seabird flies by, free and unrestrained.

Freedom. What a luxurious word.

During a break, an older man leans over, whispering, "I heard we're being sent to fight."

"Fight?" Piao Zaiying widens his eyes.

"Yes. To Europe, to help the Yingguo fight the Deguo. Or help the Deguo fight the Yingguo," the man chuckles wryly, "Either way, we're going to be cannon fodder."

"But we don't know how to fight..."

"You don't need to know. Just be able to fire a gun. Or... just be able to die."

The hold is deathly silent. Only the sound of waves lapping the hull, monotonous and eternal.

Jin Shuntai closes his eyes. He recalls the lullaby his mother taught him; when he couldn't sleep as a child, she would hum it to soothe him. His lips move, and he hums in a barely audible voice:

"Arirang, Arirang, Arirang..."

"My lord traverses mountains and passes ridges, the journey far..."

Piao Zaiying hums softly along. Then the third person, the fourth... In the darkness, the faint singing drifts like a trickle, struggling through the desperate sea.

"You are truly heartless, abandoning me..."

"Step out less than ten li and you'll miss home..."

The song is swallowed by the sound of waves. Yet in that moment, aboard this ship sailing toward death, they still possess the song, the memory of home.

Even if that memory is being slowly devoured by the sea.