I transmigrated back to 1935, onto the Long March with the Red Army.
On the snowy mountain, we lacked food and warm clothes. The regiment commander took one look at my round face
and assigned me to the cooking squad.
Coke, fried chicken, ice cream...
We had none of those.
Just a few giant pots and a bunch of old, weak, sick, and disabled people who got blamed whenever things went wrong.
I'm a selfish person,
lazy and greedy, doing everything I can to stay alive.
I didn't want to fight for the revolution or make any sacrifices, until...
I came to share the same faith,
and became willing to give my life for it.
