1937: Each of My Soldiers Can Take Out an Entire Platoon

July 1937, outside Beiping. He hadn’t even finished his cup of iced tea when a woman screamed at the street corner. Lin Feng set down his teacup and stood up. The tea stall owner grabbed him. “Sir, those are Japanese soldiers. Don’t go, ” He looked back and said just two words: “Wait here.” Three minutes later, seven bodies lay at the street corner. He vanished into the depths of the alley, leaving only one line scrawled in charcoal on the wall: Lin Feng. After that day, everyone thought he was just a passerby who couldn’t stand by while someone was in trouble. That was until a woman reporter arrived in Liushutun and saw five thousand people kneeling in unison beneath the crooked old pagoda tree, kowtowing toward the same spot “Young Master, we’ve waited five years. When are we going to fight?” Lin Feng stood on the earthen platform, looking at the brothers who had trained with him for five years, at the flames of war rising beyond the distant mountains, and at the young woman secretly recording everything from within the crowd. He said, “We’re waiting for someone, and for the right moment.” That someone was her. That moment would be a battle that made everyone remember their names. Someone once asked Lin Feng: You’re the young master of a warlord family. What gives you the right to lead these peasants against the Japanese devils? He didn’t answer. Only Shen Wanqing saw him alone in the courtyard late at night, repeatedly reading a yellowed piece of paper by the light of an oil lamp. It held just one sentence: “Son, my greatest regret in this life is sending you somewhere you should never have gone. But I’ve never regretted bringing you into this world.” She secretly committed those words to memory. Later, after the fighting was over, she asked him, “Where did you really come from?” He gazed into the distance and smiled for the first time