1937, Songhu battlefield.
On the seventh day after traveling through time, Lin Mo was killed by a cannonball.
When he opened his eyes again, he was lying among the corpses, with another person's name tag hanging on his chest. Three hundred meters away, the squad leader who had just fought alongside him was leading the three remaining soldiers to retreat.
They are still alive.
But I no longer recognize him.
Lin Mo soon discovered that whenever he died in battle, he would randomly enter the body of another soldier who had just died.
There is no infinite ammo, no torrent of steel, and no invulnerability.
All he could inherit was a memory of the soldier before his death, an ordinary skill, and an unfulfilled wish.
From Songhu to Taierzhuang, from Wuhan to Changsha.
He had many faces, many names, and stood beside his comrades and watched them bury their bodies.
No one knows who he really is.
Only those comrades who were protected by him time and time again gradually discovered that every time the position was about to be lost, there would always be a strange soldier who stood by their side again.
"I'm not some immortal hero."
"I'm just standing guard one more time for those who have fallen."
