My name is Zhao Yang. I graduated from the Department of History and have been a soldier for eight years.
On August 13, 1937, when I woke up, the Battle of Songhu had already begun. All the brothers in the camp were dead, and I was the only one left. A broken gun in his hand, and a blank notebook picked up from the corpse of a Japanese soldier in his pocket.
Later, I met Li Mingyi, who was from the sixth phase of Huangpu. He talked about infantry drills and looked at me as if I were a deserter. We both disliked each other for a long time, but from that day on, we were stuck in this mud and blood for eight years.
This notebook is written from beginning to end, recording tactics, terrain, and brothers who didn't even leave their names.
When I wrote the last page, the battle was over.
Just one sentence: until the blood is cold, the country will not perish. We won.
