Lake Changjin: My Pocket Dimension Is Packed with American Gear

Forty degrees below zero.

Chen Mancang's hands are riddled with frostbite, his fingers rotting into holes. His whole company thinks he's a useless stammering soldier, so they toss him into the mess hall to tend the fire. No one knows that inside this nineteen-year-old recruit's body is a transmigrated special-forces sergeant major, with a hundred cubic meters of American gear hidden in his mind: piles of M1 carbines, penicillin, cashmere coats, and everything else.

He can only get them out by relying on “good luck.”

When his comrades freeze in Wolf Forest, he says he's “going to the back hill to look for some locals” and comes back with five sets of American winter uniforms. When an M24 tank rolls toward them and the whole company despairs, he emerges from behind a wrecked truck with a bazooka and blows it away with one shot. Division commander Smith roars, “Where on earth did all these weapons come from?!”

Old Zhou, the mess hall chief, is tough-talking but softhearted, and always sneaks him some hot porridge. The moment American shells rain down, Old Zhou pins him beneath his own body. His back is blown to pieces, and he gasps with his last breath, “Mancang... drive the American devils out for me... don't let the kids freeze again...”

His hands go cold.

While chasing the fleeing enemy, Chen “gets lost” and takes out the Polar Bear Regiment's headquarters. Company commander Zhao rushes over and grabs his wrist. On reflex, Chen Mancang twists free and pins him with a single move.

Company commander Zhao stares into his eyes. “Chen Mancang, who are you, really?”

“Who are you, really?”