Flames Over Qingjiang: My Tujia Battalion Commander

On the day of a blood feud, Japanese planes dropped leaflets: 'The Imperial Army will arrive in three days. Hang a white flag to live; resist and die.' Tian Songbai lowered his hunting knife aimed at his enemy and turned to enlist. A frail scholar joined him, dressed in a blue cloth gown, carrying an old book box, with eyes too bright. This man could disassemble a gun faster than veterans and sketch a terrain map at a glance. When asked about his identity, he only said, 'My father was an instructor at the Baoding Military Academy.' No one knew what he wrote in the trenches at night. No one knew whose photo was hidden in the pocket watch he never let go. Even fewer knew that both the Military Intelligence Bureau and the Japanese intelligence were hunting him. 'Open it only after I die,' Lin Yan said, pointing to the locked iron box. As the Battle of Shipai began, a hundred thousand lives hung in the balance. Tian Songbai had no idea that his most trusted comrade was playing a game far more dangerous than the battlefield. The hunting knife would not fall; the mountains and rivers would not sink.