Dong San-shao stepped forward decisively. "Master Zhang, Hanzhi—into the cellar! We'll hold the line up here!"

　　A surge of pride warmed Old Zhang's chest. This young man surpasses even his master! Still, he objected: "Seventy winters have seasoned me, boys. My passing would be a celebrated farewell. But you youths carry tomorrow's dawn—take my granddaughter below. I'll greet these devils."

　　Dong Yaoting flushed crimson. "Master, we won't cower below while you face them alone!"

　　"A blade is all I need," Zhang Jinzhi commanded, his voice like tempered steel. "All descend—now! This is final!"

　　San-shao tightened his grip on the rifle. "Why wait for death? Break through the east gate!"

　　"Horseshit!" Dong Yaoting shot back. "The east gate's locked down tighter than a vault! Not a sparrow could flee— let alone us!"

　　San-shao's gaze turned flinty. "Then I guard Master above. I'll find shadow. If Japs come... my bullet finds them first. You three—into the earth! Silence means survival!"

　　Dong Yaoting stared, awestruck. Two battles had forged this boy into a man— wisdom burning fierce in his eyes.

　　Hanzhi clutched San-shao's sleeve. "Can't we all hide together?"

　　"The cellar holds four souls—no more," Old Zhang warned grimly. "One extra breath could steal the air from all."

　　San-shao's eyes swept the room—then fixed on the ancient tree beyond the wall. Its dense canopy promised sanctuary. "The tree!" He vaulted the wall, scrambled up the trunk with a rustle of leaves—and vanished into green shadows.

　　"San-shao?!" Dong Yaoting hissed into the gloom.

　　From the foliage came a sharp whisper: "Move! Six Japs approaching the courtyard! GO!" Zhang Jinzhi waved them toward the cellar. "Go! Not a sound inside!" Dong Yaoting pressed his dadao into the old man's hand, then vanished with Hanzhi into the inner room where she lifted a wicker lid, revealing a gaping black maw in the earth.

　　Old Zhang surveyed the shack. Methodically, he overturned benches and scattered debris until the room looked impassable. Settling cross-legged on the dirt floor, he lit his pipe—

　　CRACK-BOOM!

　　The courtyard gate splintered. Six Japanese soldiers stormed in, rifles leveled.

　　They barked commands in guttural Japanese. Zhang sucked his pipe, unmoved.

　　Suddenly, one switched to accented Mandarin: "Food. Where?"

　　Zhang’s eyes snapped up. "Chinese?"

　　"Imperial subjects from Taiwan!" the soldier retorted. "Not your kind!"

　　Zhang shook his head. "Your ancestors weep."

　　The soldier’s eyes narrowed. He lunged with his bayonet.

　　Clang!

　　Zhang deflected the thrust with his dadao’s spine. The other five fanned out, thumbing rifle safeties off.

　　Zhang’s laugh rasped like dry leaves. "The Japs call you beasts? You—traitors to your blood—are worse! Face me like men!"

　　Another soldier sneered: "Grain. Now. Live."

　　"Do you see grain?" Zhang spread his empty hands. "A beggar’s hovel!"

　　The first soldier attacked again. Zhang parried—clang!

　　Laughter erupted. "Yamamoto! Shamed by bones!"

　　Yamamoto charged screaming.

　　Zhang pivoted, blade grazing the rifle barrel—

　　Shink!

　　Yamamoto’s head thudded to the dirt. Arterial blood fountained, drenching Zhang’s beard and patched tunic crimson.

　　Treetop Perch:

　　Dong San-shao froze mid-breath. Grandmaster’s strike—faster than a shadow! He locked his scope on the remaining five.

　　The Taiwanese soldiers stood paralyzed—then charged in a frenzy.

　　Zhang spun the dadao in humming arcs. Bayonet thrusts sparked off steel. When they fanned into a circle, his blade wove patterns so intricate three soldiers nearly speared each other.

　　San-shao’s sights traced Zhang’s back. Front secure... rear exposed. Cold sweat stung his eyes. Goddamnit! Why me? Why Zhang Facai? They’re safe below while we—

　　Zhang’s movements began to lag. Seventy winters weighed his arms. His parries slowed. Breath came ragged.

　　San-shao’s knuckle whitened on the trigger.

　　One twitch—five traitors dead in sixty seconds.

　　But his master deserved vengeance.

　　He held fire.

　　Until Zhang stumbled—

　　A bayonet flashed toward his kidneys.

　　CRACK!

　　The shooter dropped mid-lunge, skull erupting.

　　As the bayonet aimed at Zhang's back pierced the air—

　　CRACK!

　　Dong San-shao's bullet exploded through the soldier's forehead. Death came in 0.7 seconds.

　　The three surviving soldiers froze—eyes wide with primal terror—then slammed prone against the dirt, rifle barrels sweeping frantically around the courtyard. They knew now: A Chinese sniper lurked in their midst.

　　Zhang Jinzhi stood heaving, sweat saturating his coarse tunic. The soldiers saw no sniper. All three muzzles snapped toward the old master. CRACK-CRACK-CRACK! Three Arisaka rounds tore open Zhang's chest. His body crumpled to the bloody stones.

　　"MASTER—!" San-shao's scream ripped from his throat. His muscles coiled like steel springs—about to launch from the tree—

　　He froze mid-motion.

　　Twelve Japanese soldiers stormed through the shattered gate, boots pounding like war drums on the cobblestones.

　　San-shao became stone.

　　Tears streamed through the grime on his face, cutting pale trails through the gunpowder residue. Below, his master lay murdered—yet moving meant death for them all. Helplessness curdled into volcanic rage.

　　These dozen soldiers were also Japanese citizens from Taiwan. One stared at Yamamoto’s severed head and shrieked: "Zhao Fuhua! Zhao Fuhua!"—calling the dead man’s birth name. He cradled the head, placed it against the body, then seized his rifle and savagely plunged the bayonet into Zhang Jinzhi’s corpse repeatedly.

　　San-shao’s restraint shattered. His finger jerked the trigger. Phut! The bayoneting soldier’s forehead exploded.

　　The others gaped in shock—until one yelled in perfect Mandarin: "Cover! Shina-jin sniper here!" (Shina-jin: Japanese slur for Chinese).

　　San-shao became a machine. Sighting through the scope, he methodically shot each Taiwanese soldier scrambling for cover. None located the firing source. In under three minutes, eleven skulls burst like melons.

　　With Yamamoto slain earlier, sixteen Taiwanese corpses littered the courtyard. But their panicked shots drew reinforcements storming through the gate.