As Yamashima Yukio squeezed the trigger, an icy draft swept from his left. Instinct screamed danger—he ducked just as a soundless bullet struck his rifle barrel. His own shot deflected wildly off-course. The round meant for 360th Regiment Commander Zhao Fenggang's temple whisked past, missing by five millimeters. Death grazed Zhao Fenggang's skin.

　　Dong Sanshao had spotted the scope flash through the branches. He fired instantly, knowing this opposing sniper targeted Chinese commanders. His goal was simple: disrupt the enemy's aim. He succeeded, but the shot revealed his position. Yamashima tracked the cold gust's origin to the left flank. Adjusting his rifle, he spotted Dong Sanshao wedged between two rocks. A cold smile touched Yamashima's lips.

　　Yamashima fired without hesitation, but the angle was nearly impossible. His bullet sparked against stone. Dong Sanshao realized he faced a master sniper—cold sweat slicked his palms and beaded on his forehead.

　　Dong Sanshao lay trapped between two rocks, the crown of his skull barely clearing the boundary line. When Yamashima Yukio fired again, Dong Sanshao felt death's whisper in a sudden sinister gust against his face. He flattened himself instantly. The bullet sliced through empty air precisely where his head had been moments before—a heartbeat slower would have blown his skull apart.

　　He dared not raise his head again. With agonizing slowness, he shifted beneath the rocks like a shadow. His mission: roll onto his back to locate the Japanese sniper's nest. Keeping every limb concealed, he turned face-up. Then, inch by inch, he slid his rifle barrel through the stone crevice.

　　A blinding glare pierced from the tree branches. There—the bastard's hiding spot. Adjusting his muzzle height by pure instinct, Dong Sanshao closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. A silent round streaked toward Yamashima's head.

　　*

　　Yamashima Yukio watched, statue-still, from his leafy perch. The Chinese sniper beneath the rocks showed no movement. Scanning millimeter by millimeter through his scope, he finally caught the glint of a rifle muzzle emerging from stone. He hesitated—Was this bait?—and fired.

　　That split-second hesitation cost him everything. When masters duel, victory hangs on seconds—sometimes mere milliseconds. Lieutenant Yukio Yamashima had fatally underestimated the Chinese snipers. It never once crossed his mind that the man hunting him could be some wet-behind-the-ears kid.

　　Flat on his back, Dong Sanshao caught the telltale glint off Yamashima’s rifle scope. The angle where he’d dropped formed a perfect 45-degree line straight to the barrel poking through the rocks – a line ending right at Lieutenant Yamashima’s forehead. Eyes squeezed shut, Dong Sanshao pulled the trigger.

　　Just then, a leaf drifted down. It landed right in front of Yamashima’s eyes. He flinched, turning his head away – a flicker of movement, no more. In that impossible sliver of time, Dong Sanshao’s bullet whistled past Yamashima’s ear. It ripped clean through his left earlobe, then scraped across his temple. The lead carved a raw, bleeding trench through the skin over his skull.

　　"Ah!" Yamashima cried out, crashing down from his perch in the branches. The glint vanished.

　　Dong Sanshao moved instantly. He rolled upright, rifle snapping to his shoulder, and fired. Crack! Crack! Crack! Three quick shots slammed into Yamashima’s falling body before he even hit the ground. By the time Dong Sanshao sprinted over, rifle ready, Yamashima lay still. But as Dong approached, the Japanese soldier stirred, his eyes wide open, fixed on Dong Sanshao with shocked intensity.

　　Dong wore no uniform—just the plain black peasant’s tunic of a civilian. His face was startlingly young. Yamashima’s eyes squeezed shut in utter despair. Beaten... by a boy? The humiliation was worse than the pain.

　　Dong Sanshao’s gaze was ice. He pressed the rifle muzzle hard against Yamashima’s forehead. “You killed our twelve commanders?!” he demanded, his voice tight.

　　Blood gurgled from Yamashima’s mouth. He managed a weak nod.

　　“Fuck your mother, you goddamn Jap—DIE!” Dong Sanshao snarled, pure venom in his voice.

　　He jerked the trigger.

　　The bullet punched into Yamashima’s forehead. His head snapped sideways. Life extinguished, instantly.

　　Dong Sanshao nudged Lieutenant Yukio Yamashima’s corpse with his boot. His eyes snapped toward the Longtan Hill trenches. Below, a hellscape unfolded—bayonets flashed crimson under the smoke-choked sky as hand-to-hand combat raged. But the odds were brutal. After forty minutes of crushing artillery barrages and dive-bombing runs, the 26th Division had bled out: half its men were dead or wounded. Now, seven thousand fresh troops from the Hata Detachment swarmed the slopes. Three Japanese soldiers for every Chinese defender left standing. The tide of steel was turning against them.

　　Slinging his rifle, Dong Sanshao scrambled up a gnarled pine. He needed height—needed to thin the ranks below. Only when he’d clawed his way to a high branch did the full horror hit him. Three regimental commanders—his commanders—battled in the fray, their uniforms dark with blood, heavy dadao swords hacking desperately against Imperial Japanese Army bayonets. A Japanese lieutenant leveled his katana at Colonel Zhao Fenggang of the 360th. Their blades rang—once, twice—before Zhao faltered. Not a heartbeat passed. Dong’s finger tightened. The shot cracked through the din. The lieutenant’s skull erupted. He crumpled mid-lunge.

　　What followed was mechanical. Methodical. Soldier. Officer. Target. One squeeze. One kill. His rifle spat death with savage rhythm. Twelve Japanese soldiers dropped in three minutes flat.

　　Then—movement. A chaotic ripple through the Chinese lines. Dong’s blood froze. The three commanders were falling back, dragging the remnants of their broken regiments with them. Retreat.

　　Dong plunged down the trunk, bark tearing at his hands. Rifle clutched tight, he sprinted headlong for Hukou City.

　　The retreat order had come from General Liu Yuqing himself. For forty agonizing minutes, as Japanese shells shredded Longtan Hill, he’d watched his division bleed. By the time Dong’s bullet found Yamashima’s brain, Liu had sent runners into the inferno below. One stumbled back, gasping: casualties catastrophic, position near collapse. Hold the line, and the 26th Division—his division—would be wiped from history.

　　Liu’s chest tightened. These men were Battle of Shanghai survivors. The six hundred who’d clawed through hell to escape that encirclement. The Military Commission had kept their colors flying only because their courage was legend. He couldn’t sacrifice them on this godforsaken hill. Not to the last man. Eyes squeezed shut against the shame, General Liu choked out the command: Fall back. Defend Hukou.

　　Dong Sanshao raced ahead, reaching the city of Hukou first. Soon after, the shattered remnants of the three regiments—fewer than 2,000 soldiers combined—retreated inside the city walls. Hukou’s gates slammed shut instantly. The exhausted survivors scrambled up onto the battlements.

　　The Hata Detachment, having secured Longtan Hill, pressed towards Hukou. They halted about three kilometers outside the city walls and began setting up camp to regroup. News of the 26th Division’s defeat and retreat to Hukou reached the Nationalist Military Commission. Urgent orders flashed back: Division Commander Liu Yuqing was commanded to defend Hukou to the death. Simultaneously, General Luo Zhuoying was ordered to immediately advance with elements of the 34th Corps under Wang Dongyuan, supported by the 11th Division, to launch an attack against the Hata Detachment’s flank and rear. General Guo Rudong, Commander of the 43rd Army, was also ordered to lead his main force into Hukou and take command of its last-ditch defense.

　　Hukou sat at the critical junction where Poyang Lake met the Yangtze River—it was the gateway to Jiujiang. If the Japanese captured it, their naval vessels could steam directly into Poyang Lake, threatening the flank of defenders along the Nanxun Railway and the rear of the entire Third War Zone. The strategic peril was acute. Consequently, as Hukou’s crisis deepened, the Nationalist Military Commission treated it with utmost gravity. However, Peng Weiren’s 77th Division and He Ping’s 16th Division were already pinned down east of Liushiqiao Bridge by the relentless advance of the 111th Brigade, 106th Division of the Imperial Japanese Army. With no reinforcements available, the desperate commission ordered General Guo Rudong and his main force into Hukou to anchor its defense.

　　The two infantry regiments and attached heavy artillery regiment of the Hata Detachment remained camped three kilometers from Hukou. Despite their overwhelming artillery and aerial bombardment that had devastated Longtan Hill, their infantry had found the Chinese defenders unexpectedly fierce even at three-to-one odds during the brutal bayonet fighting. Recognizing the tenacity faced, Major General Shigefumi Hata decided not to attack immediately. He ordered his troops to rest and reorganize outside the city walls, preparing for a full assault to capture Hukou the following day.

　　Back inside the city, Dong Sanshao headed straight for the rear courtyard of the 26th Division headquarters. Zhou Tong saw him return but noticed his pale face and unnerving silence. “Sanshao? What happened?” she demanded.

　　Dong Sanshao shook his head grimly. “Finished. Longtan Hill’s gone. The Japs have probably got Hukou surrounded by now.”

　　Zhou Tong stared at him, stunned. Dong Yaoting and Zhang Facai rushed over. “Sanshao!” Dong Yaoting pressed, “What the hell’s going on? Did you take out that Jap sniper?”

　　Dong Sanshao gave a curt nod. “Yeah, the sniper’s done for. But… the rest of the division… they’ve pulled back from Longtan Hill. Hukou… we’re likely cut off!”

　　Understanding crashed down on Dong Yaoting. Zhou Tong got it. Zhang Facai got it. Hukou itself hung by a thread.

　　Zhang Hanzhi emerged from the latrine just then. Seeing Dong Sanshao safely back seemed to release a held breath. She hurried over. “Sanshao-ge! Are you alright?”

　　Dong Sanshao nodded absently, his gaze distant. Zhou Tong’s voice snapped back to focus. “Wait here,” she commanded. “I’m finding General Liu to give our notice. Then we’re leaving for Nanchang – immediately!” She didn’t wait for a reply, striding quickly towards the division command building.

　　Inside the 26th Division's command post, General Liu Yuqing stared at the orders. The Military Commission's directive was clear: General Kuo Ju-tung’s 43rd Army was marching to reinforce Hukou. Relief flooded him—then a bitter pang. Reinforcements meant his division had failed.

　　“Deputy Station Chief Chou to see you, sir!” a guard barked, snapping to rigid attention.

　　Liu spun from the map table. Chou Tung stood framed in the doorway. He forced a weary smile. “Station Chief. You made it.”

　　Chou returned the salute with crisp precision. “Sir. My operative, Dong Sanshao, completed the mission. The enemy sniper is eliminated. Requesting authorization to withdraw my unit.”

　　“Damn fine work,” Liu acknowledged, a trace of warmth breaking through the strain. “That boy of yours… saved my regimental commanders today. Three graves I didn’t have to dig.”

　　“Who? Who in the hell pulled that off?” The roar seemed to shake the command tent. A giant of a man shoved past the guard, brass stars glinting on his collar.

　　Liu stiffened. His salute was instantaneous. “General Kuo! Honored, sir!” Beside him, Chou Tung mirrored the gesture, her posture blade-straight.

　　Kuo Ju-tung ignored them both. His eyes raked over Chou Tung—slow, appraising. A predator sizing up unfamiliar prey. A sardonic grin twisted his lips. “Liu Yuqing? Since when do you keep songbirds in your HQ? That your idea of morale?”

　　Liu flushed. “Respectfully reporting, General! Deputy Station Chief Chou Tung, Military Statistics Bureau—Pengze substation, Nanchang Branch.”

　　Kuo threw back his head and laughed—a harsh, jarring sound. It died abruptly. “Songbird sniper-hunters?” His gaze sharpened. “Back to business. Who’s this miracle shooter?”

　　Liu glanced at Chou. She met the Army Commander’s stare head-on. “My operative, sir. Dong Sanshao. He eliminated a confirmed enemy master sniper on Longtan Hill.”

　　General Kuo’s amusement vanished. His eyes bored into Chou Tung’s, cold and assessing. The silence stretched. Then, he stabbed a thick finger toward the courtyard.

　　“Get him,” Kuo rumbled, command crackling in the air. “I wanna see this kid. Now.”