Dong San-shao vaulted over the courtyard wall just as Li Fuqi had stripped off his pants. Unlike regular Japanese soldiers who favored fundoshi loincloths, he wore cotton drawers like any Chinese man.

　　Through his scope, Dong San-shao saw the half-naked soldier tearing at Zhou Tong’s clothes. She fought back fiercely, but pinned under the other soldier’s rifle, her resistance faltered. Her blouse buttons ripped open, then her undergarment—baring her full, pale breasts.

　　The soldier leered, yanking at her pants. Dong San-shao shifted his aim to the one holding Zhou Tong at gunpoint. He squeezed the trigger. A near-silent shot pierced the soldier’s skull from behind.

　　The man assaulting Zhou Tong, oblivious, kept tugging her pants down until she was exposed from the waist down. Zhou Tong’s eyes locked with Dong San-shao’s just as Dong Yaoting and Zhang Facai scaled the wall.

　　Dong San-shao swung his rifle toward the bare-assed soldier. Zhao Zhong—already dead—slumped slowly to the ground, his Arisaka clattering beside him.

　　The sight froze Li Fuqi mid-assault; his erection wilted instantly. He shrieked and lunged for his rifle by the door.

　　Dong San-shao had anticipated this. Holding fire earlier for fear of hitting Zhou Tong, he now took the clean shot. The bullet struck Li Fuqi’s forehead. The pantsless soldier crumpled, eyes wide in death.

　　Seeing Dong Yaoting and Zhang Facai inside, Dong San-shao sprinted to bar the door. "Leader Zhou! Get dressed!" His command halted the two men mid-rush.

　　Moments later, the door opened. Zhou Tong and Zhang Han-zhi emerged, carrying a basin of cooked rice and pickled vegetables. Dong Yaoting and Zhang Facai glanced at Zhou Tong. Dong San-shao snapped: "Eat. Pack what’s left. We move now."

　　Zhou Tong nodded, her composure seemingly unshaken by the recent assault. "Since Japs appeared suddenly here," she stated, "more must be nearby. We leave. Now."

　　Zhang Facai, ravenous, shoved a handful of rice into his mouth. Zhou Tong’s voice cut cold: "Grab their rifles. Ammo too. And grenades. We head for the hills."

　　Dong Yaoting sprinted to Zhao Zhong and Li Fuqi’s corpses, seizing their Arisaka rifles, stripping them of ammunition pouches, and collecting grenades. "Leader Zhou, sure about the back hills?"

　　"Not back hills," Zhou Tong corrected. "That leads to Hukou. The forward path goes to Nanchang."

　　Unbeknownst to them, First Lieutenant Zuozhi Guixiu’s squad was advancing from that very direction. Hearing gunfire in the village, he’d ordered a full charge toward Majiazhuang.

　　As Dong San-shao eliminated the two Taiwanese soldiers, Zuozhi Guixiu’s men reached the village outskirts. The thunder of fifty boots pounding the earth shattered the silence—a dire warning. Zhou Tong’s group narrowly avoided a head-on collision, alerted by the noise. "Back hills! Fast!" she hissed.

　　Dong San-shao covered their retreat with his sniper rifle. Zhou Tong led Dong Yaoting, Zhang Facai, and Zhang Han-zhi in a sprint, quickly outpacing the pursuing squad.

　　Zuozhi Guixiu entered the courtyard. Seeing Li Fuqi and Zhao Zhong dead—one pantsless, both stripped of gear—he spun around, scanning wildly. One gunshot, two kills? He knelt, examining the wounds: one bullet through the base of the skull, one through the forehead. Precision strikes.

　　"Bastards!" he snarled. "A Zhina sniper’s in this village!"

　　Zuozhi Guixiu’s gaze then fell on the spilled rice and unfamiliar black pickled vegetables scattered across the ground. Realization struck: Chinese troops from the back hills came down for food.

　　This meant enemy forces occupied those hills. And since the back hills led to Hukou—where Major General Botian Zhongyi was poised to attack Chinese defenders per orders—the implications were grave.

　　If Chinese troops held those heights, their unit designation, strength, and defensive positions had to be uncovered.

　　Zuozhi Guixiu stared toward the hills, mind racing. Unearthing this intel would earn Major General Botian’s favor.

　　The thought electrified him. He rallied his squad and charged uphill in pursuit.

　　While Zuozhi Guixiu stood pondering in the courtyard, Dong San-shao’s group had already vanished into the mountains. Zhang Facai gasped between breaths: "Leader Zhou... can we eat... then keep running?"

　　Zhou Tong scanned the village below and the path leading up. "Fine," she conceded. "The Japs won’t reach us instantly. We’ll fuel up first."

　　Before she finished speaking, Zhang Facai—ignoring grime-coated hands—shoveled rice into his mouth, cramming in a golden salted pepper. He chomped noisily, face radiating pure bliss.

　　Zhou Tong turned to Dong San-shao and Dong Yaoting: "San-shao, Yaoting—eat well. We don’t know when our next meal comes... or if it’ll be our last."

　　Hearing her bleak tone, Dong San-shao forced a grin: "Leader Zhou, since the back hills lead to Hukou... are Nationalist troops garrisoned there?"

　　Zhou Tong nodded. "Hukou’s defended by the Nationalist 43rd Army—Commander Guo Rudong. Sigh. We’d be safe in Nanchang by now if not for these Jap devils forcing us toward Hukou!"

　　Dong Yaoting brightened. "Leader Zhou! If our troops hold Hukou, why fear? After eating, let’s report there!"

　　Zhou Tong nodded. "Agreed. Han-zhi, why aren’t you eating?" She noticed Zhang Han-zhi hadn’t touched the food.

　　Zhang Han-zhi stared at Dong San-shao. "San-shao-ge, are you full?"

　　Dong San-shao slurped pickled vegetables, wolfing down rice. "Eat, Little Sister. Quick. Japs could be on us any moment!"

　　Zhang Han-zhi mumbled "Mmhmm," scooping rice into her mouth with bare hands—no utensils.

　　"Turtle-spawn devils! Japs coming up the trail! Run!" Zhang Facai, belly distended from gorging, had kept watch. Spotting soldiers, he yelled the alarm.

　　The five fled instantly. Zhang Han-zhi clutched the unfinished pickle jar; Zhang Facai hugged the rice basin. Zhou Tong led the sprint deeper into the hills.

　　First Lieutenant Zuozhi Guixiu raised his binoculars. Dong San-shao’s figure—sniper rifle in hand—filled his view. Adjusting focus, he spotted the others. "Bastards! Just a handful of stragglers!" he cursed.

　　Realization hit: The Chinese soldier who’d killed his men was the rearguard sniper. No larger force occupied these hills. The path to Hukou lay open. He summoned his radioman, connecting to Botian Zhongyi’s frequency:

　　"Your Excellency, route to Hukou clear. Encountered five Zhina soldiers—one sniper."

　　After transmitting, he scanned the slopes again. Dong San-shao had vanished.

　　The radioman saluted and handed him the telegram—Botian Zhongyi’s reply: "Capture the Zhina sniper. This man killed several Imperial officers at Pengze County. Execute immediately if capture fails!"

　　Reading it, Zuozhi Guixiu grasped the sniper’s value to Botian. Capturing or killing him would earn monumental merit! Thrilled, he ordered pursuit up the mountain.

　　Dong San-shao, covering the rear with his sniper rifle, spotted Zuozhi Guixiu observing him through binoculars. He fired instantly. The bullet screamed toward the lieutenant’s head—but distance defeated it. The round vanished into the void.

　　Seeing the miss, Dong San-shao turned and raced uphill after the others.

　　Through his lenses, Zuozhi Guixiu saw the muzzle flash but no impact. A smirk twisted his thin mustache. He raised his katana, bellowing orders. Soldiers charged uphill, Arisaka rifles leveled.

　　He admired their speed—these Taiwanese troops, jungle-trained, were perfect for this terrain. Their fury burned hotter knowing the sniper had slain Fukushima (Zhao Zhong’s Japanese name) and Nagata (Li Fuqi’s Japanese name). No motivation was needed. They surged like wolves hunting prey.

　　Dong San-shao saw the charge. Without aiming, he snapped a shot. A Taiwanese soldier fell backward, bullet between the eyes.

　　No hesitation. Dong San-shao worked the bolt—crack-crack-crack—dropping four more attackers in under a minute.

　　Zuozhi Guixiu, cunning, hid behind his men. Dong San-shao scanned for him—no clear shot.

　　"Enough!" Dong Yaoting grabbed Dong San-shao’s arm, dragging him toward the peak. They’d just cleared the spot when—thump-thump-thump—mortar shells slammed down. The ground they’d occupied erupted, dirt and splintered wood soaring skyward.

　　"Run!" Dong Yaoting roared.