First Lieutenant Zuozhi Guixiu lowered his binoculars, watching the Chinese sniper vanish into the trees, hauled away by his comrade. He shoved past his soldiers, voice raw from shouting:

　　"After them! Full speed!"

　　No command was truly needed. These Taiwanese troops—hardened by years of jungle drills—moved like ghosts through the mountain terrain. The killings of Zhao Zhong and Li Fuqi had lit a fire in their guts. They charged uphill, not as soldiers but as a wolf pack scenting blood.

　　Dong San-shao knew he could lose his pursuers easily alone—but burdened with Young Master Dong Yaoting, Little Sister Han-zhi, and Leader Zhou Tong? That foul-mouthed veteran Zhang Facai didn’t even register as someone worth protecting.

　　Dong Yaoting’s inner wolf surged. Seeing Zhang Han-zhi falter, he slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain. She kicked until his roar cut through the pines: "Enough! Your pride’ll get us slaughtered!" She went limp instantly.

　　But carrying a grown woman uphill? Even Yaoting’s strength buckled. "Facai! Take her!" he gasped, sweat stinging his eyes.

　　Zhang Facai flashed a yellow-toothed grin. "Can’t do it, hero boy? The lady’s your burden!" He scrambled ahead like a rat.

　　"Put me down, Yaoting-ge," Han-zhi whispered. "I’ll match your steps." He released her, lungs burning like forge bellows.

　　Dong San-shao found Zhou Tong scanning the treeline. "They’re closing, Leader. Those Taiwanese devils move like mountain goats."

　　"Round count?"

　　"A hundred rounds, give or take."

　　"Lure them west. We break apart—or we die together."

　　"Done." Dong San-shao didn't hesitate. "What after?"

　　Zhou Tong kept running: "After drawing them off—they're few. Barely a full squad left."

　　"Squad size?"

　　"Fifty men. Minus the two you killed? Less than fifty now. A hundred rounds against fifty heads? You end them, we're free."

　　Their boots pounded the earth as Zhou Tong added: "Kill them all. Then meet us at Hukou."

　　Dong San-shao gave a tight nod—then stopped dead.

　　Dong Yaoting spun around: "San-shao! What madness?"

　　"Go with Leader Zhou. I'll draw the Japs. Meet you at Hukou."

　　"Alone? Against fifty?" Yaoting’s voice cracked.

　　San-shao tapped his rifle. "Hundred silenced rounds. They never see me. I'm solid."

　　Yaoting gripped his arm. "No!"

　　"Young Master!" San-shao shook him off. "How else save you? Take Little Sister. I swear—I'm solid."

　　Zhang Han-zhi stood frozen, tears streaking her cheeks. Yaoting’s jaw clenched. He dragged her uphill.

　　"San-shao-ge!" Han-zhi’s voice tore through the trees. "Come to Hukou! I'll wait!"

　　Dong San-shao halted, raising his sniper rifle. Through the scope, he watched Japanese soldiers charging uphill. He squeezed the trigger. One soldier dropped silently, bullet between the eyes.

　　He glanced left—Zhou Tong’s group had vanished. Swinging right, he cradled his rifle and moved laterally. Three shots. Three lead soldiers fell, each felled by a single round.

　　From his vantage point, First Lieutenant Zuozhi Guixiu tracked the split through binoculars. His sole target: the Zhina sniper. Capture or kill. Let the other rats flee. He ordered full assault on Dong San-shao’s position, directing mortar crews to lock coordinates.

　　Dong San-shao smirked. No need to lure them—they came for him. Freed from diversion, he focused solely on the kill.

　　His eyes swept the June-thick woods. Undergrowth choked the slopes—near-impossible to spot a hidden man. He crouched low.

　　Boots pounded toward him. Ranked in formation? He bent lower, confirming it. Zuozhi Guixiu, fearing the sniper’s escape, had ordered his men into a single-file line, one-meter intervals, Arisaka rifles high, charging blindly upward.

　　Dong San-shao retreated slowly through the brush. Too damn tall for this. Back at the Dong estate, Dong Yuwan said he stood a head taller than Yaoting—who claimed 175 centimeters. That put him over 180. A man that size doesn’t vanish in scrubland.

　　How to disappear? He fired mid-thought. Another soldier dropped. Blend with the foliage?

　　Zuozhi Guixiu’s binoculars found nothing now—just bushes swallowing the sniper’s frame. A bitter taste flooded his mouth. He’d fixated on the sniper, letting the others flee. Of course. The sniper was bait—sacrificing himself to save the rest. He’d walked right into it.

　　The sniper had vanished from Zuozhi Guixiu’s lenses. Foolishly chasing one man while the others escaped. The Zhina sniper had traded himself for the group—and Zuozhi had swallowed the bait.

　　But the sniper had to be nearby. Machine guns and mortars against a lone soldier? This hunt still ends with my victory. Zuozhi smirked, imagining himself the predator. He never considered Dong San-shao saw him as prey—and every Japanese soldier as a target in his crosshairs.

　　Dong Yaoting glanced back—no pursuers. Relief washed over him... then chilled to dread. San-shao alone against fifty.

　　Zhou Tong broke the silence: "No stopping. To Hukou. Warn them: Japs may attack from this flank. Request reinforcements..." She paused, jaw tight. "And dispatch a relief force for San-shao."

　　"Leader Zhou," Dong Yaoting pressed, "will this work?"

　　Zhou Tong nodded. Zhang Han-zhi sobbed: "Then hurry! Who knows what's happening to San-shao-ge?!"

　　Zhang Facai stood silent, eyes fixed downhill.

　　Dong Yaoting stared toward San-shao’s last position. "I trust you. To Hukou—now." He grabbed Han-zhi’s hand, pulling her into a run.

　　At the cliff’s edge, Dong San-shao froze. One more step meant a sheer drop into nothing. No gentle slope—just jagged rock teeth waiting below.

　　"God damn." The whisper tore from his throat. "This cliff’s a death warrant."

　　He crouched, peering over the rim. An icy updraft slapped his face. A shudder racked his body—not just from cold. Despair, thick and heavy, coiled in his gut.

　　"Pa, Ma... your son meets our ancestors today." Despair choked Dong San-shao as Japanese soldiers closed within 500 meters. Only Zuozhi Guixiu’s order—"Capture the Zhina sniper alive"—stayed their triggers.

　　Then—a spark cut through the despair. This cliff doomed them too. If he vanished, they’d retreat.

　　He edged to the precipice, probing with his rifle butt. Smooth as glass. No handholds. No escape. Hopeless.

　　Surrender flickered in his mind—live as a coward? Young Master Dong Yaoting’s words echoed: "Desertion is dishonorable!" Surrender was desertion. Damn it. He couldn’t shame the Young Master. Couldn’t make him lose face.

　　"Death, then!" Dong San-shao spat. "Scared shit? Not this old man!"