2028 was a year of sorrow, yet an era that birthed heroes. Amidst the anticipation of countless people, the Third World War finally erupted.
I had always said that if war broke out, there was no way I would enlist. Yet, when I heard the enemy was attacking, my blood went hot and I went to sign up anyway. Enlisting was exciting, and holding a rifle was exhilarating, but the training was miserable. Just three days in, I wanted to quit, but they wouldn't allow it. Damn it, I had no choice but to be a rogue and stick it out. After six months of training, I was finally ready for the front lines. Our mission was to keep the war contained abroad and prevent it from reaching our homeland. I was so fired up that I marched right onto the battlefield.
Because I loved playing video games and preferred sniping, I was assigned a sniper rifle. On the sixth day at the front, we finally encountered a small squad of enemies. I was so nervous that I didn't fire a single shot; when my teammate was wounded, I fainted. By the time I woke up, the battle was already over. After repeated examinations, the doctor said I was perfectly fine—damn it. When they asked me how I’d managed to pass out, I suddenly remembered: I have hemophobia. My commanding officer was so infuriated he nearly had a stroke; he wanted to send me home immediately.
But I thought, I’d already come this far—how embarrassing would it be to be sent back like this? So, I begged and pleaded shamelessly to be allowed to stay. I told them I could drive and transport supplies, but the commander firmly refused, fearing that I’d see blood, faint, and lose the cargo. I thought for a moment and remembered that as a kid, I’d helped out at a hotpot restaurant and could cook Chinese food. I could stay and handle the cooking! As long as I didn’t say anything, no one would know what I actually did in the military. At least I had been to the battlefield, which would make me look tough when I went home to brag. And just like that, thanks to my begging, I successfully became a cook and continued on with the troops.
I didn’t know where we were going; I just followed along. One day, the commander found us and handed everyone a signal box. He told us we had been betrayed by our allies and were surrounded with no way to break through. But, he said, we are the Descendants of Yan and Huang—we have soldiers who die in battle, but no soldiers who surrender, and certainly no commanding officers who surrender. The commander told us we had to transmit the information and warn the motherland about the betrayal. He told me, with great gravity, that this signal box contained state secrets: blueprints for nuclear weapons, satellite positioning systems, and data on aircraft carriers, planes, and artillery. This box could not fall into enemy hands. If we encountered the enemy, we were to detonate it; we could not let our country’s intelligence fall to the enemy. The commander told us they would make their last stand right there, while we were to carry the box, escape, and report back to the motherland.
The gravity of the situation hit me hard, and I felt the weight of my responsibility. I put on an enemy uniform and snuck away. I figured that with enemies everywhere, wearing their uniform would help me slip out, so I ran and ran. Finally, I was in a position to transmit the message, so I sent it off immediately. But fate had other plans. I had expected to be hailed as a great hero and enjoy the treatment of a first-class veteran upon returning home, but I suddenly felt a shot hit my thigh and felt myself losing consciousness. I realized the signal box in my hand couldn’t fall into enemy hands, so I made the decision to detonate it and go down with them.
Before I died, I didn't have much on my mind. My only regret was that I hadn’t finished spending the money I had in my ICBC bank account, and I wondered if my son would be able to withdraw it. I’d heard the banks were quite crooked—sigh, even if he couldn’t get it, there was nothing I could do. Fortunately, it wasn't much money. Here I was, about to die, and I was actually thinking about money. How tragic! It seems I really was scarred by poverty.