Chapter 1: Delivering a Grand Gift to Li Yunlong

1939, winter, Cangyun Ridge.

The sputtering sound of an engine echoed through the snow-covered road as a Soviet-made ZIS-5 truck struggled forward, not a soul in sight along its path.

“Damn, this is way too cold!” In the cab, Lin Ran was bundled in a thick down coat with layers of cotton clothing beneath, yet the chill still cut through to his bones.

And this was only North China—not even the Northeast.

“I never remember it being this cold when I visited Harbin for the snow festivals!” Lin Ran rubbed his numb, frozen hands together.

“Open the system panel!” he called out.

No sooner had he spoken than a translucent virtual screen appeared before his eyes.

[Host: Lin Ran]
[Level: T1]
[Merit: 0]
[Reputation: 0]
[Arsenal: T1 (Pre-1945) T2 (1946-1965) T3 (1966-1985) …]
[Current mission: Help Li Yunlong avoid punishment, break out at Cangyun Ridge → Achieve a major victory at Cangyun Ridge]

Two days earlier, while working overtime at the office, Lin Ran had suffered a sudden heart attack and died—covered with a white sheet as he was loaded into the ambulance.

But somehow, upon arrival at the hospital, he came back to life.

The doctors in the ambulance had been utterly terrified by this resurrection.

Ever since that brush with death, the system had mysteriously emerged in his mind.

“Heh, survived a disaster—must be luck in store,” Lin Ran remarked wryly.

Not only had he gained the system, but he now possessed the ability to travel to this parallel world.

“Break out at Cangyun Ridge, help Li Yunlong avoid punishment…”

From the mission prompt, Lin Ran immediately understood which world he’d landed in.

In the spring of 1939, General Tada Hayao, commander of the Japanese North China Area Army, had unleashed the infamous “Three Alls Policy” against the Eighth Route Army roaming the Taihang and Taiyue Mountains.

“Three Alls”—kill all, burn all, loot all.

The breakout at Cangyun Ridge was the Eighth Route Army’s counterattack during the Japanese winter sweep.

In the original story, Li Yunlong, then commander of the New First Regiment of the 386th Brigade, failed to break out along the route specified by his superiors after a successful engagement, and was subsequently dismissed from command and sent to manage a clothing factory.

Lin Ran recalled that, at the time, Li Yunlong had even destroyed the Japanese regimental commander Sakata with a single cannon shot.

It was important to know that a Japanese regiment was no small unit—larger than a Chinese regiment, smaller than a brigade, numbering over 3,800 men. Meanwhile, a main regiment of the Eighth Route Army barely exceeded 1,000.

And yet, Li Yunlong still could not escape punishment, which showed just how much trouble he’d caused.

“If I want Old Li to avoid punishment, a simple breakout won’t do—a great victory is needed!” Lin Ran gripped the icy steering wheel.

The ZIS-5 he drove was the workhorse of the Soviet Union’s Great Patriotic War—rugged and dependable, with over a million produced during World War II.

Comparable to the output of today’s leading automakers in just a week or two.

But for someone used to automatic transmissions, this stick-shift relic was pure torture—especially on these icy, treacherous roads.

“Damn, why couldn’t it be automatic?” he cursed, slamming the steering wheel. The truck stalled out once again in the snow.

After struggling for who knew how long, he finally managed to restart the engine, shift gears, and coax the truck, wheezing and sputtering, up the crest of a hill.

“The New First Regiment should be just ahead!”

…

At the outskirts of the New First Regiment’s encampment, the wind and snow slashed across the desolate ridges, whirling drifts into the air and blurring the world into a white oblivion.

Behind a makeshift sentry post of piled stones, several Eighth Route Army sentries, wrapped in thin, worn cotton uniforms, stood like frozen statues in the snow.

“Sergeant! Something’s moving!” The young soldier Wang Xiaohu snapped to attention, ears straining to catch the unfamiliar sound mingled with the wind.

Sergeant Zhao Tiezhu, a veteran with the marks of hardship etched into his face, swiftly pulled out a battered, captured pair of binoculars and peered toward the noise.

Through the storm, a hulking, shadowy figure was struggling forward, emitting a muffled “putt-putt-putt” from its engine.

“A truck!” Zhao Tiezhu’s heart sank. “It’s a Japanese troop transport! Quick, sound the alarm! Prepare for battle!”

He tucked away his binoculars and, with a flourish, chambered a round in his antiquated Hanyang rifle.

Wang Xiaohu grabbed the iron plate hanging from a post and began frantically striking it with his bayonet, the piercing clang echoing through the snow toward the village.

Almost simultaneously, from a few scattered snow bunkers nearby, other soldiers swiftly took up positions, rifles braced on the landscape.

A truck full of Japanese troops would spell disaster for their tiny outpost.

But behind them lay regimental headquarters and the villagers—there was nowhere to retreat.

Inside the cab, Lin Ran wrestled with the unfamiliar manual transmission, hands clumsy from the cold and the slippery road.

Suddenly, the shrill clang of metal and the sudden appearance of armed figures in the snow made his hair stand on end.

“Damn! They’ve spotted me!”

Lin Ran slammed on the brakes.

“Comrades, don’t shoot! I’m one of you!” he shouted, sticking his head out the window, desperate to make himself heard before a bullet found him.

Seeing that the driver wore no Japanese helmet, the sentries relaxed a fraction, but their rifles remained trained on him.

“Out of the truck! Hands on your head! Walk over, slowly! Any sudden moves and we shoot!” Zhao Tiezhu barked, voice cutting through the storm.

Lin Ran’s heart pounded as he killed the engine, raised his hands high, and climbed out.

The biting wind tore through him, nearly sending him sprawling.

“Get everyone out of the truck!” Zhao Tiezhu ordered, never lowering his rifle.

“There’s no one else! Just me! The cargo’s all supplies!” Lin Ran hollered, praying they heard him through the gale.

The truck’s cargo was, after all, the “surprise” he’d spent all five hundred of his initial system merit points to acquire.

Zhao Tiezhu signaled to his men; two crouched low, moving like leopards to flank the vehicle, swift and silent.

Lin Ran stood obediently, hands raised.

One soldier circled both him and the truck, eyeing his odd, bulky attire with suspicion.

But the truck was empty.

“Report: no one else in the truck, just wooden crates!”

Another soldier patted Lin Ran down, rough and unceremonious, his cold hands probing through the layers.

“Sergeant, he’s got no weapon!”

Zhao Tiezhu exhaled a little, but kept his gun trained. “Talk! Who are you? Where’d you get this truck? What are you here for?”

“Don’t be nervous! I’m not a spy or a traitor!”

Lin Ran shivered as the frigid air burned his lungs.

“Is this the New First Regiment’s base?”

“Cut the crap! Tell us who you are and what you’re doing here!” The sergeant wasn’t taking any chances—this stranger’s clothes and truck were both unusual.

Looking at these soldiers, lips purple with cold, hands frozen to their rifles, Lin Ran felt a wave of respect and sorrow.

He drew a deep breath and called out, “My surname is Lin! I’m… a patriotic merchant dealing in special supplies.”

“I’ve come here specifically to see your regimental commander, Li Yunlong—to discuss a business deal of enormous importance!”