Traveling through 1937, I came to fight against the Kwantung Army

Harada Matao looked around. There were more than a thousand prisoners of war brought here. There were about two hundred people from the Haizhou Kingdom and the Philippines guarding them, and there were dozens of military vehicles!

Following an order from a Haizhou officer,

The prisoners immediately became busy and nervous.

There was a prisoner named Sato, his hair graying, perhaps due to his age, and his movements were noticeably slower than the others. He held onto a piece of wood with both hands, staggering, each step seeming to exhaust all his strength.

A Filipino soldier noticed him and rushed over immediately.

The soldier's face was full of anger, and he cursed. He swung the rifle in his hand and hit Sato on the head. Sato fell to the ground on the spot!

Filipinos have no good feelings towards the Japanese. During World War II, the Japanese did a lot of bad things in the Philippines!

At this time, Harada Matazo saw that several Japanese prisoners of war hurriedly dropped the wood in their hands, ran over, and helped Sato up. One of them yelled angrily at the Filipino soldiers!

An officer of the Haizhou Nationalist army saw this, walked over, pulled out his pistol, and fired two shots, killing the roaring Japanese soldier directly!

Behind the officer, there were several soldiers from Haizhou Kingdom, holding submachine guns and shouting loudly. Although Harada Mata didn't understand what they were saying, he probably wanted everyone to get to work quickly!

Seeing all this, Sato widened his eyes in horror, put down the wood, bowed repeatedly, and begged for mercy!

The Haizhou officer pointed at Sato and said something, and soon a soldier dragged Sato out of Japan!

Harada Mata'o and other prisoners of war stopped what they were doing and watched the scene in horror.

Sato was seen struggling desperately, kicking his feet on the ground and shouting in despair.

The soldier threw Sato to the ground, then raised his bayonet high and stabbed him fiercely. Blood splattered instantly, staining the surrounding soil red. Sato's body twitched a few times before he became motionless.

Two people died in a moment!

Harada Matao felt his heart suddenly shrink, and a chill rushed from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He didn't dare to look at Sato's body again, lowered his head, and quickened his movements.

The prisoners of war around were also trembling with fear at the bloody scene. They all knew that they might be the next one.

Time passed relentlessly, and by 9 p.m., hunger surged like a raging tide, threatening to consume them. They hadn't eaten a drop of water all day, their stomachs empty. Each cramp of hunger felt like a sharp knife stabbing them. Yet, relying on their instinct for survival and numbing perseverance, they completed the construction of the wall and the twenty-odd rooms. Under the dim moonlight, the wall and rooms resembled a vast cage, tightly locking away their despair and pain.

Suddenly, a sharp whistle pierced the still winter night. "Assemble!" The guards' roar resounded like thunder in the prisoners' ears. Harada Mata-o and his companions, exhausted, staggered toward the assembly point. Their eyes were empty and lost, as if their souls had been torn away by the endless suffering.

The headlights of several armored vehicles were on!

An officer in a neatly trimmed uniform strode over. His face was stern, his eyes like cold stars in a chilly night, devoid of any warmth. He paced slowly in front of the line of prisoners, his gaze like a sharp scalpel, sweeping across each face.

"I'm so sorry, due to the laziness of some of you, there aren't enough houses to stay in tonight, and some of you will have to sleep in the wilderness!"

Harada Matao was so nervous that his heart almost stopped beating. He subconsciously shrank his body smaller, hoping not to be chosen by that terrifying gaze.

The officer seemed to be choosing randomly. Every two steps, he would point at a Japanese soldier in the team. Then, the Filipino soldiers would rush into the crowd and drag out the person the officer pointed at!

Harada Matao suddenly had a bad premonition in his heart, and when the officer approached, he lowered his head tightly. Fortunately, the unlucky guy on his right was dragged away in the end!

Soon, nearly three hundred prisoners of war were inexplicably selected.

The chosen prisoners were escorted, stumbling, toward the perimeter wall. Their figures gradually blurred in the darkness, disappearing into the unknown abyss. Harada Matao had no idea what fate awaited them; he felt only that this cold winter night was like a vast black hole, poised to swallow them all at any moment.

The noise gradually subsided, and no one knew where the prisoners were taken. Only the cold wind was still raging in the prisoner-of-war camp.

Harada Matao's tense nerves relaxed a little, but fear still lingered around him like a ghost.

after awhile,

Under the command of the soldiers,

Several prisoners of war carried several large aluminum buckets and piles of bowls and began to move among the group of prisoners of war.

"Finally, the food's been served!" someone shouted weakly. Upon hearing this, the prisoners, still immersed in terror, saw a faint glimmer in their eyes, like a dying flame being fanned a little.

Harada Matao looked at the big buckets in the hands of the prisoners, and his dry lips moved unconsciously.

A light steam with a hint of rice aroma wafted out of the big barrel, which seemed particularly tempting on this cold winter night.

The soldiers distributed bowls to the prisoners one by one. Harada Mata took the bowl with trembling hands. The rough bowl wall transmitted a hint of warmth in his cold palms.

Soon it was his turn. The bucket was filled with porridge. He saw the porridge being scooped into the bowl one spoonful at a time. The porridge was so thin that he could clearly see the bottom of the bowl.

Each spoonful only yielded a few pitiful grains of rice. Harada Matao looked at the meager amount of porridge in his bowl, feeling a mixture of emotions.

But hunger didn't allow him to complain too much. He couldn't wait to put the bowl to his mouth, blew on it gently, and then took a sip carefully. The warmth of the porridge flowed down his throat, soothing his almost frozen stomach.

The prisoners around them were also devouring the porridge like hungry wolves. Some of them ate too fast and grimaced from the burn, but they were reluctant to stop.

Some prisoners of war ate while staring at the porridge in other people's bowls with greedy eyes, as if it was the most precious treasure in the world.

Harada Matao swallowed mechanically, but his eyes kept glancing in the direction of the hundreds of people who had just been taken away. He didn't know whether they were alive or dead at the moment, nor did he know what his future fate would be.

This bowl of pitifully thin porridge seemed to be their only hope of survival in this cold night full of unknowns and fears.

Suddenly, bursts of gunfire were heard in the distance!

He was so scared that his heart almost stopped beating!