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

Under the horrific shadow of bloody killings, the anger and unwillingness in the eyes of the villagers were gradually replaced by fear.

The cruel scene that just happened before their eyes was like a heavy hammer, completely shattering their courage to resist.

Their shoulders drooped weakly, their eyes were filled with despair and sorrow, their steps were heavy and slow, as if their souls had been taken away, and they silently turned around and went back to pack their luggage.

Yumiko Watanabe was also in the crowd. Her legs were weak and she seemed to use up all her strength with every step she took.

She returned home and looked at everything familiar, those objects that carried family memories, and tears couldn't help but flow out.

She numbly stuffed some clothes and simple daily necessities into her bag, but the tragic scenes of the villagers who had just been killed kept appearing in her mind.

At this time, the atmosphere at home was so depressing that it made people breathless. His parents were packing up their things silently, while young Jiro was hiding in the corner, sobbing in fear.

Time passed quietly in this heavy atmosphere, like a ruthless executioner, mercilessly approaching the final deadline.

Wang Qun stood on a high place, looking coldly at the gathered villagers. His eyes were like ice knives in the cold night, making people shudder.

He looked at his watch and suddenly shouted, "Time's up! Let's go!"

A bearded police officer blew the whistle! He was Guo Congmin, a police officer from the Public Security Division of the Ibaraki Prefectural Police Department.

As a native of Northeast China, Guo Congmin hated the Japanese since he was a child. When the country was mobilized this time, he wrote a blood oath to sign up!

He swore that blood debt must be repaid with blood!

So, he stared at these Japanese people like a wolf staring at lambs!

The villagers dragged their heavy bags and walked out of their homes, looking back every few steps.

They were filled with reluctance to leave. Every blade of grass, every stone, had accompanied them through countless days and nights. As the team slowly gathered and prepared to set off, several policemen, carrying gasoline barrels, began to pour gasoline all over the village like demons.

As the gasoline was ignited, the flames spread rapidly and the dry wooden house was instantly engulfed in flames.

The fire burned fiercely, making crackling sounds, like a final mockery to the villagers.

Thick smoke billowed up, obscuring the sky, and a pungent smell filled the air.

The villagers looked at the blazing fire and could no longer suppress their grief.

The women burst into tears one by one, their cries were heart-wrenching, as if they wanted to release all the pain in their hearts.

The men wept silently, their fists clenched, their bodies trembling slightly, their eyes filled with anger and helplessness. The children clung to their parents' legs in fear, their faces streaked with tears, not understanding why their home had suddenly become a sea of fire.

Yumiko Watanabe stood there blankly, tears blurring her eyes. She watched the familiar village gradually disappear in the flames, feeling as if a huge stone weighed down her heart, making it difficult for her to breathe. She knew that from now on, they would lose their home and become homeless.

The villagers, illuminated by the flames, looked incredibly small and helpless. Wrapped in sorrow and despair, they could only follow the group, one step at a time, as they left. The burning village, like a massive wound, remained forever etched in their memories, a wound that would never heal.

The team struggled forward amid the villagers' weeping and wailing, and everyone's steps felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead.

Looking back, the village was completely engulfed in a raging sea of fire. The flames shot up like a ferocious dragon, roaring wantonly in the wind. Wherever they passed, houses and trees were reduced to ash. The scorching heat, even from a distance, could still burn the villagers' skin.

Suddenly, a series of blood-curdling screams emanated from the sea of fire. The sound was sharp and shrill, like a curse emanating from the depths of hell. The cries pierced the night air like razor-sharp daggers, piercing the eardrums of every villager.

Yumiko Watanabe's body, which had been numb from crying, froze in an instant. Her eyes were as big as bells, full of fear and despair.

The cry was like an invisible hand, fiercely tugging at her heart. She felt as if her heart was tightly clamped by a pair of cold pliers, and every beat was accompanied by severe pain.

The surrounding villagers froze in place, as if under a spell. The cries of pain ceased abruptly, replaced by a deathly silence. Everyone's faces paled instantly, as if they had witnessed the most horrific sight in the world.

Several villagers tried to rush back into the flames to save people, but after taking a few steps, they were frightened and stopped in their tracks by the scene before them. In the sea of fire, a blurry figure was seen struggling in pain. His body was completely engulfed in flames, like a moving fireman.

His hair was burnt into curls, his skin was burnt black, sizzling and emitting a pungent burnt smell. His limbs were flailing wildly, trying to grasp the last glimmer of hope for life, but it was in vain.

This villager just had some evil thoughts. He didn't want to leave, so he quietly hid in the water tank at home. Unexpectedly, he even set the house on fire!

His body writhed in agony on the ground, his mouth emitting heart-wrenching screams. The sound seemed to penetrate the soul, making everyone who heard it feel as if they were also being burned by the fire. As time passed, the screams in the sea of fire gradually weakened until they disappeared.

The village gradually turned into ashes in the fire!

Paris, France,

The Seine River,

Inside the Louvre Museum in France,

Silence reigned, as if even the air had frozen. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting irregular patches of light and shadow on the ground, but it was unable to dispel the heaviness and oppression that permeated the air.

Inside the spacious exhibition hall, French staff in dark uniforms wore solemn expressions, as if carrying out a solemn yet helpless mission. In front of a large display case, a middle-aged staff member slowly put on pristine white gloves, his movements so gentle as if he feared disturbing the dormant history.

His hands trembled slightly as he lifted a bronze tripod from the display stand. The bronze tripod had a simple, ancient form, its patterns still distinct despite millennia of age, as if silently telling of China's former glory. The bronze tripod shimmered in the sunlight, illuminating the complex expressions of the staff: a mixture of reluctance, regret, and, above all, the helplessness of defeat.

Not far away, several staff members were working together to remove a huge ancient Chinese painting from the wall. The painting depicted verdant mountains and clear waters, shrouded in mist, like a paradise.

They carefully rolled up the scroll and wrapped it in soft silk, each movement filled with awe. On the nearby table lay a number of packaged artifacts: exquisite ceramic vases with vibrant, eye-catching paintings; soft jade radiating a gentle luster; and exquisitely carved wooden ornaments. Every detail showcased the superb skill of Chinese artisans.

In the center of the exhibition hall, representatives from Haizhou State held lists of documents and used cameras to record this great moment from time to time!

France was defeated, and as one of the additional terms,

France must return all looted Chinese cultural relics!

As time went by, boxes filled with artifacts were neatly stacked together.

The staff put the last batch of cultural relics into the box, sealed the box, and then patted the box gently, as if saying goodbye to these treasures that once belonged to them.

The setting sun cast its afterglow across the Louvre's roof, draping the ancient building in a golden veil. Trucks pulled up outside the museum, their engines shattering the momentary silence. Workers began loading boxes filled with artifacts onto the trucks.

When the last box was loaded onto the truck, it slowly started moving and drove off into the distance. Amidst the rising dust, the relics carrying the legacy of Chinese civilization finally began their journey home.