Reborn and returned, sisters swapped

The official frowned and looked up, his gaze sweeping over a middle-aged man with a hunched back at the end of the line.

Old Yu's hair was gray, his face was covered with deep wrinkles etched by time, and his shoulders were slightly hunched.

He gripped the farm tools tightly in his hands, which still seemed to be covered in dirt.

He met the official's gaze; though his expression was wooden, it revealed a firmness that could not be underestimated.

"The family's fields are gone; a heavy rain during the autumn harvest drowned them all."

He spoke slowly, his voice low and hoarse, as if squeezed out of his throat.

"Besides, there aren't many people left on the estate, and the war is getting more and more intense. I'll do my part as long as I can, even if it's just a little bit."

After hearing this, the official in charge of conscription sighed deeply and shook his head as if in despair.

“These days, everyone is short-handed. But you’re already this old, can you still go into battle and fight? If you swing a knife, your old bones will probably fall apart.”

Upon hearing this, Old Yu's face showed displeasure, and he muttered in a low voice, "Sir, don't look down on me. Although I look old, I'm only in my forties and I'm quite strong."

The soldiers around him listened to his words, glancing sideways. Some whispered among themselves, while others nodded gently.

Seeing his unyielding gaze, the official finally sighed, hesitated for a moment, and then picked up his pen.

He slowly wrote the three characters "Yu Qingshan" on the roster.

"Sigh, so old, and still fighting..." a young soldier muttered softly, with a hint of regret in his voice.

Old Yu ignored him, as if he were deaf to the discussions.

His gaze lingered on each stroke of the brush for a long time.

That is not only his name, but also a mark of his destiny.

He carried with him the land, the drought, the broken home, and even the faint but real hope in his heart—that if he could win, he might be able to return to his hometown.

From then on, Lao Yu became a unique sight in the military camp.

He got up early every day to fetch water and chop wood in the camp, working harder than the younger people. Many people in the camp gradually remembered this stubborn old man.

Whenever he bent down to carry water, several new recruits would stare at him with a mix of curiosity and confusion: "Old Yu, can you carry that?"

Old Yu wiped the sweat from his forehead and grinned: "Young lads, don't underestimate us! Our bodies haven't rusted yet."

His words always drew laughter, but the laughter was mixed with a sense of respect and sadness.

The soldiers around him couldn't help but see the image of their fathers in him—working hard in the fields and fields, standing tall despite wind and rain.

This hard-earned strength and tenacity earned by each and every penny gave Lao Yu an unusual level of prestige in the military camp.

One day, the weather grew increasingly cold.

The soldiers drilled on the training ground, the wind and snow carrying a knife-like chill that cut across their faces.

Everyone was shivering from the cold, but Old Yu, as usual, was practicing his footwork by waving his wooden gun with a flushed face.

Although his posture was not standard, it was exceptionally steady, and each step he took carried a steady strength.

The young soldiers around them gradually stopped what they were doing, their eyes filled with amazement.

Many people began to follow his steps and practice repeatedly. Gradually, an atmosphere of not giving up easily seemed to emerge in the team.

Once, an official saw this scene during an inspection and couldn't help but wonder: what chance do soldiers of this age have on the battlefield?

But on second thought, perhaps it is precisely this kind of courage that disregards personal gain or loss that is the strength that is urgently needed today.

A few weeks later, news came from the front that the bandits were gathering in large numbers and would probably launch a general offensive after winter.

A tense atmosphere hung over the entire camp. The young soldiers began to whisper among themselves, and some even showed signs of fear.

"The enemy is so strong, can we really win?" a young soldier muttered to himself.

Old Yu came over when he heard the sound, patted him on the shoulder, and said with a hint of composure in his eyes: "Young man, whether you can win or not, once you step onto the battlefield, you have to give it your all."

We've spent our whole lives braving the wind and sun, all to protect our home.

"You young people are strong, what are you afraid of?"

As soon as he finished speaking, the young soldiers gradually quieted down.

Many people no longer looked at Lao Yu with simple doubt, but with a hint of admiration.

This veteran, with his weathered face, gave them a strength they had never felt before.

Everyone gathered around Old Yu, as if they saw hope of defeating the enemy on his rough shoulders.

The night the order to transfer them to the front lines was issued, the wind and snow intensified.

Despite the freezing weather, the campfire was surrounded by soldiers. Old Yu stood in the middle of the fire and recounted his days working in the fields when he was young.

The story is filled with scenes of the hometown—the earthy smell of spring plowing, the joy of summer harvest, and the laughter of a full granary in autumn.

Each word seemed to transport people back to their warm homeland, allowing them to temporarily forget the shadow of war.

Finally, Lao Yu picked up the kettle by the fire and shouted, "For our hometown, for the people we want to protect, no matter who's on the other side."

I'll risk my life to stop them!

His words were like a blazing fire thrown into the ice of the night. The soldiers raised their canteens, their expressions resolute, their eyes gleaming with fighting spirit.

The next morning, the bugle call to march resounded throughout the camp, and the soldiers donned their armor and lined up in neat rows.

Old Yu stood in the line, his back ramrod straight despite his advanced age.

During the march, the wind and snow whipped against our faces, and the biting cold was unbearable.

But everyone carries a fire in their heart, a steadfast belief in their hometown.

The winter wind was biting cold, and the dark clouds on the horizon were as heavy as lead.

The ground was covered with a thin layer of snow, and the soldiers trudged through the thick mud with difficulty.

As snowflakes danced in the air, Old Yu led a group of young soldiers forward slowly. The heavy armor and cloaks they wore could not ward off the cold, yet their steps remained firm.

Amidst the wind and snow, Old Yu turned his head slightly and looked at the young soldiers behind him.

These young people, recently recruited from the countryside, wore undisguised signs of fatigue, yet their eyes shone with a stubborn light.

Old Yu's heart stirred slightly, and a smile appeared on his lips, a smile that, though aged, carried a hint of warmth.

"Are you still feeling the cold?" Old Yu's rough voice carried on the wind, tinged with a hint of teasing.

"Cold my foot! We came out to fight with Brother Yu, do you think we'd be scared by this snow?"

A young soldier muttered under his breath.

This caused his comrades around him to chuckle softly. The laughter dissipated in the cold wind, but brought a touch of warmth.

Upon hearing this, Lao Yu couldn't help but chuckle, as if some of his fatigue had been dispelled.

Not far away, the sound of an alarm could be heard from the outpost.

Old Yu's expression hardened, and he immediately waved his hand to signal the team to stop, turning his head to look ahead.

There, one could vaguely see the enemy's flags fluttering in the cold wind, and the soldiers drew their weapons, their expressions turning solemn.

Old Yu took a deep breath, raised his hand to signal everyone to wait quietly for instructions.

The wind grew increasingly biting, the atmosphere seemed to freeze, and an invisible pressure filled the air.

Suddenly, a rousing bugle call rang out from the enemy camp, breaking the silence of the snowy landscape.

The enemy surged towards them like a tidal wave, their armor gleaming coldly in the snow, their battle cries deafening.

Old Yu gripped the spear tightly, a calm and resolute glint in his eyes.

"Children, prepare to meet the enemy!" His voice was strong and clear, like a mountain, standing firmly in front of everyone.

The battle is about to break out.

The cold wind carried the stench of blood, and the air was filled with the glint of swords and the clash of blades, leaving the snow stained with blood.

Old Yu charged ahead, his spear whistling as it pierced the enemy ranks.

His movements were swift and precise; though he was old, every strike was full of power.

The young soldiers followed closely behind, their eyes shining with admiration and determination, following Lao Yu without fear of death.

In the fierce battle, Lao Yu gradually felt his strength waning, but he still gritted his teeth and held his ground.

The enemy surged in wave after wave, and young comrades fell one after another beside him, but he never retreated.

Under his leadership, the young soldiers charged into battle like wolves and tigers, fearlessly and without hesitation.

At that moment, the cold and fear had vanished without a trace, replaced by the burning passion of fighting alongside comrades.

Finally, after a long battle, the bandits' attack was repelled, and the battlefield returned to a brief period of peace.

The soldiers stood wearily on the snow, panting heavily, their hands unconsciously gripping their weapons as if they were still in the midst of a battle.

At that moment, they suddenly noticed that Lao Yu was kneeling in the middle of the snow.

His hands still gripped the spear tightly, a smile playing on his lips, as if the battle was not yet over, or as if he had finally fulfilled his mission in this life and returned to peace.

The wind and snow fell silently on him, draping him in a thin, silvery veil, as if nature were bidding farewell to this veteran.

The young soldiers surrounded him, their faces showing complex emotions as they looked at Old Yu kneeling on the ground.

One by one, they silently planted their long swords in the ground, bowed their heads, and paid tribute to the old soldier.

No one spoke; only the sound of the wind and falling snowflakes echoed in their ears, as if heaven and earth themselves were silent in this solemn moment.

Several of them quietly raised their hands to wipe away the tears from the corners of their eyes, afraid of being seen by others.

Old Yu was their guide, their mountain, and their unyielding banner on the battlefield.

The mountain is gone, but that belief is deeply engraved in their hearts.

In the wind and snow, the column continued to move forward. The soldiers carefully lifted Lao Yu's body and placed it in the center of the column, as if he were still leading the way.

Each step, crunching on the snow, produced a dull creak that echoed across the winter battlefield.

When they returned to the camp and properly laid Lao Yu's body to rest, it was already late at night.

The bonfire blazed brightly, illuminating every tired yet determined face.

These memories are like a warm current, conveying warmth in the cold winter night.

In the stillness of the night, snowflakes fell gently, enveloping their figures in tranquility.

The soldiers gazed silently into the distance, their eyes burning with an inextinguishable flame.

As night fell, a cold wind howled outside the military tents in Hesha City. Inside, the candlelight was dim, illuminating several faces with different expressions.

Qi Rui'an stood in the center of the tent, his face solemn, but his tone was gentle yet firm.

His suggestion echoed in the tent: "We don't have to fight head-on; we can also negotiate peace."

If we could make the bandits kill each other, wouldn't that be a better way to protect Hesha City?

The soldiers inside the tent looked at each other in bewilderment; clearly, this proposal had caught many off guard.

Gu Jinyan frowned, his gaze sharp as ice: "Ruian, how can we compromise with the bandits?"

"Negotiating peace will only give them an opportunity to exploit the situation, and then Hersha City may be doomed!"

Qi Rui'an, however, disagreed and continued to persuade him: "Jin Yan, as you have seen, the people in the city are already suffering from the continuous war and the cold winter."