Chapter 60: An Opponent Looking Like a Beggar?

In mid-October of the 26th year of the Republic, the weather in the Magic City had already started to grow chilly in the mornings and evenings. At first, I worried that my Sichuanese brothers were still wearing straw sandals; with winter approaching, where would I find proper shoes to keep them warm?

But soon I realized this worry was entirely unnecessary.

Not because I found a better solution, but because most of those wearing straw sandals wouldn’t live to see winter at all...

— Excerpt from Hu Biao’s Diary Collection, “Hu’s Tales” —

Actually, Hu Biao’s rapid promotion by three ranks within a few hours was entirely thanks to that bald principal who had once been relentlessly mocked by them.

Here’s how it went:

Though the bald principal liked to give reckless orders, it was undeniable that he was intensely concerned about the battle in the Magic City. After all, he had long regarded this land as his own.

He was initially anxious and furious over the loss of the crucial position at the Enlightenment Temple. But upon hearing that the Sichuan troops had recaptured it, he was overjoyed—and deeply admired Colonel Xiang, the commander of the 804th Regiment, who led the main assault.

When Chen Xiuci announced the reward—only a single rank promotion and a mere 6,000 silver dollars—he felt it was far too little for such a merit.

At his intervention, Colonel Xiang was promoted once more, becoming a brigadier general.

To be promoted two ranks within three hours was an extraordinary feat for a mid-to-senior officer, even in the fierce Battle of Songhu.

Moreover, the bald principal promised that after this battle, all personnel and equipment for the 804th Regiment would receive priority replenishment.

In this single engagement, Colonel Xiang had significantly impressed the bald principal.

As for Hu Biao and the other seven time travelers, along with the spearhead 3rd Company, they remained obscure—only Yang Sen, commander of the 20th Army, had heard of this capable young officer. None had appeared before the bald principal to earn his notice.

Fortunately, Colonel Xiang was a fair man. He knew that the main credit for retaking the Enlightenment Temple belonged to Hu Biao and the 3rd Company’s daring tactics.

More importantly, he valued Hu Biao’s abilities and intended to cultivate him as his most formidable vanguard.

Coincidentally, two of his battalion commanders had fallen in earlier fighting.

So he decided to promote Hu Biao two ranks further, making him a major and a battalion commander.

From then on, Hu Biao would have free rein to appoint all officers within his battalion.

Given Colonel Xiang’s current prominence, as long as this was reported to Yang Sen, it would surely be approved.

Perhaps by tomorrow, Hu Biao’s brand-new commission papers would arrive.

Thus, through this somewhat serendipitous turn of events, Hu Biao was able to rise three ranks within a matter of hours.

By now, if his devoted admirer Zhu Cong still called him “Officer Hu,” it might no longer be an exaggeration…

******

When Hu Biao heard from Colonel Xiang about his double promotion, he did not know that less than two kilometers away stood a key enemy frontline command post.

Within the courtyard of what should have been a wealthy family’s estate, a dozen or so Japanese staff officers and dozens of junior officers gathered.

Their faces bore the heavy expression of men who had lost something dear, as they stared at their regimental commander—Colonel Kanosuke Shimoeda of the 19th Regiment, 18th Infantry Brigade, 9th Division.

He clenched his teeth fiercely and brought down his samurai sword with great force.

The next moment, a gleaming blade flashed through the air.

Their comrade, Major Hatoyama—commander of the battalion that Hu Biao and the 804th had driven off the Enlightenment Temple position—had his head severed from his neck.

It rolled away some distance, his face frozen in the painful grimace of seppuku.

For a moment, the dozens of Japanese officers who witnessed this scene were filled with indescribable humiliation, anger, and a trace of fear.

During World War II, the Japanese military’s Bushido spirit was highly extolled.

While it was true that superior officers sometimes forced subordinates to commit seppuku in anger, such occurrences were rare, and almost never while the battle was still ongoing.

Normally, the punishment was a slap or disgraceful reassignment to reserve units to cool their heels.

This grim scene unfolded because the 19th Regiment had fought fiercely for days to capture the Enlightenment Temple, paying an enormous price.

The entire 9th Division had suffered significant losses.

Yet, just as they settled into the position, the Nationalist troops retook it.

The division commander summoned Colonel Shimoeda and scolded him so harshly it nearly drove him mad.

On returning, the battalion commander responsible for steadfast defense was forced to commit seppuku.

Colonel Shimoeda himself acted as kaishakunin—the one who beheaded the seppuku victim.

Perhaps much of his fury was discharged with that swing of the blade.

After calming himself, Colonel Shimoeda regained his composure and intelligence.

He asked the silent junior officers beside him a crucial question:

“I’ve heard the enemy’s tactics are wildly unconventional, especially one company acting as a spearhead, charging alongside artillery fire—a truly interesting opponent.

So, by now, you fools have identified the enemy unit number and the name of their commanding officer who devised these tactics?”

As soon as he finished speaking, an aide quickly stepped forward, respectfully handing him a fast-arm armband.

Half-familiar with Chinese affairs, Colonel Shimoeda took it and murmured:

“The 804th Regiment of the 134th Division of the 20th Army, Sichuan troops wearing straw sandals—known as the Beggar Unit?”

“Yes, it was this Sichuan unit that launched the surprise attack.

Their commander is said to be Xiang Wenbin, a native of Guang’an, Sichuan Province, and a graduate of Chengdu Military Academy.

He was an outstanding student, praised for his sharp mind and daring spirit; an excellent officer.

But these radical tactics likely don’t come from him.

The Special Higher Section says they still can’t identify the exact originator, but they’re working on it.”

The aide quickly replied.

To be fair, the Japanese had long prepared for the annexation of China, meticulously planning before the Battle of Songhu.

Their reconnaissance maps were far more detailed than the Nationalist ones.

They had comprehensive data on all Nationalist forces—central and regional—including approximate troop strengths, equipment, and the commanders’ personalities and styles.

This allowed them to devise targeted tactics that inflicted heavy losses early in the war.

However, no matter how capable the Japanese Special Higher Section was, they had no way to know about time travelers like Hu Biao and Hei Xing—these men who seemed to have sprung mysteriously from the earth.

After hearing the aide’s report, Colonel Shimoeda stared silently at the densely packed frontline for some time.

Finally, he pointed to the central line of the Enlightenment Temple defenses—the very position held by Hu Biao and the time travelers’ 3rd Company.

He said to his officers:

“It doesn’t matter who it is, because I have a hunch that fellow will still be there tomorrow.

Our regiment’s warriors have fought hard for many days; rest well tonight.

At dawn, the artillery and air force will deliver a powerful strike.

Then, under tank cover, we will launch our assault, kill those beggar-like opponents, and bring me their bodies to see for myself.

Whoever accomplishes this will earn a drink of the sake from my hometown.”

“Sir, we will fulfill your wish,” the Japanese officers answered confidently, their eyes gleaming with ambition.

For that drink was not just a simple reward—it symbolized the regimental commander’s recognition…