Veterano centenário clama por justiça e cinco grandes regiões militares ficam abaladas

1999.
Dragon Nation.
Northeast.
Kaoshantun.

Ye Yuan lay on the kang bed, squinting his eyes and crossing his legs as he puffed on a dry tobacco pipe with a rhythmic clicking sound. Beside him, a battered radio crackled and hissed, filling the room with a faint voice.

Ye Yuan’s house was very simple—a common rural brick and tile home. But due to years of neglect, cracks had formed in the walls, allowing the wind to whistle through whenever a strong breeze blew.

Inside, the furnishings were sparse: a well-worn table polished smooth from use, two rickety old armchairs with chipped teapot lids resting atop them. Slowly sitting up, Ye Yuan kept his eyes half-closed as if unable to open them fully.

He tapped the ashes from his pipe and glanced toward a gray military uniform hanging on a crude clothes rack nearby. That uniform was the embodiment of all the honor he had earned in his lifetime.

Winter of 1931.
At just seventeen, he witnessed the brutal rampage of the invaders who stormed his village and unhesitatingly joined the Anti-Japanese Alliance. Over fourteen years, he transformed from a naive boy into a battle-hardened veteran and eventually a commanding general.

Ye Yuan raised his hand to touch the tattered notebook resting near his heart. With a slow but resolute step, he rose and left the room.

As he stepped outside, he heard footsteps approaching. A mischievous smile flickered in his heart, and he feigned ignorance as a pair of hands covered his eyes from behind.

“Guess who I am?” a playful voice wh