Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Number That Will Never Fade!

The drama was called "The Indelible Code." Lin Nan had started watching it a month ago.

Because the family had an internet TV at home, stocked with plenty of dramas and movies all neatly categorized, every night after Lin Nan finished training and showering, father and son would lie on the sofa to watch an episode or two before going to bed.

The shows were always picked by Lin Lang. He knew that a meaningful movie or drama could help shape his child's values and worldview, and sometimes even leave an indelible mark.

Take, for example, this war drama, "The Indelible Code."

The story follows "Li Dabenshi," who, along with comrades he persuaded to join him, forms a county brigade without an official military designation. Together, they fight a bloody, heroic battle against the Japanese invaders in occupied territory. The show was once dismissed as one of those "miraculous anti-Japanese dramas," largely because of a scene where a grenade is used to blow up an airplane.

Anyone seeing or hearing this for the first time would probably label the show as such. But if you actually watch it from start to finish, you realize it’s a rare gem. The grenade-versus-airplane moment is merely the director’s way of heightening emotion and atmosphere at the finale.

Lin Lang believed the show was perfect for thirteen- or fourteen-year-old Lin Nan. First, the regional dialects—words like "sweet potato" and "lively"—gave the show a warm, down-to-earth feel. The series was also filled with humor and lighthearted scenes. At the same time, the hardships endured by the brigade under siege vividly portrayed the resilience and tenacity of the anti-Japanese fighters, their willingness to endure pain and exhaustion.

All in all, Lin Lang regarded it as a rare, quality drama. Unlike other war dramas filled with large-scale battles, this one mostly depicted small skirmishes—the biggest being a rear-guard action at the end involving only a single regiment. Yet it managed to reflect, from another angle, that in the eight-year war of resistance, there weren’t just the glorious, history-making armies and marshals, but also countless unsung heroes who fought wholeheartedly for their country and liberation.

This, after all, was the theme: the indelible code.

From beginning to end, Li Dabenshi’s unit longed for a formal military designation—they wanted nothing more than to become a regular army. In the end, only after they withstood days and nights of fierce defense against a Japanese division, fighting until only "Little Sanzi," a minor, remained alive, did they finally receive their own code.

Though the protagonists died heroic deaths, the code they earned could never be erased.

Two scenes left the deepest impression on Lin Lang. One was when the unit, disguised as Japanese soldiers, stopped at the puppet army’s base on their way to destroy a biochemical weapon and had a hearty meal. The actors’ performances were outstanding—the way they drooled hungrily over meat and steamed buns, rare delicacies in those days, was both funny and heartbreaking.

The other was the climactic rear-guard battle. After days and nights of fighting, there were more dead than living defenders on the line. The familiar Japanese division commander who had been attacking them all along had died in a night raid along with their own "Commander Chen Feng." The new Japanese commander didn’t understand the tenacity of this unit. After repeated failed assaults, he ordered his men to find out the enemy’s unit code, but to no avail.

He couldn’t believe that such a resilient group wasn’t a regular Eighth Route Army unit.

Then, the Japanese commander had his translator use a loudspeaker to call for their surrender, hoping to demoralize them. At that moment, Li Dabenshi had an idea. He knew the two sides were separated by more than two and a half li—well beyond the range of their rifles. But he couldn’t just watch his own men’s morale crumble. Even though he knew the position would eventually fall, every minute counted.

So, under the puzzled gaze of "Sweet Potato," Li Dabenshi took a bullet and, using a small knife, whittled it down into a spiral, almost like a miniature atomic bomb. He loaded the "modified bullet" into his rifle, and with the help of his binoculars, aimed and aimed again.

Miraculously, the bullet traveled the full two and a half li, pierced the loudspeaker, and struck the interpreter in the head, startling the Japanese commander who was sipping tea nearby...

On the other side, Li Dabenshi, watching through binoculars, let a rare smile break across his tired face. The "Political Commissar" and "Sweet Potato," the only two comrades left alive beside him, grinned as well.

To Lin Nan, that smile was one of genuine happiness, and even he felt inspired watching from his living room. But to Lin Lang, that smile was the last straw holding their spirits together.

Perhaps, at his young age, Lin Nan couldn’t yet understand the deeper meanings behind many of the show’s details. But one day, he would.

Of course, it was precisely because Lin Nan had watched so many war dramas and gained some understanding of what it meant to be a soldier that, at this very moment, wearing his military training uniform, he exuded a faint air of a soldier in Si Dong’s eyes.

...

Noon. The main cafeteria at Qingshui No. 1 High School.

Green-uniformed figures wove through the crowd in their school uniforms, full of vitality and energy. Every September, this scene of youthful exuberance played out again.

To welcome the new students, the cafeteria set out large platters of chicken drumsticks next to every dish at every window, just for the freshmen.

The new first-year students hadn’t expected such a treat and beamed at the kitchen ladies in delight. The kitchen staff responded with smiles—sometimes friendly, sometimes oddly mischievous. That’s because, every year at this time, quite a few second-year students would don their dusty old training uniforms and slip in among the freshmen, pretending to be new students just for a single chicken drumstick.

The third-years had no such thoughts—busy with studies, dismissed earlier, and their training uniforms long misplaced.

Training lasted a week, and so did the chicken drumsticks. The first day was always the best opportunity for the upperclassmen, because after that, the kitchen ladies would start identifying “actors” by the degree of sunburn on their faces.

Still, there were always a few seniors, as dark as if they’d come from Africa, who would swagger through the crowd in their uniforms and feast on chicken drumsticks for an entire week under the envious gazes of others.

Lin Nan quickly finished his chicken drumstick, wiping it clean of every bit of sauce, and then polished off two bowls of rice with the rest of his food.

All for the sake of gaining weight. All for basketball!

After lunch, Lin Nan returned to his dorm, swiftly made his bed, and began chatting with his roommates.

There were eight boys in the dorm, none of whom planned to commute. That meant, for a long time to come, these eight would share the same room.

“Do you all have an account on MasterTalk?” asked a bespectacled boy.

“Of course,” another, a handsome one, replied at once. “Ever since Jay Chou became the site’s ambassador a few days ago, I discovered what an amazing website it is!”

“You can learn anything on there! And it’s all free!”

“This summer I found a guitar teacher on there, and after a month of daily practice at home, I finally made some progress and became his official apprentice.”

“I even saw that if you reach a certain piano level before eighteen, you have a chance to become Jay Chou’s apprentice! But I know I’ll never make it...”

After saying this, the handsome boy looked regretful, but his eyes soon gleamed with anticipation. Clearly, he was eager to show off his guitar skills in this new high school environment.

The rest of the dorm quickly joined in, discussing MasterTalk and what they hoped to learn from it.

Lin Nan greeted them, quickly realized none of his roommates played basketball, and headed off to the school’s basketball courts by himself.

He really couldn’t go a moment without basketball—otherwise, he felt restless.

Even though MasterTalk seemed like a place to learn just about anything, maybe even basketball, to Lin Nan, his father was the best basketball teacher he could ever have. After this past year, he was utterly convinced of that. Any question about basketball, his father could answer.

To Lin Nan, thirteen was truly the happiest and most fulfilling year of his life.

Arriving at the basketball courts, Lin Nan quickly spotted several other first-year students in their training uniforms. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one who loved basketball.

But after observing for a while, he saw that most of the players were fairly ordinary. Their ball-handling showed they hadn’t been playing long, and their running speed and jumping ability suggested average athleticism.

The upperclassmen—second- and third-years not in training uniforms—played much better. They had skills, physicality, and teamwork.

But in Lin Nan’s eyes, they still fell short of the uncles at the community sports square. Those men showed up every afternoon at four or five and played until seven or eight, almost without fail, through summer and winter alike. Their fitness and teamwork far surpassed these high schoolers who could only play occasionally.

Lin Nan walked past court after court, never feeling the urge to join in. Only by playing with those as good as or better than yourself can you improve.

Finally, when he reached the court closest to the teaching building at the top of the hill, he saw a crowd gathered. There were first-year students in training uniforms and upperclassmen in sportswear.

When Lin Nan drew closer, he quickly realized this was a warm-up match between the freshmen and the third-years.