The sun rose.
Shining over the vast snow-capped mountains, Zhuo Yong couldn't help but turn back for a look.
The military cap on the snow mound that buried his fallen comrades, its red star, which should have faded, turned remarkably crimson under the rising sun.
...
The situation worsened the next day.
The blizzard swept in.
Fierce winds carried snowflakes, slicing across the face like knives.
Visibility was less than five meters.
The team was forced to slow down, moving one by one, with people occasionally collapsing, some getting back up, but many more collapsing and never rising again.
Ahead.
There was an instructor cheering everyone on, and a medic clapping rhythms to boost morale.
If there were a vantage point from above, one would see such a scene.
The team of the Red Army stretched endlessly, like a wounded giant dragon struggling to crawl through the snowstorm, whenever someone fell, a comrade would lift them up.
No one spoke.
