1
In mid-June, the Allied forces launched large-scale military operations, adopting a strategy of defeating the enemy one by one. With two army groups they struck directly at Java, and with one army group they fiercely attacked Sumatra, forcibly splitting the Japanese Tenth Army under General Inoue into two. At the same time, they conducted intensive aerial patrols with military aircraft and coordinated naval mine-laying operations to blockade the northern seas and the Strait of Malacca, cutting off the Japanese Sixth Army under General Kawano in the Malay Peninsula and the Eighth Army under General Kumagai in Borneo, preventing the Sixth and Eighth Armies from moving south to provide reinforcements.
Lieutenant General Kawano, commander of the Sixth Army, together with his staff officers, assessed that after the Tenth Army gradually lost its combat capability, the multinational Allied forces led by the United States were highly likely to divide into two routes. The western force would advance northward from the Malay Peninsula toward Thailand and Burma, in order to link up with British forces coming from India and form a pincer attack against Japanese forces in Thailand and Burma. The eastern force would advance northward from Borneo and the Philippines, consuming each of the islands occupied by Japanese forces. The eastern route was more likely to become the main force, because by moving north along the arc of islands in the eastern Pacific—commonly known as the “Garland Archipelago”—they could reach Taiwan and the Ryukyu Islands and then press toward the Japanese home islands.
The Japanese Sixth Army garrison stationed at Johor Port consisted mainly of Major General Watanabe’s 19th Infantry Regiment, Colonel Akita’s armored battalion, and Colonel Suzuki’s artillery battalion, totaling approximately seventeen to eighteen thousand troops, about one-third of the entire army group’s strength. Commander Kawano had shown foresight: shortly after taking office, he transferred the main forces and military equipment into eight underground bunkers left behind by the British. These bunkers had originally been excavated by the British in a radial pattern along the southeast-to-northwest slope of the terrain. They were constructed of large stone blocks bonded with cement, with an outer layer of rammed red earth for camouflage. However, since they had been seized from the British, the Allied forces were thoroughly familiar with the terrain and fortifications.
Making use of local resources, Kawano ordered the excavation of large underground trenches between each bunker, forming a grid-like network so that personnel, vehicles, and artillery could move freely between them. In addition, three more large underground bunkers were constructed, along with several decoy positions resembling bunker firing ports, mixed among them to confuse the enemy and achieve deception. In this way, the enemy would find it difficult to identify the main force, artillery positions, and coordinates. Furthermore, if any bunker came under Allied attack, nearby bunkers could immediately provide support. More ingeniously, each connecting passage between bunkers was equipped with two to three massive iron doors guarded by a squad, to delay and hinder the invading Allied forces and gain response time. In the event of a breakthrough, self-destruct mechanisms could collapse the surrounding soil and rock, burying the advancing enemy alive. The entire bunker complex was densely equipped with artillery and machine-gun firing ports facing east, north, and south, forming interlocking fields of fire—virtually impregnable. On the commanding heights at Hill 801 to the northwest and Hill 803 to the northeast, two reinforced companies of about 500 infantry were stationed, equipped with rifle grenades, mortars, and light and heavy machine guns, preventing enemy paratroopers from descending from those heights.
2
In late June, Johor Port was first subjected to several consecutive days of carpet bombing by Allied aircraft. Surface communication facilities, fuel depots, and ammunition depots were all destroyed. Then, almost simultaneously, Allied forces landed from Lion Island and from both the northern and southern sides of the Malay Peninsula, controlling the Strait of Malacca while executing a three-sided encirclement of Kawano’s army group, intending to “catch the turtle in a jar.”
Kawano’s Sixth Army became the main target. The Allies first conducted large-scale naval bombardments, coordinated with airborne paratrooper drops and carpet bombing, forming three-dimensional warfare and suppressing Japanese forces with superior strength. Then a battalion of marines forcibly landed at dawn on the flank of Johor Port at Kunlai Fishing Village, establishing a beachhead. Subsequently, an armored brigade combined with a light infantry division advanced toward Johor Port in a fan-shaped formation, launching uphill attacks along the slope. At the same time, a reinforced battalion parachuted onto the slope of Hill 801, attacking from the rear.
Although Allied firepower was overwhelming, the defenders relied on strong fortifications to return fire within effective range, and the Allies still paid a heavy price. After a full day of fierce fighting, it was only after nightfall that the Allies broke through the first line of Japanese defenses and began advancing into the city, engaging in street-by-street and house-to-house combat. Hundreds of Allied bodies lay along the shoreline, and two to three thousand bodies of both sides were scattered across the beach. On Hill 801, neither side truly defeated the other—both suffered heavy casualties, leaving only a few dozen continuing scattered combat.
Japanese wounded were transported through small tunnels to the military hospital. The morgue was piled with over a hundred corpses, most of whom died after being brought there. Medical Officer Nishikawa stayed in the operating room all day, his light blue uniform stained with blood. He could only snatch brief moments of sleep. Night duties were handled by Zhiling and Zongze. The orphanage children ran errands, delivering medical supplies. Director Mary and the nuns also joined rescue efforts. The bunker was filled with the smell of disinfectant and death.
On the third day, Colonel Suzuki was wounded, his buttocks shredded by shrapnel. He was carried into the hospital. After surgery, he angrily demanded to return to his unit. He was restrained and sedated.
Xintai later visited him.
“Colonel Suzuki, you’re awake,” Nishikawa said.
“Good brother, it’s you!” Suzuki joked despite pain.
Xintai advised him to rest, but Suzuki insisted on returning to the front.
“I can’t stay here while my men are fighting for their lives,” Suzuki said.
Xintai teased him but eventually agreed.
“The children miss your ramen,” Xintai smiled.
“If I survive, I’ll come back and compete with your Taiwanese noodles,” Suzuki replied, though his eyes held uncertainty.
“Then you must live,” Xintai said, gripping his hand.
3
Allied reinforcements continued landing at night. Japanese artillery fire immediately drew heavy retaliation.
Japanese soldiers could not understand where so many enemies came from. They had fought without rest. Officers realized this was a war of attrition.
Supplies dwindled. Morale declined.
Then suddenly, the Allies ceased fire, choosing to wait.
Japanese command decided:
(1) Units would retreat into the jungle at night to preserve strength.
(2) Establish a network of strongholds in the mountains.
(3) Leave small units to delay pursuit.
(4) Medical staff would retreat; severely wounded would remain.
(5) Install self-destruct devices in bunkers.
(6) Shift to guerrilla warfare.
4
Regarding the decision, Nishikawa disagreed but could not change it. He requested:
“Teacher, let me stay and care for the severely wounded.”
Matsushita agreed reluctantly.
Xintai, Zongze, Zhiling, and the orphanage all remained.
The next day, Allied forces attacked again. By noon, bunker self-destruct charges were detonated, burying many Allied soldiers alive.
That afternoon, an Allied unit found the hospital bunker. The company commander, Johnny, called for surrender.
Mary led the group out with a white flag.
She negotiated:
“We are a hospital. The wounded are unarmed. You must follow international conventions.”
Johnny insisted on searching.
Mary refused unless higher command was present.
The orphan children formed a human barrier.
Johnny called for orders.
After forty minutes, General William arrived.
Mary made three requests:
(1) No interrogation until recovery.
(2) Allow continued treatment.
(3) Provide supplies and aid.
William agreed, pending verification.
They inspected the bunker.
Inside, the wounded soldiers sat weakly, staring at them with despair. William noticed their poor condition due to lack of food and medicine—they resembled frail old men.
5
After the Allied forces “liberated” Xinshan Harbor, in less than a month, the military hospital moved back into the urban area of Xinshan City. It was temporarily built with tents, awaiting the completion of new buildings by Allied engineers before moving in for operation. The military hospital was also renamed the “Allied Malayan Corps Field Hospital,” receiving wounded and sick Allied officers and soldiers.
Local Chinese, Indonesians, and Malays gradually returned from overseas and nearby villages, and the population in Xinshan City gradually recovered. Chinese gentry initiated fundraising efforts to rebuild the Mazu Temple and Chinese-language primary and secondary schools. Zhiling was appointed as the head of the teaching department of the new Chinese-language primary and secondary schools. The children of the Catholic orphanage were temporarily housed in tents; once the school buildings were completed, they would be assigned to different grades according to age, and all orphans would reside in school dormitories. As for the original Catholic church in Xinshan Harbor, it had been razed to the ground during the war and would be rebuilt on the original site by the British army.
During this period, Medical Officer Yang Xintai and Zongze were each summoned several times by Allied intelligence and military judicial units. Since both were purely medical personnel and had held low ranks in the Japanese army, after failing to extract any valuable intelligence, they were no longer called in. Yang Xintai was fairly fluent in English and was valued by Allied officers. Moreover, Japanese wounded soldiers still required his assistance for treatment and emotional stabilization, so the Allies did not treat the two as prisoners. Yang Xintai remained a medical officer at the hospital, was promoted by one rank to Major, and also served as an English and Japanese interpreter, receiving the same salary as an American officer of equivalent rank.
On this day, Xintai was off duty. Carrying his beloved violin and a stack of white newsprint, he rode a bicycle to the temporary staff dormitory of the school to find Zhiling. Though called a dormitory, it was actually just a few crude wooden huts barely capable of sheltering from wind and rain. Zhiling had just finished copying a stack of textbooks bound with white newsprint and was about to step out for some fresh air. As she rose to open the door, Nishikawa happened to be standing outside, raising his hand to knock.
Xintai said, “Zhiling, I’ve brought you paper. All this white newsprint has already been cut.”
During this period, paper was extremely scarce. Most of the extracurricular reading materials and books in the school relied on donations from citizens. Notebooks and textbooks were copied by hand by Zhiling and two other teachers. The required paper was intermittently gathered and supplied by Xintai and Mary, who also served as the principal of the Chinese school.
Zhiling said, “Thank you, Xintai. You always go out of your way to deliver it.”
Xintai said, “It’s just a small effort.”
Zhiling suggested, “Let’s go out for a walk.”
Xintai and Zhiling had become accustomed to conversing in the Xiamen dialect. In this fishing village, most Chinese spoke this dialect. Speaking in dialect made it less likely for villagers to associate them with their half-Japanese heritage.
“Sure! I also brought my violin. I’ll play ‘Story of Bicheng’ for you later,” Nishikawa said cheerfully.
Zhiling said, “Zheyan, you have to teach me how to sing it. I learn quickly.”
Xintai suggested, “No problem. Get on, let’s go back to the old orphanage site for a nostalgic visit.”
Zhiling said, “As you wish. I haven’t been there for quite some time!”
The two rode on a single bicycle, a pair of elegant figures—the man mature and steady, the woman graceful and refined.
While walking up the sloping path, Zhiling let Xintai hold her hand, while his other hand pushed the bicycle.
In May, the Kunlai fishing village’s sandy slopes were covered with wild grasses and flowers of various colors. It was hard to imagine that just over a month ago, corpses had lain everywhere here.
Upon arriving at the old orphanage site, Xintai parked the bicycle. The two held hands and strolled among the ruins. Charred beams lay scattered at odd angles among smoke-blackened walls. Zhiling reminisced about the days of taking shelter from air raid alarms. Though filled with anxiety, the warmth of relying on each other with the director and the children remained deeply comforting.
Xintai said sentimentally, “The war should be nearing its end, right? I hope it ends soon, so we can return to the starting point and live normal lives again.”
Zhiling said calmly, “My wish is the same as yours, Xintai.”
Xintai continued, “War brings too much destruction, too many separations and deaths.”
Zhiling said, “That’s why we hate war so deeply!”
Xintai recalled, “When the war ends, I’ll take you back to my hometown in Taiwan, to Qingshui, where greenery flourishes everywhere. When I was a child, every morning I woke to lively birdsong. Opening the window, a thin layer of mountain mist covered Aofeng Mountain. Outside my family’s courtyard, a breeze carrying the scent of grass and flowers would gently blow—it felt like being in a paradise…”
Zhiling said happily, “That must be a utopia. I look forward to it eagerly.”
Xintai said, “It truly is beautiful. Zhiling, I’ll play it once on the violin first, then sing it for you.” After speaking, Xintai walked back to the bicycle, took the violin from the basket, tested a few notes, and then began to play.
The entire piece had a gentle melody and moving sentiment, yet carried a faint sorrow.
Zhiling said with feeling, “This piece combines beauty and melancholy. It’s unforgettable.”
“That’s right, Zhiling, you’ve grasped its spirit,” Xintai said with emotion, then began to sing:
“At the break of dawn, beauty like mist unfolds;
Lovely birdsong awakens the sleeping earth.
In the warmth of morning light, we stroll together;
Lovely dewdrops are intoxicated within cloud shadows.
A beautiful homeland often appears in dreams;
Beloved faces seem to linger before my eyes.
In the brilliant dusk, with deep, lingering gazes,
A silent graceful figure has vanished into dreams.”
“Xintai, the lyrics seem to tell a past story. Can you tell me about it?” Zhiling asked curiously.
Xintai narrated, “Yes, the song tells of a romance between a young man and woman. The man went abroad to study, while the woman waited at home. But the man found new love overseas and married a local woman. The devoted woman later saw through worldly attachments and became a nun.”
Zhiling said, “Such a tragic and beautiful love story. Such devotion—truly pitiful. What is love in this world, that it makes people foolish and obsessed!”
Xintai said, “This ‘Story of Bicheng’ was written by my father. The man in the story is my father. The woman is Aunt Chunmei. She lived in Puli, which my father called Bicheng.”
Zhiling said in surprise, “Oh? No wonder this song is so deeply moving. Congratulations—your memory has returned!”
Xintai said, “What I recall is still fragmented, like scattered broken bricks and tiles. I try hard to piece them together like a puzzle, but I think several pieces are still missing.”
Zhiling said gently, “Actually, I’d rather you live anew like a blank sheet of paper. When past memories truly return, they may only bring regret and pain…”
Xintai said, “Zhiling, there are people and events I truly cannot remember. Sometimes I feel uneasy about my own existence…”
Zhiling said, “You can look at it positively. If you shine fully in your work of saving lives, your future will be fulfilling and meaningful. Then what regrets would remain?”
Xintai said seriously, “You’re right. The wars Japan launched—I believe my father hoped Japan would lose. Only then could millions of Taiwanese break free from colonial shackles and seek independence.”
Zhiling asked, “Don’t you want to return to China?”
Xintai said emotionally, “Why should we return? For centuries, all powers—Spain, the Netherlands, Britain, Japan—brought only suffering. They were all ruthless exploiters!”
Zhiling said, “Just like British colonization in Malaya, later replaced by Japan.”
Xintai said, “China ceded Taiwan decades ago and abandoned its people. Should we return to a mother who once rejected us?”
Zhiling asked, “Then why not resist?”
Xintai said, “We did. But armed resistance only brought brutal suppression. So we endure and wait for the right moment.”
Zhiling said, “So you stopped resisting to wait for opportunity?”
Xintai said, “Exactly. Like sweet potatoes hidden underground—we wait. When the empire declines, we will rise and reclaim our land.”
Zhiling said, “I also hope Malaya can become independent.”
“Let’s work together,” Xintai said, holding her hands tightly.
6
Far away in Qingshui, Taiwan, on Gaomei coastal beach, Liao Meixiu stood alone, gazing southward, asking helplessly, “Xintai, are you alive or dead? Why do I feel your presence fading…”
7
In June, U.S. forces captured the Ryukyu Islands; in July, they fully occupied the Philippines. Taiwan also became tense, with daily bombings increasing civilian casualties.
Yang General Hospital moved into air-raid shelters. Supplies were rationed.
Meixiu worked daily, witnessing life and death. She often dreamed of Xintai dying, waking in tears.
Xintai worked tirelessly saving lives, yet many still died. Zhiling cared for orphans. War bound them together.
Meanwhile, in the jungle, fierce fighting continued. Pan Tieqiu died in battle, his body riddled with bullets, eyes filled with fear—no one knew where he fell.
8
On August 15, Emperor Hirohito announced Japan’s unconditional surrender.
Xintai learned the news amid gunfire celebrations. Japan had lost, just as he expected. It meant the end of suffering—and a new beginning for Taiwan.
9
The officers and soldiers of the Japanese Sixth Army Group who had been hiding in the jungle gradually walked out of the forest and surrendered to the Allied forces.
Yang Xintai concurrently served as an interpreter, accompanying Major General Jerry, the Director of U.S. Military Intelligence, in inspecting the Japanese prisoner-of-war camps.
He wanted to find out the whereabouts of some old friends as soon as possible, including Uncle Matsushita, his comrades from the 601 Military Hospital, and several old classmates from his hometown such as Wu Wenzhang, Pan Tieqiu, and Cai Tingkai.
In October 1945, the U.S. military handed over the area south of Malacca to the British forces. Xinshan Port and Lion City were both placed under British protection. The local anti-Japanese guerrilla forces, mainly composed of Chinese under the leadership of Zhang Boda, accepted the military equipment left behind by the U.S. forces, expanded their organization, and established the Third Division of the Malayan National Defense Army, which was placed under the control of the British Military Advisory Group.
In the Kuantan prisoner-of-war camp, Xintai met Matsushita Shinosuke, more than twenty colleagues from the military hospital, and his old classmate Cai Tingkai. The camp mainly held officers and soldiers of the 104th Infantry Regiment. No one had seen Pan Tieqiu; it was said that his sniper squad had been surrounded and annihilated by guerrillas in the jungle near Kelantan. Matsushita appeared to be in fairly good spirits. When uncle and nephew met, it felt as if a lifetime had passed, and they embraced each other tightly.
In the Japanese prisoner-of-war camp in Sembilan, Xintai met Chen Muyan and Wang Dawang from the 79th Artillery Battalion, as well as Colonel Suzuki, who had shaved his head completely bald. Colonel Suzuki grabbed Xintai excitedly, jumping and shouting, asking him to find a way to take him out. He wanted to return to the orphanage to work as a cook and make ramen for the children every day. Xintai therefore discussed the matter with Director Jerry. After some consideration, since Suzuki did not wish to wait for repatriation, Jerry allowed him to return to Xinshan Port with Xintai.
Yang Xintai brought Suzuki back to Xinshan Port. The children of the orphanage lined up to welcome this bald uncle who was so good at making ramen, moving Suzuki to tears.
When Zhang Boda, the commander of the Third Division, heard that Suzuki had returned to Xinshan Port, he specifically ordered his subordinates to bring him over. Zhang intended to make use of Suzuki’s experience in jungle warfare to deal with the Malayan Communist forces hiding deep in the jungle. Suzuki readily agreed to be employed as a military advisor to the Malayan Chinese National Defense Army, and he also recommended more than a dozen former officers from the Japanese Sixth Army Group to Commander Zhang. Zhang Boda happily accepted the suggestion and took them all in, believing that Japanese military advisors were more cooperative than British advisors and would not frequently disagree with him or make him feel hindered.
10
In early October 1945, the Nationalist Government sent personnel to formally take over Taiwan.
The people of the Taipei area went joyfully to Keelung Harbor to welcome the Chinese 70th Army, which had come to recover Taiwan. The distance from Keelung to Taipei is only 30 kilometers, yet the special vehicle carrying the army commander Chen Yiding and others took four hours to arrive, demonstrating the sheer number of welcoming crowds and the intensity of their enthusiasm along the way.
These Chinese soldiers wore straw sandals, with clanging pots and pans hanging from their bodies. As they walked and waved, some even spat and urinated on the ground. Many Taipei residents were astonished; in private conversations, some even joked that they had thought they were welcoming a group of bandits from China.
Radio broadcast:
“At 9:00 a.m. on October 25, the Japanese surrender ceremony in the Taiwan and Penghu areas was held at the Taipei Public Hall (now renamed Zhongshan Hall). The Chinese representative for accepting the surrender was Chen Yi, Chief Executive of Taiwan Province and concurrently Commander-in-Chief of the Garrison. He first took his seat at the receiving table. Then Andō Rikichi and four others were led into the venue by Chinese personnel. After removing their hats and bowing to the accepting officers, they removed their swords and presented them to signify the disarmament and surrender of the Japanese forces in Taiwan. Trembling, Andō carefully read the surrender document, then signed it with a brush and affixed his seal, after which it was submitted to Chen Yi for signature and seal. The signing of the surrender document by the representatives of the Japanese forces in Taiwan declared the formal end of Japan’s fifty-year colonial rule over Taiwan. Taiwan has returned to the embrace of the motherland.”
On the devastated Qingshui Street, amid ruined walls and broken tiles, shops hung out Chinese national flags one after another. Townspeople gathered around the local administrative office and in front of Ziyunyan Square, listening to the broadcast from loudspeakers.
Meixiu and dozens of medical staff gathered in the director’s office, surrounding a radio to listen to the broadcast. The so-called “hospital” was nothing more than two rows of thatched huts temporarily built with bamboo and straw.
The war had ended, yet until the end of that year, Xintai’s elderly parents still had not received any news of their son whom they longed for day and night. The four classmates who had gone to Malaya together with Cai Tingkai all gradually returned to Qingshui Street—only Xintai was missing.
Wu Wenzhang, who had lost an arm, came to the hospital to be fitted with a prosthetic limb and took the initiative to mention Yang Xintai to Meixiu:
“Meixiu, I met Yang Xintai at an American field hospital in Malaya.”
Meixiu asked in surprise, “Oh? You mean Xintai is still alive?”
Wu Wenzhang replied with certainty, “I’m sure of it! Xintai was serving as a medical officer in the military hospital, promoted to the rank of major. My severed arm was stitched up thanks to him.”
Meixiu asked in confusion, “Since he was working there as a medical officer, why didn’t he write back?”
Wu Wenzhang recalled, “At that time I was lying on a stretcher, calling his name and even mentioning you, but he seemed to have no reaction.”
Meixiu said, “He had no reaction to you? Could you have mistaken him for someone else?”
Wu Wenzhang said, “Absolutely not. His name tag read Nishikawa Tetsuhiko—we all know that’s his Japanese name.”
Meixiu said in puzzlement, “Then it must be him. But why didn’t he recognize you?”
A few days later, Yang Tianfu and his wife received a long letter from Xintai, and only then were they temporarily relieved.
