Visiting the Frontier in the New Era | One More Year, and It Will Be a Century

One More Year, and It Will Be a Century

■ PLA Daily Reporter Chen Xiaojing

The wind comes from the frontier.

It sweeps across the unbroken snowline of the Karakoram, brushes past the first ray of sunlight at the easternmost outpost, circles around the waves of the South China Sea islands and reefs, and spirals around the radar antenna atop some nameless peak. It is Army Day again — that most singular of days. Following the wind into outpost after outpost along the frontier, what rushes to meet you is the breath of the single step between 99 years of history and the century soon to arrive, and the unwavering resolve (矢志不变的坚守) that has never changed.

What do 99 years mean to an army? What do they mean to a soldier standing watch at the frontier?

On the eve of this year's Spring Festival, the lights in the study room of the "Red Ninth Company" of a certain brigade under the Tibet Military District came on early. The entire company's officers and soldiers sat together in solemn rows, waiting for a special video call. On the other end of the screen was Lu Chen, the company's former political instructor, now 99 years old — he joined the revolution in 1943, served 47 years in the military, and spent half his life keeping watch over the snow-covered plateau. The old soldier slowly straightened up before the camera, the corners of his wrinkled eyes etched with the frost of years. When he spoke, his voice was slightly hoarse but every word rang with force: "Comrades, I am a member of the 'Red Ninth Company.' I once took root on the plateau, just as you do now."

Across the screen, the old soldier and the new soldiers made a pledge: in 2027, on the centennial of the founding of the army and the centennial of the company's founding, the hundred-year-old veteran will meet with the officers and soldiers once more across the distance. A 99-year-old veteran and soldiers of eighteen or nineteen years of age, under the same military flag, made the same promise.

The old soldier is not old — youth is still growing.

At the easternmost outpost, at 5:14 in the morning, the first ray of sunlight falls on the boundary marker. First Sergeant Lei Hui lightly wipes the marker, his movements practiced and precise. This is his 18th year standing guard at the eastern extreme. When the company was formed and took over the island post in 2008, the island was overgrown with knee-high weeds, with no fixed barracks, no water or electricity supply — only a few temporary prefabricated huts. "Set the post before settling in, patrol before making camp" — the officers and soldiers forged the patrol routes step by step with their own feet. Eighteen years on, new-model patrol vehicles, unmanned aerial vehicles, and motorized sleds have been fielded, and digital equipment has been updated generation after generation. Lei Hui's training notebooks record the company's 18-year transformation from "holding the line" to "fighting to win." Over 18 years, he went from new recruit to veteran; over 18 years, a company grew from its founding to become a benchmark.

One person's 18 years and an army's 99 years converge before the boundary marker. That is time's measure of loyalty, a covenant between founding purpose and steadfast resolve.

At the summit of a snow mountain at 5,592 meters above sea level, a group of new recruits had a "cloud-top encounter" with a border-guard stone (戍边石) before going on watch for the first time. On the other end of the screen was a display case at the Military Museum of the Chinese People's Revolution — inside it sat a border-guard stone from their very outpost, the red characters reading "Observation Post 5592" standing out with particular prominence. Standing watch in a zone forbidden to life, the soldiers used their spare time to gather mountain stones, grinding, tracing, and painting them — every brushstroke an expression of devotion to the post, every touch of color an act of loyalty to the motherland. This special encounter was an important lesson for new recruits to feel the glory of the outpost and carry forward the spirit of frontier defense (戍边精神).

A stone traveled thousands of kilometers from a snow mountain to the Military Museum; a spirit has been passed down from veteran to recruit across decades.

Chairman Xi has emphasized that youth are the new force driving the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation. Ninety-nine years ago, a gunshot rang out over Nanchang, piercing the deep darkness of night. Over those 99 years, from the spark at Jinggangshan to the outposts along ten-thousand-li of frontier, generation after generation of young officers and soldiers have assembled under the military flag, guarding the sacred national territory with blood and loyalty.

Today, who are the people standing watch over the frontier line on the threshold of 99 years?

They are the new recruits who, in temperatures below minus 30 degrees Celsius, follow the silhouette of their squad leader and trudge forward one step at a time on patrol; they are the veterans deep in the forest at remote outposts who treasure the frost-covered photographs on the "wall of smiling faces" as footnotes to their youth; they are the old company commander at the Little White Poplar Outpost (小白杨哨所) who crossed mountains and rivers to return to his second hometown and, after more than ten years away, can still accurately call out the name of every soldier in the group photo; they are the first sergeant gazing out over the sea and sky at the South China Sea islands and reefs, declaring the oath "the national flag hangs on my chest, the motherland is in my heart"; they are the ordinary soldiers on the Gobi Desert swinging pickaxes to dig the earth, wresting green back from nature inch by inch; they are every silently standing figure along the motherland's long land borders and coastlines.

From post-2000 new recruits to veterans who have held the line for nearly 30 years — at the frontier, the word "youth" (青春) means more than age; it is a posture of wholehearted devotion to the Party (铁心向党), a relay of passing the torch from one generation to the next, and an unchanging quality that transcends mountains and seas.

Achieving the centennial goal of army-building (建军一百年奋斗目标) is a relay race, and every soldier must run their own leg well. Looking from the 99th year of the army's founding toward the 100th — every soldier standing guard at the frontier is listening, in their own way, to the Supreme Commander's charge and orders, standing their post well, keeping their watch well, and guarding the border well for the motherland.

The 99-year-old veteran is waiting for the centennial promise; the veteran of 18 years at the frontier stands watch in an 18-year-old company; the new recruit just arrived at the post is writing their name into the next chapter of glorious history, composing their own song of youth.

Ninety-nine years — years of extraordinary struggle (岁月峥嵘). One more year, and it will be a century.

When that day comes, the wind will still blow in from the frontier. It will sweep across the same snow mountains, brush past the same boundary markers, circle around the same islands and reefs. Only by then, new young faces will be standing watch at the posts, their upright bearing catching all the echoes of loyalty carried in that wind.

Engels said: time is the army. At this moment, for the soldiers standing guard at the frontier, those words carry a meaning all their own.