Tears

At the foot of Mount Chira, the steel torrent of the Tengbang government army rolled across the mountain road, stirring up clouds of dust.

Leading the way were rusty but imposing tanks, their thick gun barrels lowered and pointing towards the mountains and forests. Following closely behind were military trucks and modified assault vehicles crammed with soldiers dressed in a mix of old and new jungle camouflage.

The scattered drug traffickers were like frightened birds. Government soldiers quickly deployed using the terrain, and a barrage of gunfire instantly tore through the air. Tracer bullets wove a scarlet net of fire, mercilessly sweeping across the fleeing figures.

Ponglasong stood quietly behind a sharp-looking officer in a crisp general's uniform with gleaming stars on his epaulets, like a silent shadow.

General Zowin, commander of the Eastern Military District, lowered his binoculars, a smile playing on his lips: "Sigon Natawa actually agreed to come forward? Surprising. Haven't they always touted their autonomy and kept their distance from us cleaning house? Have they changed their tune this time?"

“Even if you don’t want to, you have to agree, General.” Pom Rasong bowed slightly, his voice steady and firm. “His nephew is determined to go up the mountain, so he has no choice but to go.”

General Zowin raised an eyebrow and smiled with satisfaction: "You've done a great job on this."

“This time, it was all thanks to Miles’s idea.” Ponglasong’s face showed a meaningful smile. “His network of contacts is very well-informed. After learning that you were determined to wipe out the drug lords here, he suggested that I pretend to cooperate with Xigong, let the people of Gan Valley break ties with the Mengsha brothers over the road construction, and fight to the death. Then we would clean up the mess. You see, things went smoothly according to his plan?”

“Miles?” General Zowin ran the name through his mind. “It’s him. I didn’t expect that after all these years, you would still be in contact with him.”

Ponglasong nodded: "If it weren't for his covert assistance, the matter of Suma Natawa back then wouldn't have been resolved so quickly. Otherwise, if Gan Valley had truly grown too powerful under Suma Natawa's control, it would have ultimately threatened your influence in the East, General."

General Zowin's brow relaxed slightly, his tone calm yet authoritative: "That's too harsh. It's that Xigong can't tolerate his power-hungry sister. But then again, she's just a woman who's read a few more books; she has no right to speak." He shifted his gaze to the smoke-filled hilltop, "With the Mengsha brothers down, Xigong will likely seize the opportunity to grow stronger and become a lone tiger. Have you thought about how to maintain the balance?"

Pomlason said confidently, "We still have two bargaining chips. The first is Miles, who can restrain Xigong himself. As for the second, it's that Milo." He glanced at the distant mountains where the mercenary's firing positions were flashing. "He's quite capable, managing to buy off the Ghost mercenaries through Arian Thornton's connections. He wants access and profits, and we need new forces to counterbalance Gan Valley, so cooperation is possible. Moreover, General, this Milo is the son of that merchant from Lanman who died a violent death. His real name is Theo Green, and he has a blood feud with Xigong."

Zowin raised an eyebrow: "Use him to counterbalance Sigon? What about Miles, the number one contributor? If we turn around and win over someone else, won't we offend him? What if we force him to side with Sigon?"

Pomrasong's smile deepened: "On the chessboard, only those who are useful are recognized. When the time comes, we'll cooperate with whoever is more beneficial to us. Miles is a viper, and that Milo is more like a little leopard; any hunter who can kill their enemy is a good hunter. As for offending," he chuckled, "the winner speaks, so how can we talk about offending?"

General Zowin gave Pomlason a deep look, then slowly nodded, a satisfied smile curving his lips, before gazing back at the distant mountains engulfed in gunfire.

*

Gunshots rang out on Mount Chira, and debris flew everywhere.

"Go!" Miles shouted, making a swift decision, and pushed the still somewhat unsteady Milo toward Harold. "Ponlason's men have gone into the mountains! He's safe for now, let's get him out of there first!"

Harold got to work.

Milo suddenly broke free: "Let me go!"

Miles's expression changed drastically, and he shouted sharply, "Harold! Take him away! That's an order!"

As he spoke, a cold glint flashed in Miles' eyes.

Harold understood, and intentionally or unintentionally, the muzzle of his gun was tilted towards Apa, who was being held under his arm and struggling in terror.

Miles said coldly, "Milo, listen to me!"

That blatant threat was like kerosene poured into Milo's chest, igniting only a raging fire and a resolute resistance.

Almost the instant Milo stopped, several ghostly figures swept down the hillside like a gust of wind. Several mercenaries silently and swiftly surrounded Milo from behind, their cold gun barrels raised in unison, pointing at Harold and Miles.

Milo snapped at Harold: "Let go of Apa."

Harold gripped Apa's arm tightly without loosening his grip, while his other hand, holding the gun, remained steadily aimed at the threat ahead.

Milo's eyes were bloodshot. The constant gunfire and raging fire meant he had no time for appeasement. If Harold didn't let go, Apa's only fate was death. Milo's heart turned cold, and he slightly raised his chin towards the mercenaries.

"Bang!"

A muffled but precise gunshot rang out, and Harold's wrist, holding the gun, instantly burst into a spray of blood. The excruciating pain made his body shudder violently, and the veins on his forehead bulged, but he still gritted his teeth, letting out a muffled groan. His injured hand remained firmly gripping the gun, preventing Apa from letting go.

"Milo!" Miles shouted at him by his full name for the first time, his eyes filled with shock.

Milo's lips moved slightly, uttering a cold word: "Head."

"Bang!"

A bloody hole instantly appeared between Harold's eyebrows, and his body crashed to the ground, his finger still tightly gripping the trigger until his death.

Apa was terrified by the sudden death. He screamed and broke free from his restraints, instinctively lunging at Milo.

At the same time, several groups of government soldiers rushed forward, forming a human wall to protect Miles at the core, their guns pointed tensely at Milo and the mercenaries behind him.

A brief but deadly stalemate ensued on the smoke-filled hillside.

Miles stared intently at Milo, who was surrounded by mercenaries, through the wall of men. His eyes blazed with fury. He roared, "Milo! Do you know what you're doing?"

Milo's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly drowned out the clamor of the battlefield: "You killed Yuuma."

Miles scoffed, "You know perfectly well! He committed suicide! Besides, I did it for you!"

"You didn't do this for me! You drove him to his death! Miles!" Milo's voice suddenly rose, filled with intense hatred. "What makes you think so highly of yourself? Yuzuru is more important than you! His life has always been more important than yours!"

Milo took a deep breath and said, word by word, "Miles, one day I will make you lose everything, I will make you wish you were dead, I will kill you with my own hands."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a string of stray bullets came whistling through the air.

Milo's pupils contracted, and he abruptly pressed Apa's head against his chest. Under the cover of the mercenaries, they narrowly avoided a deadly hail of bullets.

Miles tried to pull Milo back, but several government guards blocked his way, and bullets flew everywhere. He had no choice but to retreat down the mountain with them.

Amidst the swirling dust, Milo was choked by the thick smoke and became disoriented, but in that instant, countless fragments of clues flashed through his mind like lightning.

Miles's vast business network, his ambiguous relationship with Pomlason, his seemingly controlled yet actually quite adept demeanor... a cold and clear answer instantly pierced through him.

Miles' business has long infiltrated the core of Pom La Song and Meng Tuo, making it impossible for him to be completely controlled by Sigon! The only explanation is that Miles himself is a crucial pawn on Pom La Song's chessboard, perhaps even the key figure behind Pom La Song's introduction of external capital! What Pom La Song wants is the enormous political capital gained from the anti-drug campaign, and Miles is one of the masterminds behind this grand scheme!

He's lying to him! He's been using him from the very beginning! All those petitions on the mountain were lies! Miles is a complete fraud!

"Let's go!" Milo said to the mercenary without hesitation, "Get out of here! Take as many children as you can!"

The mercenaries swiftly carried out the orders; some formed tactical formations for cover, while others dispersed and rushed deep into the drug lord's camp to search for any surviving children.

Milo, carrying Apa, quickly retreated out of the mountains under the close protection of the mercenaries.

Just then, a deafening explosion suddenly rang out. The source of the sound seemed to be a stray bullet or a deliberate explosion deep within the drug lord's camp, where explosives were stored.

In an instant, the towering flames, like the gaping maw of a demon, devoured a large area, and thick smoke mixed with a pungent odor rose into the sky, blotting out the sun.

The massive shockwave and scorching heat blast knocked Milo to the ground.

Milo struggled to lift his head, only to be met with a sky full of raging flames, the thick smoke almost suffocating him.

The roar of circling government helicopters eerily overlapped with the noise of the devastating fire in my memory.

"Cough cough cough..." Milo couldn't breathe, and the boundary between reality and memory completely collapsed in the firelight and thick smoke.

The flames twisted and leaped, and he felt as if he had returned to that hellish day seven years ago. In the raging flames, a voice, again and again, pierced through the sea of ​​fire and thick smoke, screaming with heart-wrenching despair.

"Theo Green! Theo! Theo—!"

The sound, scorched by the high temperature and shrouded in thick smoke, was severely distorted, making it impossible to discern its original timbre. He only remembered that the shout was exceptionally loud, filled with a desperate madness, and that it eventually broke down, sounding like a mournful cry of blood.

It was Miles… it was Miles who pulled him out of the fire, it was Miles who gave him a second life, it was Miles who lit a glimmer of hope for him to live in the ruins.

Why Miles?

How can a creator who gave him life and shaped him vent his hatred on you when he pushes you back to hell with his own hands?

Perhaps he should have died in that fire.

"Thump thump thump! Thump thump thump!"

Heavy, hurried footsteps broke through the crackling of burning flames and the roar of helicopters, piercing through the thick fog.

Milo struggled to lift his head. Through his blurred vision, a tall figure strode towards him, breaking through the thick smoke and flames. This figure overlapped and swayed violently with the one who had rushed towards him in the inferno seven years ago, and he seemed to hear those soul-piercing cries again…

Is that Miles?

The figure rushed in front of him, knelt down on one knee without hesitation, and suddenly cupped Milo's cheeks with a pair of hands covered in soot but unusually warm and strong.

His heavy breathing, hot and labored, sprayed onto Milo's forehead.

Milo heard it.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

It wasn't a hallucination; it was the sound of a heart pounding wildly in my chest, so close yet so powerful.

The firelight illuminated the face of the newcomer.

It's Blaze.

He pulled off his mask, revealing a face covered in dust. He had almost shaved off all his black hair, leaving only a short buzz cut. His skin was a shade darker from the sun, and the jagged scar on his forehead still bore clear surgical suture marks, now bulging into a raised scar. He patted his face while trying to call his name.

I can't hear anything...

Blaise is mute.

But he wasn't always... a mute...

Chaotic fragments of memory flashed and collided wildly in Milo's mind, which was reeling from the smoke and explosions. Some details that had been buried by the fire began to be eerily pieced together and matched up because of the similar scenes.

Milo felt as if his heart was being gripped by an icy hand, and he suddenly realized a problem he had completely ignored.

He never asked Blaise how he became mute.

And he… he couldn’t even remember Blaise’s voice anymore. That voice that once amazed him, reassured him, and felt like salvation in the darkness… he couldn’t recall it at all.

Whose voice was that, repeatedly calling out "Theo Green" amidst the flames, dragging him out of hell?

Blaze, Blaze, Blaze...

Milo closed his eyes in pain and buried his face in Blaise's dusty clothes.

A huge, absurd, and desperate sadness overwhelmed him.

So, it was Blaise from the very beginning.

The person who was anxiously and urgently calling his name in the raging fire was Blaze from the very beginning, not Miles…

Fate played one cruel joke on him after another.

The ghost mercenaries emerged in twos and threes, their tall figures carrying several rescued, trembling children from the Gan Valley.

Milo used the momentum to stand up and staggered out from the gradually dissipating fire and mist.

Apa let out a heart-wrenching cry, suddenly breaking free from the arms of one of the mercenaries and clinging tightly to Blaise's blood-stained and ash-covered thigh, her small body trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Blaise gently placed his hand on Apa's trembling back, offering silent comfort.

He raised his head, his gaze passing over the crying child, and met Milo's eyes in the lingering smoke of the dying embers.

The plane began to land the rescue ropes, and the evacuation team began to wrap up.

Milo let go, allowing Blaise's men to take the children one by one.

The mercenaries surrounded Milo, ready to take him away at any moment.

Blaise saw all of this, and before he could say a word, he froze on the spot.

Amidst the thinning smoke and flickering flames, Milo turned slightly to the side and gazed at him silently from afar.

That face, stained with soot, blood, and even streaks of tears, now presented a breathtaking, almost divine vulnerability and... beauty.

Blaise felt her heart stop beating.