Breaking the Formation (Part 1)
Yuan Siyuan died. It was May 1942. The flowers were in full bloom.
My skin began to sweat finely, and thin, bluish streaks of cloud stretched across the pale sky.
Before he breathed his last, he mustered all his strength to raise his head and glance at the long, narrow street bathed in the warm yellow glow of the sun. He had believed countless times that this would be his paradise, but now it had become his grave.
He was already out of options.
Just then, a dirty yellow dog ran out of the alley. In the sweltering midday heat, it sniffed the pool of blood on the ground and began licking it. Then, it quickly barked, turned its head, and ran back into the alley. A moment later, more dogs emerged, four or five heads clustered around the pool of blood, greedily licking it. Their breaths were rough and deep, and gradually, even their fur seemed to become glossy, gleaming brightly in the sunlight.
"Fallen petals are not heartless things; they turn into spring mud to nourish the flowers."
The war had spread to Lankang, and before he could even send a letter home to his wife, he died on that sweltering noon.
The body was laid face down on the ground, blood spurting out and flowing like a river. The long robe on his body was soaked, the blue base color seeping into a deeper black.
After the time it takes to drink two or three cups of tea, people finally awoke from their deathly midday nap. The shopkeepers along the street opened their doors, only to have their eyes widen in shock.
Someone's dead—
Everything is ruined, and there's no going back.
This is May 1942.
A sweltering afternoon
…………
…………
…………
The Japanese looted the outskirts of Lankang for an entire day, but they mostly stopped by evening.
The servants cleared away the dishes and opened the window for her. Usually, after meals, she would sit by the window and do some needlework. When the weather wasn't cold, she would open the window to enjoy the cool breeze, which was also a way to pass the time.
But today she felt a tightness in her chest, as if something was pressing against her skin. As she embroidered, beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She tucked the needle and thread into the mat and closed the window.
Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she called out towards the door, "Alan!"
The little girl, called Alan, quickly ran in. She opened her round, dark eyes and asked,
"What's wrong, madam?"
Has any mail arrived in the last few days?
"Oh my silly wife, the entire Lankang is surrounded by the Japanese. Not even a bird can fly out. How can we receive any letters?"
Alan is a seventeen-year-old girl whose words are clear and crisp.
After hearing this, she sighed deeply and stared blankly out the window.
"You're waiting for news from Third Master, aren't you?"
She felt extremely tightness in her chest, so she had to wave her away. She lost all interest in doing needlework and washed her face and went to bed early.
Lying down, I felt hot and sticky all over, wrapped in a blanket, but I didn't feel sleepy at all.
So he put on his coat, sat up, and reached out to open the window again.
The sky, a deep, almost black blue, stretched across the sky, not a single star in sight. It resembled a corpse stabbed deeply, yet not a drop of black blood seeped out.
A sense of unease gripped his heart, so he could only frantically fan himself with a palm-leaf fan, staring blankly at the dark blue sky.
—————
—————
—————
After waking up from her coma, Lee Sang-yeon only visited her once.
He either doesn't come at all, or when he does, he immediately tells her, "Yuan Siyuan is dead."
His eyes were fixed on her, his dark pupils filled with a searching light, as if he was looking forward to seeing how she would react.
She merely frowned and smiled faintly, then burst into a violent cough, her chest heaving, and her face quickly flushed with a sickly redness.
"Do you want to know how he died?" Li Xiangyan straightened up and stroked her forehead, his fingertips rough and hot, but she gently brushed them away without making a sound.
"You killed him." Her expression was calm, even with a slight hint of a smile.
"Who's next? Who are you planning to kill for me, Commander Li?"
Lee Sang-yeon's lips curled slightly at her unexpected question, but his expression convinced her that he had indeed begun to consider the matter.
"Killing a few people is useless, don't you understand?"
"Be good and stay here with me, then no more people will die." He finished speaking, bent down, and kissed her cheek.
She slowly looked up at him and asked, "Then what should be done with Young Master Yuan's body?"
“Lankang is in complete chaos now. Naturally, no one will collect his body. He will probably be treated as a dead civilian and thrown into some pile of corpses.” He frowned and smiled at her.
"I promised to stay with you, but you have to let me bury him."
Her face was an unnatural, deathly pale from being ill for so long, and her lips were also somewhat dull. Only her eyes remained fixed on him with unwavering determination.
As fragile as a dandelion, it could dissipate at any moment with the slightest sound.
"Okay." He poured a glass of water from the kettle by the bedside and held it to her lips.
She took the cup from his hand and slowly sipped it.
The knife wound on her hand was like an unhealable rift in the sky. It grotesquely crawled from her wrist all the way to the surface of her hand, forming dark brown scars. Around these scars, a pale pinkish-flesh emerged.
Why isn't the wound bandaged?
Upon hearing this, she followed his gaze and looked at her hands.
"It's already scabbed over, there's no need to wrap it up anymore."
After saying that, she hooked her other hand around his collar, gently stroked it twice, and said with a smile, "I have a few more scars like this on my body. Do you want to see them?"
That was left behind when she was tortured in the interrogation room.
She didn't tell him that the waiting time for the skin to heal was often unbearably itchy, and one would instinctively want to scratch to mask the pain. But she stubbornly endured it. So they turned into long, dark brown strips, like brands etched onto her skin. Even after the scabs fell off, they would never disappear.
That was the prelude to her atonement, the price she paid for her infatuation with her children.
Li Xiangyan grasped the hideous hand and examined it closely. "I'll have someone bring you medicine. Apply it well, and don't let me see this."
"Do you think that if I add a few scars, I'll be downcast in your heart? These scars are a reward for my suffering, and I have to keep them."
"A reward? You're just constantly reminding me that I'm your defeated foe, and that I'll always be indebted to you. Have you ever considered..."
He fell silent halfway through his sentence. He thought to himself with a wry smile, "Why did I have to take this so seriously?"
She was young and full of vitality, and there was an inexhaustible force of resistance within her body;
Her heart was decadent yet bold, constantly shifting between the flavors of love and hate between red and black;
She was a woman of faith, and she devoted her life to her beliefs with unwavering loyalty.
Just as she was about to say something, she saw his lowered gaze and her heart trembled.
He was clearly aware of everything she had done from the very beginning, yet he repeatedly pretended to be deaf and dumb, letting her continue on her own.
Qiu, be lenient when you can.
He finished speaking calmly and walked out.
She watched his shadow, grasped the scarred skin with her other hand, and silently closed her eyes. After a long while, a few cold tears fell from the corner of her eye.
Love, love, love.
The sky, already beginning to glow with a bluish halo, cast a cold light upon everything. The white curtains swayed in the wind, appearing hazy and indistinct, like a ghostly figure, standing empty and hollow under the pale moonlight.
And love, isn't it also a kind of tragic experience?
From swords drawn to a long retreat. At the heart of love is a vast, dark net that captures all love, hate, anger, and infatuation, leaving only two wounded, empty bodies. So they look after each other, and through the other's shattered form, they see the transparent soul about to melt into their very bones.
On this soul, the word "love" is softly engraved.
Love is when the soul has endured a slow and agonizing ordeal, until only the simplest little bit remains.
That's absolutely true.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
