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More than four hundred years ago, Shakespeare wrote, "Hell is empty, and all the devils are here among us."
For a long time, we have been adept at projecting true, pure evil onto gods, demons, and concepts that exist in a different dimension from our own. That's a very distant concept. Closer to home, on Chinese soil, in streets stained with blood, among those victims who died with their eyes wide open in disbelief, we have already seen that pure evil, a deep blue that surpasses even black.
The torrential rain washed over the graves of countless nameless souls. Brownish-blue raindrops rolled, melted, and dripped down the cold marble borders, gradually dampening the dying white bouquets entwined with delicate ribbons before the tombstones. The earthy scent of soil permeated this brownish-blue world, while a few hollow chimes drifted from a nearby church, like a death knell tolling for someone. A lingering sense of longing, carried on endless time, traversed the ever-changing landscape of the world.
Standing before the tombstone of our loved ones, what is it that we think about and ponder?
Is it merely the lingering, bitter pain of parting?
You know that person is looking at you from across the misty hell, you know that person sees your every smile and frown, your utter despair. You look back, and see only the vast earthly land, and you gain nothing.
Those who are alive do not know the taste of hell; that is inevitable. So you can only stare wide-eyed, trying to convey your longing across the boundary between life and death with a heart-wrenching, mournful cry. You do not know whether love is great, or whether those separated from you by life and death will find joy and happiness in it.
A love that is lush and verdant.
The wall, stained with dried blood, trembled as it was covered by the warm breeze.
In Ishio's eyes, there was no trace of life passing away; the crimson expanse was merely a testament to his immense achievements. Therefore, he kept his lips raised high, the thrill of slaughter filling the emptiness of unfulfilled desire, becoming solid yet soft, like that severed, slender finger. Soon, he too might die, and his corpse would belong to him. Yes, everything in this city would belong to him.
No matter how resolute Li Xiangyan was, he was powerless to reverse the situation. He felt an unparalleled joy in his heart.
Suddenly, a sharp explosion rang out. Amidst the pile of corpses, increasingly violent explosions erupted, tearing the skin and flesh of nearby Japanese soldiers. Seeing the inferno reignite, Ishio froze.
How...how could this be...this is his.
In an instant, it was as if the balance of power had shifted. His expression changed from surprise to anger, and he grabbed a man standing next to him and roared, "Shoot! Don't leave a single one alive!"
The man trembled as he said, "They...they're all strapped with explosives. If we keep fighting..."
Shiwei looked at the crowd, gritted his teeth, and took two steps back, saying, "Where is Li Xiangyan?"
"Commander Li... has disappeared."
Before he could finish speaking, the man was engulfed by the blazing sea of fire behind him.
He turned his head and saw that almost all of his men had been wiped out, and they had also blended into the muddy corpses.
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When he pushed open the heavy door of the commander's mansion again, he saw Li Xiangyan standing against the light on the stair railing, and he stopped.
"Why? I thought you had given up."
Li Xiangyan turned around and chuckled, "I can't stop you from massacring the city. You have a city full of soldiers, while I am just a helpless nobody. But you know, I will always make you pay a price."
“I am so sorry to the people of Minkou.”
You don't know, but without a moment's hesitation, they all took the explosives and strapped them to their bodies. At that moment, I felt my own despicable nature. You were right then, I was no different from you, but I was utterly helpless.”
Ishio took a few steps closer, still staring straight at him, his eyes bloodshot and gloomy. "How dare you... how dare you."
That victory was clearly within reach, yet he lost it forever. All his achievements and glory vanished like fragile foam.
He suddenly raised the gun in his hand and pointed it at Lee Sang-yeon, "It seems that the only way is to kill you."
Li Xiangyan looked at him and said calmly, "I know that Mr. Shiwei is infatuated with the top female lead of Manxianglou."
Upon hearing this, Ishio's hand trembled slightly, and he said, "Kill him."
"Kill him?" Li Xiangyan shook his head, then took a few steps toward him. "He didn't have to die, but he came to me himself, saying he was willing to strap explosives to his body. Do you know why?"
Li Xiangyan glanced at Ishio's pale face and smiled faintly, saying, "He hates you so much. He cut off his finger for you, and could no longer perform on stage, all for you. He didn't even get to see his mentor one last time. Mr. Ishio, he longed for your death."
Ishio finally began to tremble violently. He knelt on the ground, and the gun in his hand fell to the ground with a dull thud.
"He left you something, don't you want to see it?"
Li Xiangyan took a wooden box from the cabinet beside him and placed it in front of him. He slowly lifted the square lid, revealing a bloody hand inside.
It was a man's hand with only four fingers, yet it was slender and straight, and even with nail polish on it, it didn't look strange.
Ishio stared at the hand, almost unrecognizable, then laughed, before his face hardened, revealing an empty expression. After victory seemed within reach but was thwarted, after his beloved, filled with resentment, was willing to die with him, he stiffly picked up the gun that had fallen beside him. Lee Sang-yeon stood not far away, watching him, as if bearing the fate that was about to bring about his end.
Suddenly, he heard a muffled bell ringing in his mind, seemingly coming from a distant corner, yet brief and gentle like a lover's soft whisper in his ear.
Outside, thunder and rain raged, with abundant and prolonged downpours from the sky.
He stopped hesitating and pulled the trigger on his own brain. His pinkish-white brain matter and blood splattered out, splashing onto the wooden box in front of him, wetting his broken hand and the delicate nail polish, and shattering his utterly cold and brilliant dream.
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