I'd rather die speaking out than live in silence.
"I will strive to continue this face-to-face confrontation with myself to the very end, to let him see every face of mine in this life, even if it comes at the unbearable cost of loneliness. Do not back down; this saying says it all. Do not compromise, do not betray."
—Albert Camus
What you see is a room full of darkness.
Several taut bodies were trapped inside, with a dim yellow lamp burning quietly in the center.
The old wooden table was piled high with newspapers, lists, and some vague, trivial plans.
"Comrades, this is the first mission we received in Minkou."
I hope everyone has already come to this realization.
Once this is said, you will see pairs of eyes, slightly upturned, wearing framed glasses, with smooth and full eyeballs.
Everything was sparkling and luminous.
"Xiao Yao, it seems your relationship with Mu Chun will be delayed for a while."
Yao Yimei smiled faintly and said, "Only when the national crisis is resolved will we truly find happiness. Everything we are doing now is premature, and this is not what we want to see."
The crowd grew more serious upon hearing this, and then Rao Ming asked, "Xi Ci, how are your preparations going?"
The youngest person in the group was a girl from a girls' school, around seventeen years old, with two faint blushes that never seemed to dissipate on her face.
"It's almost there, but Li Xiangyan is too suspicious and it's not easy to get close to him. Going to find him rashly will only make it easier to be exposed."
"There will be a cocktail party in two weeks, in late spring. It will be easier to make a move then."
Everything will eventually settle down. Everyone looks at each other, as the lamplight gradually deepens, as if they are sitting on a ship at sea, their bodies and hearts swaying with the ship.
Knowing that a storm was brewing here, I willingly waited calmly on the narrow deck without an umbrella.
When Yuan Siyuan returned to Muchun from that dim room, it started to rain outside, the fine rain falling like soft fingertips on her skin.
He walked to the front desk as usual and asked, "Has any mail arrived for me?"
Two weeks passed without him receiving a reply, and he began to worry.
Perhaps Nalan Kangjiao was surrounded by Japanese forces so tightly that not even a single letter could be sent out. Or perhaps she couldn't find anyone to read to, and thus never saw what he wrote.
He sat down at the table, slowly smoothed out a roll of paper, and began to write.
He hesitated repeatedly when it came to signing his name, but finally made up his mind, wrote it down quickly, and put the pen cap back on.
"Second Madam, your letter."
A year has passed since the Yuan family divided their property. The weather has really turned cold. Her room is warm by the stove. She is sitting on the phone with a wool quilted blanket covering her knees.
"Mrs. Yang, please be on time tonight. You made us wait for a whole hour yesterday."
Seeing Konoha enter holding a letter, he waved slightly and continued speaking into the receiver with a smile.
"That's settled then, we'll meet here again today."
Her house was located on the hillside in the west of the city, with a huge garden, exquisitely decorated in the latest Western styles. Huai Xiankun was now doing very well in Lankang, and he preferred to hold his parties here rather than in restaurants.
This small piece of land is often filled with extravagance and decadence, where laughter and chatter outweigh the whispers of the wind.
Whether it's clinking glasses or scheming and plotting, they all come together, seemingly oblivious to even thunder.
After reading the letter, Yi Ling smiled, looked up at Mu Ye, and said, "He actually wrote to ask me about the truth, but he doesn't know that she doesn't care. Will she appreciate my kindness?"
"The Third Madam has never accepted any of the things you sent her."
After saying this, he realized his mistake and quickly covered his mouth, keeping his head down and not daring to look at Yiling's face.
She merely glanced at it and chuckled, "You're quick to speak your mind."
"Since you think my things are unclean, then I'd better not bother with such a foolish thing. I'll just burn the letter."
As Konoha reached the door, he suddenly said, "Wait a moment."
Outside the window, a storm is brewing.
She took the letter, went upstairs, sat in front of the mirror, and carefully examined her face. Each faint line was an endless, winding beginning; youth is the most fragile time, and the color on her face would eventually fade away.
She held a comb in her hand and combed her hair, the rouge on her lips deepening.
She used to love lake-blue clothes the most, and today she wore them again. But after only a year apart, they looked ridiculous on her, so she changed into a jade-purple Western-style dress.
I long to buy osmanthus blossoms and share wine, but it will never be like the carefree days of my youth.
He received a reply a week later, written in simple handwriting: "Your wife is doing well, Third Master, you can rest assured."
After a week of continuous rain, he walked into a tailor shop with an umbrella.
The shop assistant stepped forward to greet him, saying, "Sir, would you like to have your clothes made?"
"I've come to pick up what's ready."
"What is your surname?"
"The surname is Yuan."
The waiter took out a bag from inside and handed it to him. He reached out to take it, and a square piece of paper in his palm slid gently into the waiter's sleeve.
Thank you.
He opened his umbrella and went outside, his steps uneven, the tiny water droplets clinging to the hem of his clothes, and soon it was all dark.
The oppressive feeling of being closely watched returned, but he continued walking, his heart at peace.
For a revolution to begin, countless sacrifices are required. All forces are constantly suppressing each other, for balance is fragile.
At a certain point, conflict reaches a breaking point, and the old world takes on a new look. Will you remain a silent observer, a self-defeating traitor, or a rebel burning with blood in the darkness?
He tried to walk at a leisurely pace, and as he turned a corner, the rain lessened.
Passing through quiet alleyways in the heavy rain, we turned into a bustling Japanese-occupied dance hall.
He pulled his hat brim down low, his heart pounding.
Everything can slumber in the rain, but some desires can be reborn in the rain.
Standing at the window and looking down, the land below, fertile and powerful, is trampled under the greedy feet of strangers.
He entered the dimly lit room, where the light was still faint. Yet, the gazes between the people were resolute. Even utter darkness could not change their will.
What kind of people are they?
They clenched their fists in the damp air, the blood gushing from their chests filling their faith.
I would rather die speaking out than live in silence.
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