land
Having tasted the torment of exhaustion, I came to understand the subtle metaphor of fate for hope.
Through countless self-reflections and insights, and behind countless witnesses and observations, the heart that once surged with first love steps forward, treading on this land where the sun is about to rise, to see where this struggle will lead.
Amidst the endless cycle of love, hate, anger, and infatuation, amidst the ebb and flow of maritime trade, amidst the elite circles of society, the story unfolds like a rich, creamy solid in a perfume box, thick with fragrance. The intense, numbing sweetness is like a puppet show reenacting Don Juan. The protracted contradictions and the arduous journey of the heart far exceed imagination. Literature or war, love or ambition, progress or betrayal—none of it matters anymore. As long as we set our bare feet on this land, we will once again be filled with tears.
The land is the vast source of all maternal love. When expression becomes so abundant that words fail, the land takes over. Endless desires and imaginations, the somber faces of disaster victims and the sorrowful fall of cities, cries for help and forbearance, decay and resistance. Conflicting beliefs imbue the land with color, perfecting it, enriching it, reshaping it, tirelessly repeating this process.
Standing on the gray-brown street was a girl in a cotton-linen dress, who looked no more than eight or nine years old. She stared unblinkingly at the orange-yellow dance hall across the street. Her eyes held the worldliness and doubt of an adult, as well as the innocent cruelty unique to a child. She clutched a thick stack of promotional flyers in her hand, and her hoarse throat hissed as she hawked her wares. Her chapped lips were stinging from the wind.
She stood there, yearning for or loathing the lonely yet joyful, decadent shouts that drifted inch by inch from that orange-hued hall.
Through her grape-purple velvet-trimmed gloves, Qiu Xici linked arms with the person beside her.
She smiled slightly at the person in front of her, the gaudy scent of cosmetics making her head feel a little dizzy. She took out a cigarette case studded with small, milky-white square diamonds from her tasseled, hookah-green handbag, lit one, and held it between her fingers. The smell of nicotine brought her back to her senses, and her pale face revealed a dramatic blush of purplish-pink.
Rain drifted in through the window, while Bach's symphony tirelessly echoed from every corner of the hall, bouncing and returning. A Japanese woman, her face, a bluish-white beneath her high-piled hair, was smeared with shimmering pink rouge. As she laughed and talked, stray specks of white powder fell from her face, landing on the suits of the men beside her. This made the men look like clowns in tuxedos—gentlemen, yet comical; who would have thought that beneath the buttons of their ties lay a perfectly round, fiery red, spherical nose?
Ishio walked over from the distance of the ballroom. "Commander Li, Miss Qiu."
Lee Sang-yeon just smiled at him and nodded slightly.
"Miss Qiu, you are exceptionally radiant tonight. One could say, 'A single glance from you can captivate a hundred hearts.'"
Xici lightly flicked his cigarette ash and laughed, "I've heard that Mr. Ishio has read widely, and indeed his language is extraordinary."
"You flatter me,"
"Then I won't bother you two any longer. Commander Li, don't forget our agreement." He added this last sentence, and as he passed by Li Xiangyan, he even patted him lightly on the shoulder before walking away with a smile.
Li Xiangyan's face quickly darkened. He threw the cigarette butt in his hand on the ground and stomped it out hard with his leather shoe.
Xici looked at his face, then slowly drifted her gaze away, landing on Shiwei, who had already walked far away.
It seems that the final act of this evil has begun. The cunning enemy, like a fish swimming in a bottomless lake, is intent on making them both sink deeper and deeper.
Sometimes, Xici wanted to believe that Li Xiangyan was a person of flesh and blood; she knew how much he hated the Japanese. But she simply didn't understand him. Even such hatred couldn't make him turn against the Japanese. But if there was one exception—for example, if he were an enemy—then she would kill him.
It has a sweet, slightly pungent, powdery scent, a dry, mild, and calming aroma that blends cologne and cigar.
The darkest and most savage corner of her personality, and the princess lines fluttering gracefully on the dress of the radiant woman, have both stepped out of the frozen, meager dream and become real, menacing gun muzzles pressed against the chest of the person in front of her.
So----
So, before unleashing the carnage, let us offer a deep prayer to the land.
Regardless of the content of the prayer, the bloody storm will transform into the muddy rain before the end times in an absurd form, deeply staining the land.
The silk gauze swayed gently against her chest, and the exposed skin beneath the satin gleamed with an inscrutable sheen, like fish meat under a knife, like a wild horse, carrying a primal, pungent smell.
Xici calmly slid her arm out and said, "I'm going to touch up my makeup."
Lee Sang-yeon remained silent, lost in his own gloom, and simply walked away.
The bathroom was empty and silent. She quietly closed the door and stopped beside the sink. Looking at herself in the mirror, she took a long, dark purple strip of rouge from the tassel pouch hanging from her arm and applied it to her lips. Then, she bent slightly and tossed it under the sink, before kicking it with the tip of her shoe into the drain. Looking at herself from the outside, and finding it completely obscured, she straightened up and tidied her hair.
As they walked out, they came face to face with a beautiful figure. She smiled slightly, and the people around her, understanding the unspoken message, smiled back.
When they returned to the dance hall, Li Xiangyan was nowhere to be seen. He must have been unable to restrain himself any longer, judging from his grim expression earlier.
However, this also had its advantages for her; at least he would be in complete chaos first, leaving him no time to care about her. Thinking this to herself, her eyes suddenly dimmed. There couldn't be another Yuan Siyuan; this absurd farce had to end sooner or later.
She had once harbored the illusion that she had feelings for Lee Sang-yeon, but looking back now, a lingering fear remained in her heart. No matter how good he was to her, no matter how much he hated the Japanese, he and she were ultimately different. She understood this and shook her head with a self-deprecating smile.
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When Yun Muchun returned to the hotel with the lipstick containing the secret message, it was already completely dark.
She was dressed in extravagant clothes, her entire outfit clearly designed to blend into the dance hall. Her black sideburns were carefully styled and held up at the back of her head with a long, brass-colored, duckbill-shaped clip. The clip was adorned with a piece of milky-white rhinestone, which made her hair appear even blacker. At first glance, she was an extremely striking woman.
She walked slowly to the elevator and pressed the button.
The Muchun Hotel had already been targeted by the Japanese. They had considered relocating, but after careful consideration, they decided to stay. Perhaps the entire Minkou area had already been occupied by the Japanese, so no matter where they fled, there was no safe haven. Since escape was impossible, they might as well fight to the death.
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