Chapter 1

  I was fumbling with a box of matches on a small plain south of the Yangtze River, but due to my weakness, I ended up using too much force and broke the matchstick. As a result, not only did I break the matchstick, but also scattered the entire box of matches all over the ground. I had no choice but to pick them up from the ground again.

  I - Meng Fanle, 24 years old, a member of a so-called new division in the National Army, deputy captain.

  I weakly yet forcefully struck the match, and this time I let the entire empty matchbox fly out of my hand. So I quickly picked up the matchbox on the ground at a speed as if I was racing against death.

  "Damn it! Can't even light a match!"

  I recalled the official power that had repeatedly offended me. I held a match in one hand and a matchbox in the other, glaring angrily at the person who spoke - Erpiao Fourth Class Ma Lu, a rustic from Hebei countryside, with a furious gaze, holding his Han Yang-made pistol upside down, which was almost falling apart at the waist. Now I don't want to say whom he wanted to shoot.

  "I am your company commander!" I maintained my official dignity as I fell to the ground with a matchstick.

  This protest is a bit off-topic and was immediately refuted, "What about the vice one? The real one is on fire!"

  I am a cultured person, I find this debate rather dull, so I decided to focus on striking matches. I often think others are boring, but I myself am even more boring - and I started competing with the matchsticks again.

  The little donkey shouted at me again before leaving: "Can't you even borrow a light from Lianzhang? - Ah, damn it!"

  Behind that sentence is what he shouted at the object to be smashed, very Beijing opera tone. After shouting, Ma Lu's son swung his Han Yang-made pistol and rushed over, now I can say what he wants to smash, haha - a Japanese Type 97 medium tank, turning around, spinning in place, roaring, turret rotating, coaxial machine gun with main cannon rumbling, like a giant beetle rushing into an anthill. As they said it was a beast fighting back, not to mention playing, because the Chinese soldiers attached to its body like ants were really incompetent, using shovels to chop, using pickaxes to pry, using hand grenades to knock on the hatch thinking it would open, shooting at armor and exploding themselves, jumping up and down and cursing. I knelt outside this chaotic mess, with the company commander burning beside me. Except for the living, the entire company was resisting sloppily, so the position that had been turned into scorched earth by the Japanese artillery was burning. I knelt between the sea of flames and the tank, with a clay-made incendiary bottle placed beside me. I held matches and matchbox, seemingly wanting to strike a match, but actually just three simple words: scared stupid.

  The donkey successfully made a loud noise on the armored vehicle with the gun butt, at the cost of the gun butt flying somewhere. He was a persistent person and found a gap in the front of the car, so he crouched down to take a look, looking like he was peeking through the door crack.

  That was a machine gun firing from the direction finder. In the sudden roar he flew out quietly and lightly.

  This really made me stunned, but I have this kind of quality - even when I'm being hanged, I don't forget to strike others. I shouted loudly to see him off, "Idiot! For the last time!"

  But I still remembered the donkey's hint, I looked at the matchbox in my hand and threw it away, I looked at the matches in my hand and threw them away too. I grabbed the lighter and crawled towards the one that was burning most fiercely closest to me - actually it had already become a ball of flames. Good grief, why did I want to compete with a dampened matchbox?

  "Comrade platoon leader, lend me some fire."

  I hadn't expressed my opinion for a long time, I borrowed fire, and when I borrowed the fire, my stomach made a rumbling noise, I sniffed my nose, and I felt guilty because of the physiological reaction caused by the aroma. At this moment, I heard the sound of machine guns firing from behind me, accompanied by the roar of the main cannon, which was different from the Japanese tank's burst of fire earlier. I turned around with a lit Molotov cocktail in my hand.

  There were no humans attached to the tank anymore, it made a small radius turn in the midst of the corpses, and the main cannon turret that had just fired turned towards me. A half-length rifle handle fell from mid-air, knocking away my daze. Type 38 bullets came shooting from the side rear, I took a look, and that Japanese squad which was easily separated from us by the tank had formed a skirmish line, slowly approaching this way.

  I drew myself up, raised the Molotov cocktail, and began to charge; that 97 tank, now right in front of me, looked enormous, its cannon staring at me like a poisonous eye. The Type 38 rifle went off again, it was a burst shot, the Molotov cocktail fell from my hand, I fell down.

  The tank ambled off at a pace like a man taking a stroll, the Japanese squad still dragging their skirmish line but also strolling along with it; one of them passed close to me and jabbed his bayonet into my thigh, twisting it.

  I'm dead, I won't move.

  They left and disappeared on the horizon of scorched earth - since there were no longer any Chinese people standing on this barren land.

  The entire position was ablaze, with white phosphorus and gasoline burning, weapons and ammunition burning, corpses burning, even the earth and craters were burning. And when I opened my eyes, all I saw was the Molotov cocktail burning beside me. It had shattered, its flammable liquid flowing across the ground, passing by me, igniting one by one the matches that I hadn't managed to light.

  I stared blankly at those small fires that burst into flames one after another in the sea of fire, they never belonged to me, and never had.

  It's always like this. A group of rough people who look down on you, and whom you also look down on, repeatedly dash your hopes, until they and your hopes become nothing but fleeting illusions. After experiencing four years of defeat and several thousand kilometers of retreat, my regiment was finally annihilated.

  My name is Meng Fanle, and my father was probably very troubled, so he used my name to vent his troubles. Troubles that couldn't be relieved, instead dragged me into having a lot of worries since I was young, and many thoughts on my mind. And just like those rough men who died earlier, they would always shout "Fanle, Fanle", some were illiterate, some were just lazy.

  Now they're all dead, and I think it's good that I've finally gotten rid of this annoying name.

  More than a month later, I was walking in a small town called Zhandai on the border of Yunnan Province when I suddenly heard a Shanxi peddler yelling behind me: "Bothered to death! Bothered to death!"

  I froze, unable to shake off the damned nickname "annoying" and was shocked and disappointed. To show my protest, I slowly turned around, although I knew who was calling me. Now I give people a false impression of being dull and stupid. Never speaking out and suppressing enthusiasm are the pitfalls that have led to my miserable life, but in fact, I am one of the few people in this era who react extremely quickly, even too quickly.

  I stand at the entrance of the alley, which has been designated as a military zone. In reality, it's just a gathering place for defeated soldiers to avoid causing trouble in the local area. The makeshift sandbag fortifications and the few sentries behind them are mere formalities, only serving to remind us that we're still considered soldiers. I'm still wearing the same clothes I wore when I escaped, which is also my only set of clothes. They're even dirtier and more tattered now, clearly having lost some parts during the month-long escape. I'm fiddling with a box of matches in my hand, but it's not the one I left behind at the place where I escaped.

  Call my own person back and pat me on the shoulder. Shanxi guy Kang Yao's military uniform buttons have all fallen off, so he has to use one hand to cover the hem of his shirt, which is for identity rather than windproof - a soldier can just open it, but Kang Yao is an officer, he is an official.

  Kang Yao, with a somewhat clear appearance and an absolutely coarse mind, treats life as something that should be handled absent-mindedly. In this world, his pretending to be weak-minded is a form of self-protection. His biggest characteristic is that no matter when or where, he always asks anyone for anything, if not then it doesn't matter, but if he gets it then he's overjoyed. He even goes to the toilet without bringing toilet paper, and acknowledges squatting there asking people for some, he always shamelessly does this because in his heart he vaguely understands: life won't let him get away with more benefits than this.

  Kang Ya said something that we could guess even if we were asleep, "Is there anything to eat?"

  I gave him a sidelong glance, took a look, and slowly lifted Kang Ya's elbow to my mouth, opening it. Kang Ya pulled it away without hesitation, "Do you have cigarettes?"

  I started patting myself down and handed him a match under Kang Ya's expectant gaze. Kang Ya took it nonchalantly and began to pick his ears, "Any with buttons?"

  This was Kang Yao's specialty, he would keep going until you had to use something to get rid of him. I could only look at the few remaining buttons on my clothes, and Kang Yao understood this as tacit consent, so he reached out and took one away. At the same time, he found that the sentry behind the sandbag had thrown down a cigarette butt, almost half a root! He had planned to pick it up as soon as it fell to the ground, but the person who threw the cigarette was very unfriendly, and before his fingers touched it, he stomped on it with one foot.

  I don't smoke, nor do I have the urge to, so I watched. A soldier in uniform with a complete set of equipment and a defeated battalion commander with only one button on his uniform stood facing each other like statues, it was quite interesting. But soon Kang Wei found it not that interesting anymore, because the sentry pulled the bolt back, we clearly heard the sound of loading bullets, so the statues came to life, Kang Wei picked up the cigarette butt unyieldingly and cleverly turned to me, "Got a light?"

  I had a box of matches in my hand, I hesitated for a moment, and Kang immediately took it away from me. The phosphorus surface was almost worn out by me, and it was also soaked through with my sweaty hands, so it couldn't be lit at all. After striking several times in vain, Kang gave up and threw away my matches. "Your matches never light up. Do you have a needle and thread?"

  I immediately picked up the match, a bit like a cripple picking up his own crutch - although I was already a cripple and didn't have a crutch. We had long since ceased to be angry at not being understood, so I replied flatly: "Hao Veterinary Clinic is here."

  "Where is the veterinarian?"

  I glared at him and said, "Ask if there's food first."

  Kang Ya is basically immune to this blow, "Go together?"

  Anyway, this morning's patrol found nothing but a cigarette butt that no one was interested in - so let's go together.

  I turned around with Kang Yao, entering the gate of the refugee station, or rather, the entrance to this entire closed alley. The alley was very deep and desolate, filled with us, these scattered and defeated soldiers, scattered in every corner, every courtyard, under crumbling walls, even on top of them, huddled together or not. Kang Yao and I walked through them, me dragging my entire left leg, walking just like a eunuch who had just been castrated.

  A defeated army is no better than a bandit, and fleeing soldiers are nothing but thieves. Without clothes or food, we immediately fall into the vicious cycle of seeking clothes and food. After our entire army was defeated on all sides, I and many others like me drifted to this small county on the border of Yunnan. The usual practice is for local authorities to take in soldiers like us who have fled in defeat, but the usual practice also dictates that local authorities leave us to the mercy of heaven, so when we seek clothes and food, all we can do is gaze up at heaven with reverence.

  Most of the people we've been through are dull and confused, putting their wounded limbs across the entire alley, using all their anger to create a little trouble for others, and shouting in pain when they're touched - compared to them, my dead air can be considered lively. A few are huddled together, making an effort without direction in the void. Not bad is one of them.