Chapter 8

  The copper basin has quieted down, and those weirdos are sweeping the battlefield with a vengeance. We gather in the middle of the street, filled with emotions that can't be put into words: dismay, contempt, shock, admiration, doubt, anger... They don't even spare a single bullet. The guy who set off firecrackers is carrying four 38 guns, six bullet belts and a hand grenade, looking like a camel, and still has to walk past us, heading towards another corpse. The big monk with the flamethrower is studying Japanese machine guns. The ones with the recurve bows are stripping the corpses of their shoes. They're all very tattered, and just by looks alone, they're not much different from those people we met on the road.

  He coughed a few times to get the other's attention, but actually he didn't need to, for the other had been paying close attention to us all along, just like two strangers locked in a room who would inevitably notice each other.

  "Hey, I say," Deadwood swiftly found their leader from the gaze of that group of people, who was the guy holding a recurve bow, "Why did you cut off our rope for crossing the river?"

  Na Wo Bow started scratching his face and head, I guess he's probably about the same age as me, but when he scratches his head, it makes people think he's fifteen or sixteen.

  "Don't play dumb." Deadwood said, "You've been following us all the way here? In the woods we were chasing you guys, right? You're also the ones who took the dead man's gun. Don't say it wasn't you who cut the rope."

  Although Na Wo is young, he doesn't lack a sense of responsibility. "It's our fault," he said. "We've been following you all along, but we couldn't figure it out. We didn't know that the National Army brothers were dressed like this now. Sorry, our mistake." He bowed deeply.

  We looked at each other's clothes, and were all bewildered. Perhaps he really didn't know what the National Army wore nowadays, but we were wearing a mishmash of American, British, German, and civilian clothes.

  He's dead, he's dead, coughing dryly. He seems to be choking on his phlegm today, "This cut is not mistaken, the National Army doesn't wear this kind of uniform now... huh, what?"

  I was so angry I wanted to kick him, because I had just poked him and now he was making my little move public. Luckily, Nuo Wa was bending down to tie Shu Ke's shoelaces. He wrapped the laces around his ankle before tying them up, which was a good thing, since long laces can easily get caught in the woods.

  I whispered to Dead Dead, "The color is wrong."

  "What color?"

  "Red."

  He was so obtuse in this regard that he looked at the group of armed rascals with a mixture of emotions that I found hard to describe.

  "I had to whisper again, 'Don't get too close, Dahong.'"

  Yes, the little bookworms only have a red tendency, but the ones in front of us are truly armed with red. The big red that Commander Yu avoids like the plague. In private chats, we've mentioned those crazy people who are isolated from the world in the occupied areas and never retreat. Now it seems that at least in this part where they are ten times more miserable than us, they are closer to reality.

  He died, he died like a saw-mouthed calabash, and we all looked at the little headmaster tying shoelaces for Bookworm, who was also smiling and letting him tie. After the little headmaster finished tying, he kicked Bookworm violently, "You should learn yourself. When I'm cut alive by the Japanese devils, don't expect anyone to teach you again."

  I don't know why, but this ordinary little action makes us want to split our heads open. We really can't bear to look at their tattered clothes and scarred bodies anymore; they should be begging on the streets of Zen Da instead of fighting in the copper basin.

  Xiao Toumu found Deadla Deadla again, "You have a way back. We also have a road, which is the same place. But you haven't found it yet." He was very happy and proud, in comparison, Deadla's reaction was very stiff, he only said a word "good". The precarious Cannon Ash Gang couldn't let him be wilful, and I was still poking at him.

  "Hurry up and let's go," I urged everyone, "Withdraw, withdraw. It's probably an air raid warning in Tokyo too."

  It just so happens that I met a rather stubborn fellow, and the little leader said: "You can't hear Tokyo."

  The monk added: "Amitabha, but they have a battalion stationed at Ciliang Temple, only nine and a half miles of mountain road from Tongbo."

  I had no choice but to roll my eyes at the monk.

  Xiao Toumu said: "Shihang Master, his way is the most familiar." Then he suddenly realized with surprise and delight, "Ah, comrade, Tokyo was just a joke, it turns out that the National Army brothers are also so humorous."

  I had to pretend I didn't hear, and the monk also turned around with a smile. I threw away that 38 gun, it's too heavy to carry on long journeys, and those who set off firecrackers immediately picked it up - I had to pretend not to see again. I really don't know how to deal with them, my colleagues seem to be at a loss as well. We silently followed behind the dead guy's butt, compared to that group of happy guys, we looked like the dead ones.

  Siya stopped in front of the little bookworm, who was busy tying his shoelaces in a new way he had just learned. Siya rummaged through his body and pulled out an oiled paper package, throwing it beside him, "Really came over? Still like to argue with others? ... No one beats you here?"

  He raised his head, gave a twisted smile, still hurting from the last beating, "No more arguing, there's a ton of things to do, too busy, dead busy, where's the time to argue?"

  He let out a soft "oh" and looked even more bewildered, with a hint of aging. He walked past Bookworm's side, back to the courtyard where my father lived, without even turning his head when Bookworm let out a surprised cry after opening the oil-paper package.

  I stole a glance at it, and that was the forbidden book we picked up by the river, which had almost become our landmark, and Dead Dead had been carrying it all the way here.

  Die die die, in a very efficient way, tidying us up, tightening this strap and securing that rope. I was refilling the cartridge from my backpack when someone patted me lightly on the shoulder. I turned around to see my father, who didn't look so spirited anymore, even a bit dejected. "Bring your book," he said.

  I glared at him, he said: "Take my book." I ignored him and continued to fill up my magazine. He muttered again behind me, "Take my book!" I still ignored him. Then he bellowed to everyone: "Take my book!"

  Everyone's movements were halted by his shout, and for a moment it was very quiet, so quiet that we heard the sound of something crashing to the ground from the next room.

  He went to take a look, came back and nodded at us. "That woman," he said, drawing his hand across his neck. "Throat cut." We didn't say anything, what could we say? You can't very well bring along a woman with a crippled lower body. That woman, she had been living in high dudgeon all her life, and good for her, she was luckier than most of the Chinese who died in this war, to see revenge while still alive. We were subdued for a moment, then continued to gather our things.

  My father was slightly reserved, but still muttered behind me: "Book, take the book with you." I turned my head back and shouted at my father's frightened and shocked face: "----Damn your book!"

  Hao Shouyi and the others dragged me backwards with all their might. In my furious state, I saw a strange expression on their faces, and after a few seconds, I realized why they were making such a commotion - I had pressed the muzzle of the loaded submachine gun against my father's chest.

  Hao the veterinarian dragged my father away, actually he didn't need to drag him, my father didn't resist at all. Hao made him sit on a chair, his face was expressionless, but that kind of expressionlessness pained me. I was trembling. The Mourning Star dropped my gun and I was still trembling, I don't know if it was fear or anger. I felt like I was being stared at by a pair of eyes, I glanced to the side and saw my mother standing by the side door staring at me, she was also trembling.

  "Die, die, take my gun and check it out. It's fully loaded with bullets at any time in case of a sudden battle." Then he walked up to me. "This is not called carrying," he whispered in my ear, "even if you blow yourself up, it's not called carrying."

  I stood there stunned for a moment, then started rubbing my face and slapped myself several times. Others were watching but didn't stop me.

  "I know you hate yourself, we all do." The dead guy turned my head around to face the armed thugs in the yard who were staring at us for no reason, "But don't look at your dad, look at them, it's just a matter of which way their necks are twisted."

  I looked at those people, tattered, worn out, weak and on the verge of collapse, carrying tatters, wearing tatters.

  He dragged me back by the scruff of my neck and asked, "Are you okay now?" I whispered, "I'm okay." He handed the gun back to me.

  "My father said again, 'Bring my books.' I turned around and went to help Dr. Hao pack his bags, telling everyone not to bother with his books. Dead or alive, it's useless to care about these books, even a turtle can catch up with us carrying them. My father stood up, he is very calm now - this calmness is used to torment my mother and me. He said to my mother, 'You go with that scoundrel, I'm not going.'"

  My mother shook slightly, but as always, she didn't say anything. My father sat down, his piles of books never allowed anyone to sit on them, but he himself sat on the piles of books. I believe he wasn't being lazy but was going to die with these burdens, he had already decided that we wouldn't bring these encumbrances along.

  He patted me gently and I knew he was asking for my opinion. I said: "No way. Let's go."

  Die, die, staring at me, "You will regret it."

  "I'll regret it until I die, but let's go now."

  Between us, a young face popped out, young but with a bruised nose and swollen face, bruised and swollen but filled with righteous indignation - that damned little bookworm. He asked: "Are those all books? Are you going to throw them here?"

  I took a look and knew that something was seriously wrong. I rushed over to Xiaoshu and scolded: "What's it got to do with you?"

  "How can you do this? These are books! They're all books."

  "Get lost."

  The little bookworm was still muttering to himself: "It's all books, all books. What the Chinese have thought about, what the Chinese cannot help but think about. We can't just fight wars and then become idiots after we're done. We have to keep moving forward, carrying our books with us, thinking as we walk. If we don't think, we're finished; if we don't move forward, we're finished. How can we just abandon our books here? They'll be burned by the Japanese..."

  I gently felt for my gun, but I knew it was impossible to stop the maddening thoughts that were driving me crazy with a .45 bullet.

  My father saw hope, and with a cough and a thick throat, he helped Bookworm's tone, although he and Bookworm followed completely different logic, "They're all solitary!"

  The bookworm kid fell over and stared blankly, "A rare edition?"

  "My father emphasized again, 'It's a rare book!'"

  "You're seeing things." I said.

  The bookworm immediately found a way out for himself, "A rare book can be reprinted, after the war is over and it's reprinted, everyone will be able to see it, and it won't be a rare book anymore."

  I whispered to him in a low voice, "...... You don't understand anything. The solitary book can give that damned narrow-minded possessive pleasure to the devil..."

  "The Bookworm scratched his head, 'I don't understand.'"

  I could only mutter to myself, "The joy of a living person watching their own funeral goods."

  He's had enough of listening to our argument and says, "Take your books." Then he turns around and walks away.

  After nightfall, he killed a few more with his horseback riding skills, but we were not allowed to participate. He asked those red guys to take out their oldest weapons and fire at the approaching Japanese army. I was really surprised that the Communist Party also followed this suggestion that could clearly get them killed. Apparently, the Japanese army was also very familiar with the outdated equipment of these rebels, chasing after them without any restraint.

  Hao the veterinarian was taking care of my parents, feeding them some kind of tonic. This long journey had taken half their lives away from my homebound parents. I watched anxiously as they approached, until the sound of gunfire and explosions hit my helmet. I turned around to see that the commotion from the woods was getting closer and closer, and I could even see the Japanese soldiers' flashlights shining brightly and flames rising up. Xiao Toumu, Shi Hang, and Shu Chongzi had already appeared in our line of sight.

  As they leaped into our semicircular ambush, we threw them the weapons we had picked up from the Japanese corpses. I clearly saw Shi Hang's relieved expression when he saw us - we didn't trust each other unconditionally after all.

  We always waited until the Japanese troops were right in front of us before opening fire. From rifles to submachine guns, firepower increased by an order of magnitude overnight, and that small batch of Japanese daredevils was wiped out in our field of fire - dead, dead, and scratching their own itch again.