I stand at the West city market in Chanda, scratching my dirty military uniform with a match. The stick of the match and yellow phosphorus nitrate fall from my body to the ground. I look at the counter across the street selling noodles.
Most of the desks are empty and there are very few people coming and going. The market is very gloomy now. Chanda is not a very big town. In fact, only half a month after the first batch of routed soldiers burst in, Chanda was cleaned out by us. After eating out of food and also eating out of enthusiasm, Chanda had to ignore everything, and we became the sore of Chanda.
I look at the desk, where there is only a bundle of noodles on top, and I look at that bundle of noodles. Since the death of the entire company but I survived alone, I have been constantly telling myself, Meng Fanliao, you are a smart person, you can survive, you can always use your brain to survive. You need to be realistic, reality means no longer in delusion.
I can survive. I drag over and carry out my early planned action. I am so confident that people think I am going to collect their tax, but in fact, what I do is to grab the bundle of noodles and turn around. It seems that I had just dropped some local hard currency Bankai on the chopping board.
This blatant robbery stuns the vendor. Few seconds later, the vendor suddenly exclaims, "Robbing!"
Do I care about him? I don't even quicken my pace. Dragging along on the bluestone road of Chanda, I can't walk quickly even if I have to accelerate.
"Soldiers are robbing again!" They are shouting behind me, and soon the noise reaches me, pushing me to the street wall.
"In broad daylight!" "Beat this motherfucker!", the noise is loud in front of me. "What kind of soldier you are? Why not be a Japanese soldier!" Their fists swing with their accusation.
I stabilize my body and raise my head against their fists. My pants are not sturdy enough, so when I stand steady, they land directly on my ankle, accompanied by the screams of several women who are watching.
"I am an officer! A Lieutenant!A deputy company commander! A deputy company commander who lost all his soldiers in the battles with Japs!"
This is effective, their fists down, and the person who catches me is immediately stunned by me.
I begin to eloquently and passionately carry out my plan, "You are besieging an officer! Not only an officer! But a patriotic officer! Not only a patriotic officer, but a patriotic officer at war! Not only a patriotic officer at war, but a patriotic officer who fights against Japs at war! Not only a patriotic officer who fights against Japs at war, but a patriotic officer who fights against Japs and is seriously injured at war!
They look at me dumbfounded, they are very easy to coax, even easier than Bean. I notice that one of the women who is undoubtedly still a girl is very beautiful, cleanly beautiful. I look away from her — what does it matter with me?
Silence. But I can't be silent. I cannot be silent when I need to shout. Meng Faniao, you have to live..
"My company! Took the lead! One after another! Wiped out the entire Japanese squad! I threw a Molotov cocktail on a Japs tank with my own hands! Watched it explode!"
Although the fact is that I perfectly dropped my Molotov cocktail and played dead under the tank. But my audience is impressed. I am facing with pairs of simple and admiring eyes.
"Do you know what a tank is? Steel made! Broadswords break apart once hitting it, bullets bounce back once hitting it! It as tall as this house! I squeezed the throat of the squad leader of the Japs, smashed his head open with a hand grenade! Japs stabbed me from my back with a bayonet! Look at this wound! — I can't make it! I just want to be full before I die!"
I trapped the Japanese officer's neck in the bend of my elbow and hit his head with a German long handled grenade. A timid Japanese soldier stabbed me with a bayonet from behind — it is imagination, of course, imagination that I will mock myself. In this imagination, the scene has no background. Its background is as blank as the white interlining of a photo shop, and both I and the Japs look like makeup. But my audience is no longer just admiring, but in awe, and they begin to make a buzzing sound.
I am very clear that this battle should end as soon as possible and no reaction time should be given. I quickly put on my pants and walk away along the bluestone road while the crowd is speechless — of course, I am carrying the bundle of noodles.
The bundle of noodles is gently and resolutely snatched from my armpit by the vendor, and a strange expression of surprise and disappointment appears on my face. The vendor also has the same strange expression, "Sorry bro. My families are waiting for the dinner."
I don't turn back. I leave empty, with an expression of shock and disappointment, which gradually turns into a bitter smile. Chanda is also experiencing a famine, and life is becoming increasingly difficult. It is easy to move people, but it is difficult to find food.
The onlookers disperse with shame. What does that matter to me? I can't eat their shame and use their guilt as medicine to apply it to my leg.
I walk along the alley of Chanda, and I walk along the alley because the road is narrow and I can hold the wall. The same trick cannot be played twice in the same place. I have to transfer from the Western city market to the Eastern city market.
There is a gunshot in the distance, but what its matter to me?
I drag my leg, it is getting heavier and heavier. Previously, out of pride, I tried to walk less lame, but now it's so lame — I can't hold on anymore.
The people of Chanda in front of me run to report to these people behind me, "Soldiers have robbed the county government!" The quick talking guy tries not to look at me. The thing must have been done by Bula's people, but what is it about me? I grasp for breath, my eyes turn black, and the ground is getting closer to me — this is called a fall.
I faint thoroughly.