This year is 1784, and I am finally graduating from the Brienne Military Academy.
I do not dislike it here, but the outside world is infinitely vast and enticing. Thanks to my own efforts and my father's indispensable intervention, the Paris Military Academy has opened its doors to me. Along with me, Napoleon, Alexander, Lyon, and Hoss are also recommended to this prestigious institution.
"You are the pride of Brienne Military Academy," my father said emotionally at the graduation ceremony, embracing the five of us.
The teachers all cast approving glances at us, except for Philip. He sat in the middle of the teacher's seat, occasionally giving Napoleon a doubtful glance. Only the math teacher, Mr. Montesquieu, seemed somewhat friendly towards Napoleon, giving her a hug and praising her as the best student he had ever taught.
I interjected, "We are also honored to have learned in the classrooms of all you outstanding teachers and the colleague of the excellent teachers, Mr. Philip."
I was pleased to see that my remark made Philip's gloomy face turn red. That was also the last time I provoked Philip.
The magnificent Paris Military Academy, directly under the French royal family, boasts top-notch instructors. Students not only can study military knowledge here but also enjoy an extremely luxurious lifestyle.
Most people would have no complaints about such a school, but Napoleon was full of grievances. One day during lunch, there was a thick, juicy steak on Napoleon's plate, tantalizingly soaked in blood and sauce. However, she didn't touch it but instead sat beside it, writing fervently.
"What are you writing?" I asked curiously.
"A letter of complaint," Napoleon replied.
"What kind of complaint?"
"Marcus, how do you think the life here compares to Brienne Military Academy?" Napoleon asked, still holding a quill pen, with a small patch of ink staining her fair, delicate hand.
"It's pretty good!" I said. "Much better than Brienne Military Academy."
"But soldiers shouldn't live such a pampered life," Napoleon asserted sternly. "I'm going to write a letter to the principal to improve the school's educational methods and demand strict discipline for the students."
"Only someone in the position of an instructor would say such things, right? Am I mistaken?" I pondered to myself.
As time went on, my relationship with Napoleon became closer. Sometimes, I would forget that she was a great figure with a significant presence in history textbooks and simply see her as a friend. But she would always say something a bit melodramatic or do something extraordinary, which would suddenly remind me that we were two very different people.
"Napoleon, I think this kind of life isn't so bad," I said. "After all, soldiers are not ascetics."
"A tough life can make a person strong, Marcus," Napoleon said as she put down her pen and began to use a tissue to wipe off the ink on her hands. "And only strong people have the courage to face life's setbacks."
Knowing that arguing further would be futile, I decided to change tactics and pretended to be moved. "Well said, Napoleon. You're right. Let me also contribute my humble efforts to this noble cause. I'll take your complaint letter to the principal's office now. You go ahead and eat."
Napoleon smiled and nodded, handing me the parchment paper that was still wet with ink. I folded it neatly and put it in my pocket, then made my way to the principal's office. After turning a corner, I took out the paper and strolled leisurely to the second-floor platform.
The complaint letter was quite lengthy. It criticized the luxurious and pampered lifestyle at the academy, stating that it was not conducive for students to return to simple households or adapt to the harsh life in the military in the future; it suggested abolishing servants and grooms; it proposed mandatory tasks for students to handle personal chores; it recommended that students eat the coarse bread prepared for soldiers; it advocated abstinence from alcohol and moderate drinking to build robust physical health that could withstand the rigors of all seasons and the fatigue of war...
"All very reasonable suggestions," I sighed inwardly, finding it hard to believe that they were crafted by a sixteen-year-old girl. However, if these suggestions were truly adopted by the school, I would not be pleased. So, the complaint letter turned into a black-and-white paper airplane on the second-floor platform, soaring towards the radiant sun.
"Did you give it to the principal?" Napoleon asked as soon as I returned to the dining hall.
"Mm-hmm," I replied, my gaze drifting into the distance, feeling a twinge of guilt.
"How did the principal react?"
"The principal has read it," I said, although I wasn't particularly honest in my dealings with others, the thought of having to spin a string of lies face to face made my heart race. So, I quickly lowered my head to pretend to focus on eating, "But the principal's expression... seemed somewhat uninterested! So, Napoleon, the principal probably won't adopt your suggestions." As soon as I finished speaking, my face was burning hot.
Thank goodness, at that moment, Alexander approached us. He greeted us briefly, breaking the awkward atmosphere.
Alexander sat down beside Napoleon and placed the food on the table. "Napoleon, I found a strange paper object folded in the shape of an airplane on the stairs, with your name written on it," he said, taking out the paper airplane from his pocket.
I choked on a small piece of carrot, coughing violently, almost keeling over. I had just finished a glass of red wine to wash down the food stuck in my throat. Napoleon's interrogation was imminent.
"Why did you throw away my complaint letter?" Napoleon demanded.
I was in the wrong; I should have crumpled it up and thrown it in the toilet. "I think life is fine as it is now, no need for change."
"Not striving for positive change, simply maintaining the status quo, seeking pleasures. Is that what you consider a good life?" Napoleon challenged.
I disliked peers who arrogantly lectured me. "Listen, Napoleon. Pursuing happiness, avoiding pain is human nature. And happiness in this world is already scarce enough..."
"For you, perhaps it's scarce?" she said coldly.
I was starting to feel a bit hot-headed. "The military academy is overseen by the Minister of War, and the instructors here know better than you how to train excellent soldiers. You don't need to worry about it."
"I have my own way of thinking," Napoleon retorted. "I won't just go with the flow like you, leaving everything to others."
"These suggestions are all great! Napoleon," Alexander interjected, holding the unfolded complaint letter in his hand.
"But forcing everyone to be as disciplined as her is just unreasonable, isn't it?" I exclaimed angrily.
"If one is not disciplined enough, not excellent enough, then it's impossible to achieve..." Napoleon hesitated.
"Achieve what?" I asked.
Napoleon seemed to struggle for breath, casting a gaze filled with pain towards me. Suddenly, I remembered the promise I made to her on that snowy night, to always be by her side and embark on a seemingly absurd experiment for a lifetime.
Napoleon grabbed her wine and splashed it at herself. The liquid stung my eyes, blurring my vision. I didn't see her leave, but I heard hurried footsteps. Alexander handed me a tissue, and I used it to dry my face, but my eyes still hurt.
"What's going on with Napoleon today?" Alexander asked.
"It's pretty obvious," I shook my head, flicking off the red wine from my hair, "she wanted to feed me wine, but ended up spilling it."
In the evening, I apologized to Napoleon and told her that I had not forgotten our agreement, but I found myself facing a cold and guarded wall.
What was even more disheartening was that Napoleon's complaint letter ended up in the hands of the principal, but it was met with silence. It was all in vain.
The school's double rooms were optional. I spent several days coaxing Alexander, finally persuading him to switch rooms with me. So, I smoothly moved into Napoleon's room, hoping that by spending time together day and night, we could mend the rift in our friendship. But she didn't give me a warm reception.
The next morning, while still in the midst of sweet dreams, I was suddenly awakened by a series of "bang, bang" sounds. "Is that cannon fire?" I rubbed my sleepy eyes and sat up in bed, asking.
"Are you still half asleep?" Napoleon, who had stayed up late reading the night before, showed no signs of fatigue.
As soon as she finished speaking, she jumped in place, once, twice... The so-called "cannon fire" turned out to be the sound of Napoleon's jumping in place.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"For jumping!" she said, as if bouncing up and down in the room at six in the morning was a perfectly normal thing to do.
"Why do you need to jump around?" I couldn't understand.
Napoleon stopped, "To grow taller."
I couldn't help but laugh, but it seemed to upset Napoleon.
One day, I dreamed that I was praying in a church. Suddenly, the door behind me opened, and against the backdrop of the stars, a woman emerged from the darkness and slowly walked towards me.
"Who are you?" I asked.
The visitor didn't answer, her face appeared in the shadows, and the candlelight danced in her clear black eyes. Oh, I know this girl! It was a long time ago... My father wanted me to apply to the military academy, while she wanted to study at the art academy. She found me, kissed me. "Do you want a military uniform, or me?" she whispered in my ear that night. After dawn, the National University of Defense Technology, my father's expectations... none of it mattered. I chose her and made a pact to study at the Central Academy of Fine Arts with her...
"Xiao Bing! Have you forgotten me?" she asked.
"No, I haven't forgotten. I want you. I love you."
The dimly lit church echoed with my repeated declarations of love...
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she turned and walked away. I called out to her, but she ignored me, the hem of her white dress making a faint rustling sound as she moved further and further away. I chased after her, but the church doors slowly closed, blocking her blurry figure from view and separating us.
I longed to go home, to continue living as Li Bing. I really wanted to, so much...
The most boring part of military school life is the drills in the stone courtyard. To me, not only is it extremely dull, but it is also utterly meaningless. As Su Vorov once said, "The most immaculately dressed army on the parade ground is the one least prepared for war." I wholeheartedly agree with this sentiment. An army should be a force to be feared by enemies, not a circus troupe focused on performance. Napoleon always made a fool of herself during drills, often performing movements that were at odds with the instructor's commands.
"What I said was 'put the gun down,' not 'present arms.' You Corsican idiot, even training ducks to march in formation would be easier than training you." The instructor roared at Napoleon.
But such reprimands had no effect on her.
After the day's drill ended, the instructor commanded me, "Marcus, tame this dangerous islander."
I was beginning to feel fed up with Napoleon and this world. I dreamed of my family from the past world again last night, and woke up with tears in my eyes. "I'd rather train ducks to march in step, sir."
In a fit of rage from the unjust words, the instructor forcefully shoved me with the rifle butt, causing me to stagger back a few steps.
If this is a dream, let it end! If I can never return to the old world again, then let this life come to an end! I still want to study at the Central Academy of Fine Arts with her...
Amidst the commotion, I raised the breech-loading rifle to my shoulder, aimed at the instructor, and pulled the trigger. The gunpowder exploded, and wisps of white smoke rose from the barrel.
The instructor reacted swiftly, dodging the shot and cursing vehemently. Then, he raised his own gun, its dark barrel aimed directly at me. I closed my eyes, waiting.
"Stop, put the gun down," Napoleon's voice rang out.
She clenched her lips tightly and aimed the breech-loading rifle at the instructor. The weapon's barrel glistened in the sunlight, the long bayonet gleaming coldly.
"Put the gun down, you Corsican savage," the instructor roared. "Otherwise, I swear, I will send you and this guy to prison together."
"He just accidentally fired during the drill," Napoleon said.
"Nonsense, he wanted to kill me. Put down the gun," the instructor said angrily.
"Never."
All the students turned to look at Napoleon and the instructor. The two of them glared at each other fiercely.
I slowly walked towards the gun pointed at me. The instructor noticed my approach and diverted his gaze from his confrontation with Napoleon, looking at me warily. As the muzzle of my gun was raised, I prayed it wouldn't go off.
"Sir, I'm sorry." I stopped a few steps away from the instructor. "My gun wasn't properly maintained, and it accidentally fired, almost injuring you. But I'm surprised that you are so paranoid to the extent of thinking that I intended to harm you."
The instructor lowered his gun, and I was neither sent to prison nor brought before a military court. I suppose this was largely due to my father's high position. But while the punishment of death can be avoided, the guilt of living is hard to escape. The instructor ordered me to run on the parade ground until death.
Unfortunately, as night fell, I was still clinging to life. Lyon, Alexander, and Hoss came to see me, running a short distance with me before leaving.
When I finally collapsed, exhausted, and lay down on the grass, I heard her footsteps approaching.
"What's been going on with you today?" Napoleon asked, "Lyon mentioned you've been acting strange lately, but I never thought you would try to kill the instructor just because he hit you."
"I've been having dreams lately," I replied hoarsely. "Sad, very sad dreams."
Napoleon knelt beside me. "What did you dream about?"
"Home." As I uttered the word, a wave of grief and longing surged through me. A sob escaped from my chest, followed by a second, a third... Shaking, I turned on my side, feeling the tears burning hot on my cheeks.
"I miss home too, miss Joseph, Lucien, Mother, and my sister..." Napoleon's voice whispered behind me. She didn't touch me, and for that, I felt grateful.
In the sky, a shooting star streaked across the night, leaving its mark among the stars before disappearing forever. I knew I could never go back to the old world again, never be able to study at the Central Academy of Fine Arts with her.
I broke our promise, disappointed her, but I will never disappoint Napoleon again..