Recently, the boxing venue’s clientele had been steadily declining.

He Feng spent all day underground, knowing nothing of the outside news. Sometimes he would inquire of those who brought meals, asking most often: “Has China won yet?”

One night.

Suddenly there was shouting and cursing outside, with several people being dragged out.

He Feng listened to the commotion outside. Footsteps approached his door, the lock was opened, and the boxing venue’s general manager, Steven, entered.

Like the other three Japanese, he was dragged to the open ground outside. A small-eyed man asked, “What’s happening?”

Steven kicked him behind the knees, cursed twice, and shouted, “Kneel down!”

They were pushed and forced to kneel. He Feng was kicked three times but refused to kneel, keeping his back straight and legs rigid as he stood firm.

Three gunshots rang out, and three Japanese collapsed in pools of blood.

Steven pointed his gun at He Feng’s forehead, “Your turn, my precious.”

He Feng glared at him without the slightest fear.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m killing you?”

“Should I also ask where you plan to bury me?”

Steven holstered his gun and burst out laughing, “The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. We declared war on Japan.”

He Feng watched him impassively.

Steven raised his eyebrows, deep wrinkles creasing his forehead, “I remember your name is… Koike Ryuji, right?”

He Feng didn’t answer.

Steven took the keys from his waist, found his key and tossed it to him. He Feng caught it, glanced at the small object in his palm, then looked back at him, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run?”

“You can’t escape. How many times have you tried? I always catch you back.” Steven sat against a stack of crates, “I know you’re Chinese. Those Japanese couldn’t fight like this.”

He Feng unlocked the chains, ignoring him.

“I heard you were sold here by Japanese. Looking at those old gunshot wounds, you were a soldier before, weren’t you?” Steven pulled out a cigar and lit it, “My brother died under their bombs.” He squinted at He Feng, “I’ll give you three choices: die, keep boxing for me, or enlist as a Chinese to beat the shit out of those Japanese pigs.”

He Feng threw down the chains and rotated his wrists, “I want to return to my country.”

“You only have three options.”

“Then add a fourth option.”

“I could kill you.”

“Before that, I’d snap your neck first.”

Steven silently puffed his cigar. After a while, he asked, “You’re so desperate just for freedom?”

He Feng didn’t want to answer such a boring question. He stepped over the corpses on the ground and walked toward the exit.

“Without my permission, you can’t leave here.” Steven chuckled lightly, following and grabbing his shoulder. His wrist was immediately clamped, nearly breaking, “Let go, you bastard.”

He Feng released him.

Steven rubbed his wrist, picked up the fallen cigar from the ground, blew off the dust, “I can let you go.” He bit the cigar again, smiling at him, “China and America are allies now. We’re friends.”

He Feng took the cigar from his mouth, wiped Steven’s saliva off forcefully on his clothes, then put it in his own mouth for a deep drag. The thick smoke blew into Steven’s face as he looked at He Feng’s handsome Asian features, “I’m starting to regret my words. I shouldn’t let you go.”

Before he could react, He Feng punched him in the face. He grabbed Steven’s chin, twisted his face back, and shoved the cigar back in his mouth, “Though I thank you for freeing me, I’ve wanted to hit you for a long time.”

Steven spat it out sideways, “I like your fighting spirit.”

He Feng released him, brushing past his right shoulder. Steven was forced to turn, spitting blood on the ground, “You have no travel money. Fight one more match for me, and I’ll give you the winnings as payment.”

He Feng stopped and looked back, “Fighting as a Chinese.”

…

After Pearl Harbor, Japanese Americans’ status plummeted. Not only did they lose jobs, but daily life was affected with constant intimidation and unfair treatment. Before things became more severe, some Japanese chose to return to Japan.

He Feng left with a merchant ship, forced to stay with these Japanese people, even though they were just ordinary citizens. He had to find Xie Chi, to settle accounts with Fujita Kiyono.

The Fujita house was empty, with only a cleaning woman left behind.

When He Feng climbed into the house, she was secretly drinking sake stolen from the wine cellar. She didn’t even hear footsteps before a knife was pressed to her throat.

She raised her hands in fright, letting out an ugly scream.

He Feng turned her around, pressed her into a chair, “Scream again and I’ll gouge out your eyes.”

The woman was drenched in sweat, trembling with raised hands.

“Where did everyone go?”

“To… to China.”

“Did Fujita Kiyono bring back a woman at the end of 1939?”

“I don’t know.”

The knife tip pressed against the woman’s throat, causing sharp pain. She grimaced tearfully, “I really don’t know. I only came at the end of last year. I only know that when the lady fell seriously ill with little time left, she went to China to find her children.”

He Feng couldn’t extract more information—this woman truly knew nothing. He went to Fujita Kiyono’s room, where curtains were drawn and everything cleaned spotless. All those strange objects from before had been removed. He Feng searched everywhere, trying to find some clues. Finally, he found two qipaos in the wardrobe, folded neatly and placed with Fujita Kiyono’s shirts.

He Feng also visited the Koike house, also empty. Luo Lingshu and Koike Ryoshi should still be in Shanghai.

He wandered Tokyo for two days without gleaning any information, then returned to Shanghai.

Xie Chi’s former residence had new tenants, and the qipao shop was closed. He didn’t know where to find A’Ru or anyone else who might have news of Xie Chi.

Luo Lingshu and Koike Ryoshi still lived in the old place. He Feng climbed through the window with practiced ease. At that moment, Luo Lingshu was frantically reviewing documents. Hearing the sound of objects moving behind her, she turned around and was speechless seeing who it was.

He Feng removed his hat, saying quietly, “It’s me.”

Luo Lingshu gripped the table edge, said nothing, immediately locked the door, drew the curtains tight, then returned to He Feng’s side. She gripped his arm, “You’re alive, you really are alive.” Her eyes reddened slightly, controlling her tears to keep composed, “I’ve been sending people to find you. Where have you been?”

He Feng didn’t want to tell her about those experiences, nor did he have the mood for pleasantries, “Where is Wanzhi?”

“That woman?” Luo Lingshu released his sleeve, “Fujita Kiyono found a substitute to die in her place. This was discovered by my spy. She was taken back to Japan by Fujita Kiyono.”

“Where is Fujita Kiyono?”

“Not sure. Our two families have completely broken off.”

“His servant said they came to China.”

“Perhaps.”

“Can you help me investigate?”

Luo Lingshu frowned, “You still won’t give up on his woman?”

“She’s mine!”

“I won’t let you go seeking death again.” Luo Lingshu stepped back two paces. Though she didn’t know what had happened in these two-plus years, those sinister eyes seemed like a different person, “You’ve already risked danger twice for her.”

He Feng turned to leave immediately.

“Stop,” Luo Lingshu followed, “Where are you going?”

“I’ll find her myself.”

“Can’t you wake up? Must you die for her again?”

He Feng pushed away her hand, “Don’t concern yourself.”

“Wait!” Luo Lingshu grabbed him, helplessly saying, “I only know Fujita Michi is in Nanjing now. I haven’t heard news of Fujita Kiyono and Miss Xie.”

“Thank you.”

“Be care—”

Before she finished, He Feng pulled open the curtains and jumped out.

Luo Lingshu stood at the window watching his departing figure, pressing her forehead in heartache, “Be careful.”

…

Fujita Michi worked in the telecommunications department. A car picked her up daily, with many eyes around—not easy to approach. He Feng followed her for two days, finally intercepting her on a street where she went alone to buy cake at noon.

Fujita Michi was pressed into a dead-end alley. Though He Feng wore a hat covering his face, she could recognize this long-desired person with just his eyes. Her mouth was covered so she couldn’t speak. He Feng removed her gun, pressed her against the wall, then released her mouth.

“Brother Kiyono lied and said you were dead.” His strength was too great—Fujita Michi couldn’t break free and gave up meaningless struggling, “Why aren’t you dead yet! Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“Where is your second brother?”

“What do you want with him?” Fujita Michi sneered, “You’re looking for Xie Wanzhi, right? No, it’s Fujita Wanzhi—brother changed her name and nationality!”

Hearing these words linked together, He Feng became instantly violent, pressing Fujita Michi’s cheek painfully against the wall, “Where are they?”

“I won’t tell you.” Fujita Michi deliberately provoked him, “Brother is fighting with sister-in-law! They even had a child! With a child, sister-in-law can’t bear to die and willingly stays by brother’s side! Go search slowly!”

“Where are they fighting?”

“How would I know? Constantly moving, sometimes here, sometimes there. Maybe they’re in Hebei now—go find them!”

He Feng released her and turned to leave. Fujita Michi lunged forward, clinging to him, “She’s already devoted herself wholeheartedly to my brother! Why are you still looking for her! What’s so good about her compared to me! Koike Ryuji, I’ve loved you for over ten years! Are you blind? Why can’t you see me!”

He Feng pushed her away with one palm. Fujita Michi hugged his leg tightly, took back her gun from his waist and pointed it at him. He Feng lightly chopped her wrist horizontally, knocked the gun down, and retrieved it, “Study well, don’t get involved in war.”

Fujita Michi’s wrist ached terribly. Hearing this made her heart ache, tears uncontrollably streaming down, “It’s all your fault! You forced me! You killed my father! You deceived us for so many years! You always used my family’s connections to approach the military! Koike Ryuji, no, He Feng! I hate you so much.” She gripped his sleeve desperately, “But I love you too, I still can’t forget you. What’s wrong with me? Why won’t you like me?”

He Feng shook her off and left.

“She’s dead! Don’t look for her anymore! She died long ago! Brother Ryuji!”

“Brother Ryuji…”

“…”

He Feng ignored her, disappearing at the alley entrance.

There were too many Japanese officers in China, spread everywhere. Based on Fujita Michi’s single sentence, He Feng really went to Hebei.

The Japanese implemented the “Three Alls Policy”—”burn all, kill all, loot all”—conducting large-scale raids, brutally massacring civilians, with countless villages pillaged.

He Feng heard there was an officer surnamed Fujita. He encountered an Eighth Route Army unit and asked several soldiers, “Fujita what?”

All answered they didn’t know.

So he fought alongside the troops. But war wasn’t overnight—you win I lose, you lose I win, back and forth maneuvering. This fighting lasted over a year.

In the blink of an eye, it was late 1943.

In a mountain ambush, they captured sixteen Japanese soldiers alive, six of whom couldn’t bear captivity and committed ritual suicide.

The Japanese prisoners were pressed squatting at the mountain foot, including the Colonel Fujita that He Feng desperately sought. He had lost a hand to explosions and wanted to commit ritual suicide but was stopped by several of our soldiers.

In the recent charge, He Feng had injured his leg. He limped over, grabbed the Japanese officer’s collar, looked at his unfamiliar face, suddenly clenched his fist and smashed it forward, “Why not! Why not!”

A month later, He Feng left the unit. He never rejoined the army because he knew once re-enlisted, he’d have to obey military orders and move with the troops, unable to search freely.

He left this area, continuing to walk across the vast motherland, searching while killing enemies. Sometimes he moved with civilian forces, sometimes assassinating isolated devils in cities.

Until summer 1945, when Japan announced unconditional surrender, He Feng still hadn’t found her.

…

The War of Resistance was won.

A’Ru brought Guoqiang back to Nanjing, preparing to reopen a qipao shop.

Firecrackers were going off everywhere in the streets. Guoqiang ran around holding a small flag with a group of children, laughing, running, shouting, “Little devils fled! Little devils rolled back home!…”

A’Ru held Xie Chi’s belongings, standing streetside watching the singing, dancing people, tears streaming down her face, “Sister, listen.”

“We won.”

…

Xie Yi returned to the motherland with his wife and children. They’d had two more children—now two daughters and one son, quite complete. He reclaimed the Xie family ancestral home, re-established ancestral tablets in the shrine. The Xie family line continued, incense unbroken. But with limited finances now, unlike before when they could hire many servants, the couple personally managed the house with their children, reorganizing everything.

After finishing everything, he visited relatives and friends.

After eight years of war, acquaintances who had fled or died were few remaining.

At evening, Xie Yi brought modest gifts to the Xue family, asking about Xue Dingqing’s news.

Father Xue said, “That year when Japanese devils bombed Nanjing, we forcibly dragged him back, the whole family fleeing to Chongqing. Later we heard little devils massacred massively in Nanjing—hundreds of thousands died. Aqing cried at home for three whole days, then one night secretly ran off to enlist without telling us.”

“Where is he now?”

“He died defending Changsha.”

Xie Yi frowned, “I’m sorry.”

“The devils should apologize to us. I’ve accepted it—he defended mountains and rivers, devoted himself to country, bringing honor to ancestors. Fortunately we drove out the little devils. He didn’t die in vain, none died in vain.” Father Xue’s eyes reddened, face turned skyward, suppressing tears, but his voice became hoarse, “All good children.”

…

This was Jiang Shouyue’s first time in eight years visiting Xiao Wangyun’s grave.

She specially went to Beiping, buying his favorite brown sugar buns.

She caressed Xiao Wangyun’s tombstone, having so much to say, but ultimately only one sentence:

“Long time no see.”

…

Koike Taichi was designated a war criminal, imprisoned and sentenced to life.

Half a month after his imprisonment, Koike Ryoshi died of illness. Luo Lingshu committed suicide, following him in death.

…

He Feng was still searching for Xie Chi.

He went to Tokyo again, grabbing Fujita Michi, “Tell me! Where exactly did your brother go!” He no longer had his first encounter’s patience, violent to the point his fingers nearly sank into her flesh.

War’s defeat had wounded Fujita Michi again. She was no longer the innocent girl of years past, calmly looking at him coldly, “Marry me and I’ll tell you.”

“Do you believe I’ll kill you?”

“Then kill me!” Fujita Michi sneered coldly, glaring fiercely at him, “I won’t tell you even if I die.”

“I don’t believe he’ll never appear.” He Feng gritted his teeth and released her, “Even if I turn Japan upside down, I’ll dig him out.”

“Go ahead and flip it! You could flip for a lifetime and never find them!” Fujita Michi looked at the bearded man before her—he was no longer her elegant, handsome Brother Ryuji. Everyone had become crazy, all crazy! “I told you long ago, that bitch is already dead!”

He Feng grabbed her throat. Fujita Michi’s head hit the wall, tears appearing from pain.

“You’re lying to me.”

“I’m lying to you? What’s worth lying about!” Fujita Michi gripped his wrist, suppressing heartache, “If you don’t believe it, go see for yourself. Brother isn’t in Japan—go to Spain to find him.” She looked at He Feng’s haggard appearance and doubtful expression, suddenly softening, “That’s all I know. We haven’t contacted each other for many years. As for which city he went to, find it yourself.”

He Feng immediately turned and left.

“Brother Ryuji!” Fujita Michi called out hoarsely. He Feng didn’t stop, quickly departing.

She watched the receding figure, “I’m getting married! I’m getting married!”

He Feng wasn’t sure if Fujita Michi was lying like before, but regardless of truth or falsehood, he still went to Spain because of her words.

Without money, he relied on moving things and manual labor for food and travel expenses. Actually, with his skills he could easily work as an assassin for faster money, but he’d had enough of blood and violence.

He Feng searched Spain for three full years.

Until June 1948, he saw a bilingual poster outside a theater. He was too sensitive to Fujita Kiyono’s name—even hidden inconspicuously at the poster’s bottom, he could immediately recognize it.

Fujita Kiyono was this play’s director.

He Feng tore down the poster directly. He bought a ticket, sat outside the theater without eating or drinking for a day, then watched this play about a Japanese man and Chinese nurse’s love story.

He Feng went backstage to find the play’s actors, unfolding the crumpled poster, pointing at Fujita Kiyono’s name, “Where is this director?”

The female actress recognized the text, “Ah, Director Ansel left last year.”

“Where did he go?”

“Don’t know.”

“Does he have a wife?”

“No, he’s always alone.”

“Was he ever married?”

“Doesn’t seem like it, but he always carries a cloth doll, hugging it wherever he goes, changing it into various beautiful clothes—seems like Chinese qipaos. Oh right, he said that was his fiancée, seemed to be called… called something Zhi. Really strange person, calling a cloth doll his fiancée, always talking to it. Maybe artists’ worlds are all crazy.”

“Wanzhi?”

“Ah yes, Wanzhi. I heard it was his dead fiancée’s name.”

He Feng left the theater.

It was raining outside. He walked through the rain, lost and dejected.

A’Zhi was dead.

Fujita Michi hadn’t lied to him—he’d been lying to himself all along.

In fact, He Feng had long suspected this. With Xie Chi’s temperament, how could she stay by his side, how could she bear his child? She would choose to die together, would choose suicide—the one thing she wouldn’t do was compromise herself.

All these years, he’d just been self-deceiving, finding himself a reason to live and continue killing enemies.

This sole belief supporting him finally completely crushed him in this foreign land.

He Feng stayed in Spain another half month, drinking and brawling. His body, already riddled with holes from boxing and war, was even more scarred.

He nearly died under a bridge.

A Chinese couple saved him.

They’d come to Spain for business, had a merchant ship that would depart for China in a week.

He Feng would return with them.

He knew his body’s condition. He knew he was dying. He didn’t want to die in a foreign land.

Tonight the sea was quite rough. The ship moved slowly, sea wind whipping the sails with whooshing sounds like death-claiming ghosts battering the cabin doors, making eerie howling sounds.

The ship had a doctor who felt his pulse and was shocked: “Such severe internal injuries, young man, how did you get yourself like this?”

How many injuries—impossible to say clearly. From boxing, from battlefield shell shock, always enduring, appearing fine on the surface, but his body was already like a candle in the wind.

Now, even his only hope for living was gone.

He Feng ached all over, from head to toe, inside and out, also running a high fever. Through countless days and nights of sailing, he maintained one breath, waiting to reach shore.

One morning, the woman came to call him, “We’ve arrived, we’re almost at China.”

He Feng opened his eyes, suddenly seeming to have a final burst of energy, rolled out of bed, ran out of the cabin. Before the ship docked, he jumped directly into the sea, wading ashore.

He quickly walked several steps forward, then suddenly knelt on both knees, forehead touching the motherland’s soil, tears streaming down.

He had never cried like this before, but at this moment uncontrollably collapsed, blaming himself, regretting…

In the end, he’d failed his A’Zhi and betrayed his motherland.

“Hey, are you alright?” The captain crouched down looking at He Feng, checking his breathing.

A sailor came over from behind, “What’s wrong?”

The captain sighed, “He’s dead. Find a place to bury him.”

…

Autumn 1949.

Qing Yangzi returned to Yanzhou. During the War of Resistance, he’d become a Kuomintang regiment commander, later surrendering to the Liberation Army. Now transferred to his hometown for duty, he even had a fiancée.

He bought paper money to burn for the deceased on the mountain.

“You probably don’t know—I used to be a bandit on this mountain.”

“I heard about it. Uncle Liu secretly told me.”

“Thanks to the Young Master back then, I benefited from his influence, was sent to military academy by General Shen. If I hadn’t joined the army, I don’t know what I’d look like now.” Qing Yangzi held his fiancée’s hand, going toward the former shooting range, “If Third Brother hadn’t gone undercover in Japan back then, he could have become a general.”

“What was his name?”

“He San Feng.”

“San? Feng?”

Qing Yangzi smiled and flicked her forehead, embracing her as they descended the mountain, “His name was He Feng.”

“Where is he now?”

“We haven’t seen each other for thirteen years. In wartime you know, often one separation is forever. But I heard some rumors that he died for love with a woman in Shanghai.”

“He was still a romantic?”

“He was always romantic. As a youth, he liked a girl, secretly happy every day, smiling like a fool.”

The maple leaves in the mountains turned red.

Qing Yangzi deeply breathed the free air, happily walking with his beloved.

Every inch of mountains and rivers, every inch of blood.

The red leaves covering the mountain were like countless martyrs’ hot blood forging this nation.

It would only become more beautiful.

More brilliant.

…

…

…

The room flickered bright, then dark.

Ji Tong kept pressing the desk lamp, continuously turning the light on and off.

This continued for two days until the lamp finally gave up and wouldn’t light anymore.

Dawn broke. Zhou Xin prepared breakfast and called her to wake up.

Today was Monday.

Ji Tong had no appetite, drank some millet porridge. Zhou Xin had her take an egg to school. Her pocket warmed by body heat, she kneaded the egg all the way, breaking shells throughout her pocket.

From the teaching building came uneven recitation sounds. Passing Class 2’s door, one could always hear a male student shouting his recitation, particularly jarring.

Ji Tong stared at her textbook all morning. Gan Ting suddenly hugged her, “Let’s go! What are you thinking about!”

Ji Tong was dragged along by her, absent-mindedly walking into formation, following classmates into the playground.

She kept spacing out.

Until familiar music began playing:

“Arise!

People who refuse to be slaves!

With our flesh and blood,

Let us build our new Great Wall!

The Chinese nation has reached its most dangerous moment……”

She snapped back to attention, looking up at the slowly rising flag in the distance.

Suddenly bursting into tears, she sang along:

“We are united as one,

Braving the enemy’s gunfire, march on!

Braving the enemy’s gunfire, march on!

March on! March on! On!”

…