Chapter 2809 Daya Village (III)

Tan Shuangxi handed over the notebook Li Anze had left behind, along with the pension check. Li Anze had always loved writing in his diary whenever he had spare time. The brother-in-law let out a bitter laugh as he accepted them. "The person is gone—what use is money now? Little Li, oh Little Li."

"How did he die? Where?" Elder Sister Li had been crying for a long time before finally lifting her tear-filled eyes to ask.

"Saving people. Li Anze died saving people."

She wept: "He always loved helping others, ever since he was little! Never thinking of himself... Even if you don't think of yourself, you could at least think of your sister..."

Tears streamed down the woman's face as she poured out her grief. Tan Shuangxi sat on pins and needles, able only to recite the lines they had agreed upon beforehand: "When we were in Guangxi, during the Guilin Campaign... We charged into the Ming army's camp, and a cannon fired from the opposite side. Little Li pushed two soldiers beside him to the ground but was wounded himself."

Tan Shuangxi glanced at Zhang Laicai, seeming to imply that he was one of those who had been saved. "The wound was on his neck... He passed quickly."

Zhang Laicai shot Tan Shuangxi a look; when they had rehearsed the lie, that role was supposed to be Tan Shuangxi's. But Tan Shuangxi had chosen to give the fortune of being pulled back from death's edge to him instead.

"Cannon... hit in the neck..." she murmured, as if unable to believe it.

"It was over in an instant," Tan Shuangxi said. "Basically no feeling. No feeling at all..."

"Just like the Fu family's young son from the east end—that time a gust of wind knocked a tile onto him," her husband offered by way of explanation. "The man went unconscious immediately. Didn't even feel the pain. Mm!"

But the woman thought about it and still shed tears, flowing without end.

The brother-in-law looked at the two visitors, nodded, and helped Elder Sister Li into the inner room. Tan Shuangxi sat in the main hall, knees pressed together. Several tender chirps came from overhead. Looking up, he saw a mud nest on the wooden beam of the roof, two fledgling swallows poking their heads out.

After a while, Elder Sister Li emerged with her husband. She had composed herself somewhat, clutching a sheaf of envelopes—military mail sent back from the camp.

She showed the letters to the two of them. The envelopes were wrinkled, some stained in places, but each crease had been carefully pressed flat again. One could tell how dearly the keeper cherished them.

Tan Shuangxi stroked the letters. From a familiar-looking envelope, he drew out several pages and unfolded them to see Li Anze's own handwriting. The characters were large and crooked—not because the writer was uneducated, but because on the march or during rare moments of rest, he would pull out letter paper to write a few lines, only able to scribble against his knapsack or a large rock.

"Sis, I'm doing quite well up north, don't worry. Good food, good sleep. Marching and fighting isn't harder than regular training; I've even gained weight! Morale is high. The Ming army couldn't withstand a single blow. Everywhere we go, people welcome us..." As Tan Shuangxi read, he recalled the smiling, friendly-to-everyone appearance of Li Anze when they had first crossed the strait and landed on the northern mainland. But later he had lost weight quickly, having caught indigestion there.

"I've been promoted to lieutenant now, and the 'acting' has been removed from my title. I'm officially a platoon leader, in charge of several dozen brothers. I'm young, but they all respect me..."

Li Anze had been pretty much the youngest in the platoon. The sergeants and veterans generally had served over three years. For a young officer to join a unit, without some real ability, there was no way to win over the old hands. On this point, Tan Shuangxi was quite convinced. Once in combat, Li Anze became a steadfast, resolute soldier, and every man in the platoon admired him. Whether forming a firing line in rank, charging in column, or skirmishing as dispersed infantry, Li Anze always stood at the front.

"I miss home. I miss the fish you make. Miss the dried squid Aunt Fu in the village makes, miss the scent of rice flowers at night, miss the pond on the mountain, want to go fishing by the sea on my next leave. Really wish Father and Mother were still here, waiting for me to come back. As for the marriage you mentioned—no hurry, let's talk after the fighting's done."

Li Anze's mother had died young. His father never remarried, supporting the siblings by doing carpentry work. Originally, after Li Anze entered military academy and the family's fortunes showed signs of prospering, his father had died in an accident while away on a job.

"...Our battalion has now been transferred to Guangxi for operations. You haven't seen the scenery here—all mountains! Northern Guangdong was also mountains, but here there are even more. Marching is just constantly winding through mountains! You think you're about to get out, then around the bend lies another expanse of mountains, enough to make your head spin..."

Mountains constantly winding. Yes, Guangxi really did have many mountains. In the Guilin Campaign, the entire battalion had marched two hundred li in three days to relieve Guilin. They had to march at night, climbing up and down mountains endlessly, turning corners without end. The company commander was impatient, constantly asking the guide how much farther. The guide always said, "Almost there, almost there, just past this mountain." The result? Past this mountain, only more mountains. Don't think about how far it is, don't think about where you're going. Just follow along.

"...The Chiefs say Yangshuo is a beautiful place with many restaurants and taverns, but I didn't see any. Most of the houses were burned, and there were dead people everywhere. A Ming officer, a company commander, openly looted in the county seat, robbing from one end of the street to the other, killing many people. Several big households—whole families on the street were all killed, including babies who couldn't even walk. The National Army soldiers cleaning the battlefield fished fourteen people out of a well; only one little girl was still alive. Looking at the corpses everywhere, several of us couldn't say a word. I couldn't eat all day. Every time I closed my eyes, I thought of those poor souls. We've seen plenty of bad people, but this level of evil, completely devoid of humanity, was a first..."

Lieutenant Li had enjoyed what could be called a relatively happy childhood. At the company's "speaking bitterness" sessions, the only "bitterness" he could speak of was that once a "local gentry" hadn't paid his father's wages. This had shaped his sincere and kindhearted nature, unable to bear witnessing the suffering of the world. Whenever he encountered such scenes, he would be unable to eat or sleep well. In combat, this emotion would transform into blazing hatred.

The letter ended there. Tan Shuangxi raised his head from the paper and spoke again to Elder Sister Li: "He didn't suffer. It was over in just an instant..." As if this sentence could somehow compensate for something.

This letter had actually been mailed out by Tan Shuangxi on Li Anze's behalf. It was after the Battle of Guilin; when Li Anze was being carried onto the medical boat by the others, he had handed it to him. Going full circle, here he was seeing the familiar envelope again, reading contents that had once been private—but the writer was no longer there. That parting at Guilin, that final encounter—neither Tan Shuangxi nor Li Anze had imagined it would become an eternal farewell. Thinking of this, Tan Shuangxi's eyes stung, and he couldn't help but shed tears.

Li Anze's wound had been in his abdomen. When Tan Shuangxi rushed over, he was pressing an enamel bowl against the wound, blood seeping out between his fingers. Seeing Tan Shuangxi coming with a first-aid kit, he instructed, "Help me bandage it!"

An abdominal wound required, according to wound treatment procedure, covering it with a clean bowl or cup to prevent the intestines from spilling out. Tan Shuangxi remembered these mnemonics and hurried to bandage the wound.

"There are two more!" Li Anze's face was somewhat pale as he gestured.

Beside him lay two soldiers, motionless on the ground. A blast of grapeshot had swept across the left flank of the platoon at close range.

By the time Tan Shuangxi turned back, Li Anze was sitting on the ground leaning against a tree. The abdominal bandage had been reinforced by himself. Tan Shuangxi looked and saw no more blood seeping out; for the moment, he seemed to be stable.

"Both dead." Tan Shuangxi sat down beside him as he spoke, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it for himself. "The Ming troops have fled. The fighting is over. They're cleaning up the battlefield now."

"Give me a puff."

"You just got wounded..."

"I'm not hit in the lungs. Intestines coming out just means no eating or drinking; nobody said I can't smoke."

"Alright." Tan Shuangxi transferred the cigarette from his own mouth to Li Anze's. "Just take a couple of puffs to perk up. This is a serious wound. Take care of yourself."

"How many casualties in the platoon?"

"Two killed. Four need hospitalization for wounds, including you—counting both light and serious."

Li Anze let out a rough breath and smiled. "With this wound, I won't be back for a while. You're a good sergeant. You take over as acting platoon leader for now..." As he spoke, he pointed to his officer's satchel. "Help me get it."

Tan Shuangxi opened the satchel for him. Li Anze pulled out his officer's notebook, wrote a slip on it, and tore it off. Scrawled in pencil was: "I recommend Infantry Sergeant Tan Shuangxi to serve as acting platoon leader for this platoon," followed by his signature.

Then he took out a pamphlet titled The Cultivation of Command Officer Aptitude and pressed it into Tan Shuangxi's hands. "This is a good book. Read it when you have time—very beneficial."

"I'll read the book carefully. You rest well. Stop worrying." Tan Shuangxi saw him looking haggard and hurried to say.

The medical boat came quickly but was crude. It was a local cargo boat conscripted for use, fitted with brackets for securing stretchers and chairs. On board were also two medics and a battalion medical kit. The seriously wounded were carried up first, then the lightly wounded. Tan Shuangxi helped the stretcher bearers carry the platoon leader onto the boat. Looking at the boat full of wounded and the blood-stained deck, he couldn't help but feel flustered. Li Anze gave a few instructions, then reassured him: "No problem. The boat ride is more comfortable than a vehicle." Then he added: "The platoon matters are left to you."

"I'll definitely do well!" Tan Shuangxi stood at attention and saluted.

"Go now," Li Anze said. "Wait for me to come back."

That was the last time he saw Li Anze. When the unit returned to Guangzhou for rest and reorganization, wounded soldiers returning from the hospital brought news of Li Anze's death. Tan Shuangxi only remembered a few words: "Wound infection." No last words, no hospice care, no doctor's comfort—just those few words, taking away a living person, Tan Shuangxi's most respected Platoon Leader Li Anze.

(End of Chapter)