Starting from South America, speeding through the world

Chapter 294 Pity Me

Spring of the year Yiwei.

The wind blew down the hillside, carrying the smell of damp earth.

The poplar trees had just sprouted leaves, which shimmered with tiny lights in the sunlight.

Zhao Cheng walked all the way to the mountainside and finally saw the village in the distance.

White walls and black tiles, smoke rising from chimneys.

As you descend to the village entrance, you see people carrying water on their buckets, which sway gently on the stone-paved road.

Zhao Cheng raised his hand and looked at the note again; the ink had become somewhat blurred from being touched.

He stopped, walked to the roadside, and asked a man who was squatting by the door chopping wood.

The man put down the axe, squinted to determine the direction, and pointed west.

Zhao Cheng thanked him and continued walking along the path for a while before finally finding the jujube tree.

The walls were already mottled, and the wooden door was crooked, with half of it hanging out.

Behind the courtyard was an open area, next to a low earthen embankment.

The area below the embankment used to be a vegetable patch, but now only weeds and fallen stems and leaves remain.

Zhao Cheng thought for a moment, then bent down and stuck the shovel into the ground, again and again.

Once a shallow pit had been dug, he put down the cloth bag on his back and untied the rope.

There lay there quietly, half a military uniform, stained with dried, dark brown blood.

At that time, the battle was not over, and he was unable to take the platoon leader's body with him.

As the gunshots drew closer, he only had time to tear off a corner of his shirt and stuff it into his pocket.

Over the years, my memories have become increasingly hazy, but my dreams remain vivid.

The man smiled, gazing into the distance, as if he had something more to say.

Zhao Cheng laid the cloth flat in the pit, smoothed out the surrounding soil with his hands, but did not rush to bury it.

He straightened up, stood for a moment, and then his gaze fell on the edge of the canal.

That place was a semi-barren land.

The soil was turned over last winter, and spring grass is now sprouting from the cracks.

Further away, there were newly sprouted wheat seedlings, which rippled in waves in the wind.

A few sparrows were startled and fluttered towards the branches.

Zhao Cheng didn't move or make a sound. After a long while, he squatted down again.

He pushed the soil back little by little, compacting it until a flat surface was left.

The canal entrance was badly blocked, with dead branches lying on top, and wet mud and gravel pressing down underneath.

He took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and pulled out the grass roots one by one.

The sickle reached into the crevice of the rock and pried open the tightly entwined vines.

Zhao Cheng moved the pile of stones and then reached in to scoop out the mud and sand.

Once the last handful of silt was thrown ashore, fresh water finally seeped in.

It was a very thin stream of water, reflecting the last rays of the sky, slowly brightening up.

Zhao Cheng smiled, arranged the sickle, and then sat down.

He straightened his legs and placed his hands behind him.

The water flows through the bottom of the canal and finally disappears into the open fields.

The newly sown wheat seedlings are only knee-high, while those planted earlier are already almost thigh-high.

When the wind blows, the leaves fall down one by one and stand up again one by one.

The cycle repeats itself endlessly, as if it will never stop.

Zhao Cheng didn't know what to say or do, so he simply sat there.

Dusk settled between the ridges of the fields.

In the end, only a large expanse of dark blue remained, like washed silk.

He raised his head and gazed at the vast, boundless night sky for a long time.

A silence without boundaries.

Thin and clear.

The light came from the far distance, traveled a long distance, and landed here.

Ketterle leaned against the rock, his breath dissipating in the darkness.

She saw a cluster of stars whose names she didn't know.

Suspended in the air, they are farther apart than in any valley.

The footsteps pounded through the fallen leaves and finally stopped beside her.

That's Cygnus.

Suddenly, a childish voice rang out.

Katelyl turned her head in surprise and found that it was a familiar-looking boy.

His name was Antony, he was from Poland, and he joined the Saratov uprising.

"That long thing is its neck."

The boy picked up a thin twig and drew a shape on the ground. "This is the hunter. The three in a straight line are his belt."

He paused, then raised his hand and pointed to something higher.

"That bright one next to it is Betelgeuse."

“You know these things very well,” Cattel finally said.

“Katja taught me,” Anthony said with a shy smile.

The wind blew through my hair and carried the calls of night birds from not far away.

"We were fleeing at that time."

"She said that understanding the stars is very useful and can help you find your way in the forest."

"It can also remind you that people don't just live on the ground."

"Kajya?"

"Ekaterina Petrova".

"She sacrificed herself on the very first day of the uprising."

Now, Cattelley remembered.

She opened her mouth, but couldn't find any words of comfort.

“We live in Novoserce, and she is my neighbor.”

"Later, the SS came, and only the two of us managed to escape."

"Heading eastward, all the way to Saratov."

“She has a lover, Kovalczyk, and I miss them very much.”

Anthony was still rambling on and on, but Ketteringer couldn't hear him at all.

“Novoserce,” she murmured, “it’s that one—”

"It's the one you understand."

Anthony nodded. "The village that disappeared because of Weissman's death."

Catley's throat tightened as if something was blocking it. "Then you...you know?"

“I know.” Anthony looked at her, his eyes unusually calm.

"It was you, along with other rebels, who shot and killed him."

Cattel was at a loss for words.

After a long pause, he could only whisper, "I'm sorry."

Anthony's face was pale, but a very faint smile appeared on his lips.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

"They will find any reason to kill."

"Even without you, there would be someone else."

"Today it's you, tomorrow it will be someone else or something else."

"The key is not who did what, they need fear to maintain order."

Cattel looked at him and whispered, "But you—"

“I survived,” Anthony interrupted her.

"Katya and I survived, and we're always together."

"With her there, I felt I could keep going until that day. That day."

"She's gone, and I really don't know what to do."

As he finished speaking, tears streamed down his face, but he didn't raise his hand to wipe them away.

Cattel remained silent.

She closed her eyes, recalling Morrison's words of comfort.

—Never forget anger.

But all enemies vanished like dust in the wind.

Why do my sins follow me like a shadow, clinging to my very bones?

Lord, have mercy on me.

She wanted to cry, but it seemed as if she had run out of tears, not a single one left.

Lord, have no mercy on me.

I am a cowardly sinner, a sinner with blood on my hands.

Have mercy on them, those who have fallen and can no longer rise.

Remember their names, even though the world has forgotten them.

Please welcome them into your kingdom as you would your beloved children.

May they see the light, find rest, and be free from hunger and cold, and from bloodshed.

May their souls rest among the righteous.

Until the day you return, you will raise them up and make them stand before you forever.

(End of this chapter)