A Young Woman's Heart

Rapid gunfire echoed from not far away, artillery fire roared, and cars passed each other countless times.

"Xiaoyao, what are you thinking about? You seem so lost in thought." Sitting next to her, Mo Xiaoxiao gently put her arm around her shoulder and asked with a smile.

"It's nothing." The city engulfed in war and smoke in Mo Xueyao's eyes vanished instantly, replaced by streets and a constant stream of people coming and going.

Come to think of it, Hangzhou wasn't exactly the epicenter of the war back then; it seems like no large-scale battles ever took place there.

But actually, this place is not far from Jiangsu, nor is it so far from Nanjing.

After the massacre ended, did the people here also experience fear and unease?

"Are you not in a good mood?" Mo Xiaoxiao asked again.

"No, I was just thinking about some things." Mo Xueyao rubbed her temples. "Luckily, we were born in a peaceful era."

"I hope that when we die, we will still be living in a peaceful era," Mo Xiaoxiao replied with a smile.

"Hmm." Mo Xueyao took out a mini alarm clock from her pocket, glanced at the time, and then put it back.

Because there was no holiday, the streets were not crowded, and the buses drove relatively smoothly.

The noise on the bus never stopped, but Mo Xueyao felt a little out of place. Just as she was about to fall asleep, she was told that it was time to get off.

This feeling is really awful.

The bus stopped some distance from the cemetery, and the students lined up under the bus, laughing and joking, and walked forward in order of their classes.

Before long, we came to see a simple cemetery.

The iron-black gate had some rust on it, and the tomb keeper, who had been notified in advance, smiled as he watched the students walk inside.

This is an elderly man who is somewhat hunched over, with white hair and a face full of wrinkles, making him appear very old.

"I'm sorry, the students are young and restless, disturbing the peace here." Principal Mo stood beside the old man guarding the tomb and said apologetically as he watched the chaotic procession move in.

"Hehe... It's alright, it's great, it's lively and full of energy, they'll like these children." The old man smiled kindly, his gaze falling on the rows of tombstones, his cloudy eyes clouded with a little mist, "Perhaps, I'll soon be joining my comrades-in-arms too."

“You are in good health,” the vice principal quickly said. “Don’t say such unlucky things.”

"Haha, birth, aging, sickness and death are the natural course of life. Besides, my health is deteriorating year by year. Living is just suffering. I should have gone with them back then." The old man guarding the tomb said a few words, then coughed again. A middle-aged man who looked similar to him quickly supported his shoulder and helped him into the house.

This cemetery has a strong sense of history, and even after its expansion, this feeling cannot be erased.

Standing at the entrance of the cemetery is a stone tablet with some peeling stone skin, and the ink on it has faded considerably, making it somewhat blurry.

The above records the origin of the cemetery.

It was here that Mo Xueyao first truly learned that Hangzhou had been completely occupied, and that the Japanese army had used it as a springboard to capture Shanghai and advance to Nanjing.

In other words, this place had already experienced the terror of a locust plague long before the Nanjing Massacre.

Most of the people buried in this cemetery are locals.

They were not professional soldiers, at most they could be considered militia members, and some of them didn't even know how to fire a gun, but each of them made their own contribution and gave their lives.

This place was established not long after the end of the War of Resistance against Japan, and it has been more than 50 years since then.

The expansion was done later, the most recent one in the late 1980s, which was more than a decade before 2000, which is why it looks somewhat dilapidated.

The students were led to different forks in the road, paying their respects to the martyrs from different directions, and finally gathering in the small square at the back.

There are many rough murals here. There is no blood on them, but you can still see the tragic fate of our predecessors.

You can even see people charging at machine guns, wielding axes and sickles.

They fell like harvested wheat, yet they continued to surge forward.

This is an unequal sacrifice.

But without these sacrifices, there would be no Mo Xueyao and the others later on.

As a young man with a strong sense of patriotism, Mo Xueyao felt tears welling up in her eyes just by looking at the simple names on the tombstones and the brief life stories behind them.

A person's life spans only a few decades, and what is recorded on their tombstone is just a few words, or even just a sentence.

The students, who had been making a lot of noise, gradually quieted down.

Kang Yang, a slightly chubby girl, pointed to several dark red tombstones and asked Ye Wen, "Teacher Ye, why are those tombstones red? Is it because the people buried there were special?"

Ye Wen looked in the direction Kang Yang was pointing, her gaze settling on the several unevenly reddish stone tablets:

"These stone tablets were all made from stones that were quarried nearby."

"That red is the blood of our martyrs."

She paused slightly and said softly.

……

Chapter 190 Tomb Sweeping

Each tombstone signifies a life lost.

And many more people didn't even leave behind any remains, or it's impossible to tell whether they were actually his.

These people were buried together.

That is, the last square in the cemetery area.

The stone wall is covered with countless names.

They didn't even have epitaphs, not even a brief account of their lives, and we didn't even know their gender, let alone what their past was like.

Their names are coldly etched in the stone, and so much time has passed that few people can recognize them anymore.

All I know is that these are martyrs who sacrificed their lives in the war.

Their names became a unified symbol, an emblem, a title.

They are heroes, but they are also just ordinary people.

They are like a drop of water in the ocean, or a grain of sand in the desert; they are not particularly noticeable.

Their sacrifices are just a number, but they contribute to the final result.

Some people are just a few of the last few in that number, while others are buried among the countless 'drops of water' and 'grains of sand'.

The flag bearers, composed of student representatives, stood in front of the flagpole and slowly hung the national flag up.

Then it slowly rose as the national anthem played.

The students who usually raise the national flag during Monday morning assembly are now quiet, and many of them are unusually solemn and respectful.

For the first time, they felt that raising the national flag was such a solemn thing, and for the first time, they felt that the slow raising of the national flag represented a kind of struggle and contained such a tenacious power.

Those boys who often liked to alter the lyrics of the national anthem couldn't help but look up at the rising national flag and feel the past contained in the lyrics.

Mo Xueyao took a deep sniff, feeling unusually emotional today, and tears were starting to flow uncontrollably.

In the quiet, Principal Mo walked to the front of the square with satisfaction and began his speech through the connected microphone and speakers:

"Peace has lasted so long that many of us have forgotten the cruelty of war."

"Our remembrance of the past does not mean seeking revenge, but simply to ensure that every generation after us understands what war is like."

"The sacrifices of our martyrs do not mean that we should resort to war to solve everything. On the contrary, many of our predecessors who sacrificed their lives were the ones who hated war the most."

"The reason why we, Yukong High School, sweep the tombs during the Qingming Festival is to remind everyone of this history. Remembering history is an eternal tradition of our nation. If we forget the past, then our nation will be as good as extinct in history."

Principal Mo spoke at length this time, and he seemed to have a great deal of emotion about the war.

The speech was much longer than his usual Monday address, but it wasn't boring at all. He also talked about the past and stories, which made people immerse themselves in it and empathize with him. That's probably what makes an excellent speech.

After the speech, the next step began—presenting flowers.

There were seven wreaths in total for the first-year high school students, one for each class, as well as several hundred bouquets of white chrysanthemums prepared by the school.

Each bunch has only one stem, that is, one flower, which seems to correspond to each name on this stone wall.

Melodious music, tinged with sadness, played in the square. Under the guidance of their homeroom teacher, the students first presented the wreaths and then slowly placed the flowers in front of the stone wall.

Mo Xueyao tiptoed slightly and scanned several names. They all looked very ordinary, even a bit rustic, and many of them had the same name—only the surnames were different.

The principal did not ask the students to shout anything; he simply dismissed the group and allowed the students to explore freely.

The oppressive atmosphere finally eased considerably, and gradually, the students' relaxed and playful voices rang out again, filling the cemetery with uplifting vitality.

Mo Xue gazed at the weeds in the corner and the vines climbing all over the wall, and during her free time, she read the inscriptions on the back of each tombstone one by one.

She discovered that many people's life stories were similar: they were either farmers, fishermen, or porters...

"Xiao Yao!" Wang Jiale tried to scare her from behind, but failed. She looked at her face with a puzzled expression and asked, "What's wrong? Why are you so engrossed in reading these inscriptions? Most of them are repetitive, so they're not very interesting, are they?"

“Yes, they are indeed very repetitive, but many of our lives, simply written on our tombstones, are probably similar. It’s just that we live in a new era and have new, more respectable professions, but the essence is the same.” Mo Xueyao’s footsteps on the grass made a soft 'rustling' sound. “In the past, we were called farmers, then workers, and what will we be called after that?”

"Hey—as a high school student, Xiaoyao, don't think too much about it. It's okay to reminisce about the past, but you don't have to be so obsessed with it~" Wang Jiale handed a white and purple flower to Mo Xueyao and said with a light laugh, "Look, a morning glory."

"what happened?"

"Yinyin said this is also called a trumpet flower, and that you can blow it to make a sound, but I blew on it for a long time and it didn't make a sound."

"Pfft, you've been tricked by her again..." Mo Xueyao shook her head helplessly.

"But I think she can even make a leaf sound!"

"That's a technique."

"Oh right, speaking of which, if the principal is giving a speech for our first-year students, who's giving a speech for the second and third-year students?"

"It should be the head of teaching affairs and another vice principal," Mo Xueyao replied uncertainly.

“Then next year it will be the head of the teaching department who will give us the lecture.” Wang Jiale tossed the morning glory aside. “But I still prefer the principal’s lecture.”

"Alright, alright, everyone gather here!" In the middle of their conversation, homeroom teacher Ye Wen clapped her hands and shouted to her students, "Cui Bianzhan, Che Qingji, what are you doing running so far? Come back, come back, gather here!"

The students lined up again and boarded the bus back to school.

Hmm, there's still time for lunch.

This is obvious, after all, today is not a statutory holiday, and the fact that the school can take half a day to hold a tomb-sweeping activity is already considered to have delayed the normal class time.

However, in many cases, attending classes is not the most important thing. Letting students see more things, have deeper insights, and establish sound values ​​are far more important than learning more knowledge.