novelraw Chapter 466: Really Nice
Chapter 466: Really Nice
Not far away, inside a slightly larger tent.
Li Jianguo lay with his eyes open, staring at the canvas roof blackened by smoke.
He was thirty-five this year, originally a skilled machinist in a northern border city, with a gentle wife and a lovely daughter, and a modest but warm home.
The war destroyed everything.
The factory was reduced to ruins in the first Mist Surge; the neighborhood was occupied by monsters.
During the flight, his wife and daughter were separated in an airstrike, their fate unknown.
His own left arm was smashed by falling burning debris when he pushed a terrified child out of the way, and in the end it could not be saved.
Now the empty left sleeve hung limp, and beneath the dirty bandages around the stump came waves of stabbing pain, the signs of infection.
He had tried the medical station, but the queue of people wound for miles.
Medicines were extremely scarce; wounded like him who weren’t about to die could only receive a little basic anti-inflammatory powder, with negligible effect.The physical pain was bearable; what tormented him more were the intermittent shards of memory in his head.
The scent of the scallion pancakes his wife baked…
The feeling of his daughter laughing as she dove into his arms…
The rhythmic roar of lathes in the factory…
Then the deafening explosion, the towering flames…
People’s terrified screams, the empty space beside him, the searing pain in his left shoulder.
He parted his lips as if to cough, but forced himself to hold it back, afraid of disturbing the other exhausted refugees in the tent.
The future?
The future he had once dreamed of had already turned to scorched earth along with that border town.
Now he lived merely because he hadn’t yet died.
On the edge of the resettlement camp, around a small fire made from scavenged twigs and scraps of paper, a few figures huddled together.
The flames were small, flickering in the cold wind, barely providing light or heat.
Sitting around were a few men who used to be farmers, construction workers, small shop owners.
Now their faces shared the same pallor, deep wrinkles, and numb gazes.
Old Wang Shuan, who used to sell meat at the southern vegetable market, had a booming voice and was known for his righteousness.
He rubbed his hands, full of frostbite, and cursed in a hoarse whisper: “Damn this world! I got up before dawn and came home after dark for over a decade, finally saved up some property, and one fire took it all! Ran to this damned place, and I can’t even get a hot meal!”
Next to him, Zhao Tiezhu, a former construction worker, replied gloomily: “Being alive is already lucky… Old Li’s family on East Street, the whole household… none of them made it out…”
“Alive?”
Old Wang’s eyes widened, bloodshot: “What the hell do you call alive? What’s the difference between this and livestock? I heard… I heard those city officials and those rich folks are still feasting, eating rare delicacies, drinking decades-old vintages…
Do they know we’re here barely scraping by for even shit?”
“Hush! Quiet!”
A more cautious man immediately grabbed him, nervously looking around: “You want to throw your life away? If those patrols hear—”
Old Wang’s neck stiffened, his chest heaving violently.
But in the end, that tiny spark of anger quickly died out.
He slumped his head in defeat.
A faint sound, carried and clarified by a shift in the wind, drifted over.
It sounded like stirring music, and the cheering of a gathering crowd.
That sound was infectious, full of strength and… hope?
A sharp contrast to the dead silence of the resettlement camp.
Some people subconsciously lifted their heads, blankly looking toward the direction the sound came from.
It was the city center, the place where lights burned the brightest.
There was no yearning in their eyes, only deeper bewilderment.
That celebration was theirs, that glory was theirs, the scent of meat and wine was theirs too.
Here there was only cold, hunger, disease, and a tomorrow with no end in sight.
An old veteran wrapped in a tattered coat leaned against a tent pole, his murky eyes staring at the distant lights, murmuring, “They’re awarding medals, huh… heroes… really nice…”
…
Well-fed and content, the group stepped out of the club.
The early winter night breeze brought a chill that sharpened their heads dulled by drink.
“Let’s walk, stroll a bit, sober up.”
Wang Mingyuan was in high spirits, sweeping his hand.
No one objected, and they strolled side by side along the capital’s main avenue without any set destination.
The night sky was clear, a few cold stars scattered overhead.
Unlike the resettlement camp’s lifelessness, the capital’s core still maintained some vitality; most streetlights were on, and several storefronts stubbornly kept their doors open despite sparse customers.
They talked as they walked, conversation drifting from war reports across the land to anecdotes from Vermilion Bird Academy, erupting now and then with laughter.
Liu Ziming, riding his alcohol-fueled enthusiasm, flailed his arms and impersonated a stern instructor from years past, making Xu Hao stifle a laugh.
Even Feng Jue’s mouth seemed to tug into a rare smirk.
Su Zhan, unusually relaxed, listened to his brothers’ banter and savored this fleeting peace.
He felt like a young man out on a night stroll with close friends.
This calm did not last long.
At first it was just a few late pedestrians who kept glancing back at them.
Especially at Su Zhan; though he wore ordinary clothes, his exceptionally good looks still stood out in the crowd like a firefly in the night.
“That… that person… could it be…”
A young girl covered her mouth, eyes wide, tugging her companion’s sleeve.
Her friend looked carefully, then stifled a cry: “Oh my god! It’s Su Zhan! It’s Lord Su Zhan!!!”
“Su Zhan? Where?”
“It really is him! I saw him on the screens at the medals ceremony!”
“The Guardian Deity! It’s Lord Su Zhan!”
Sparse foot traffic swarmed from all directions.
Within seconds, the few of them were surrounded, packed in three layers of excited people with no way to pass.
Men, women, old and young, every face shone with extreme admiration.
“Lord Su Zhan! Please give me your autograph! Sign right here!”
A boy shoved forward, trembling as he handed over a crumpled notebook and pen, his eyes pleading and excited.
“Su! Sir! Look this way! Take a photo with us! Please!”
A few young girls held up the latest phones, cameras aimed at Su Zhan, their faces flushed with excitement.
“Thank you! Lord Su Zhan! Thank you for saving our city!”
“You are our hero!”
The crowd shouted in a clamorous but sincere chorus.
Countless hands reached out, trying to touch him, even just the hem of his clothes.
Countless eyes focused on him, full of reverence.