44: Goodbye, Brother Chen!

Chen Shusheng crouched at the corner of the stairs on the second floor.

He leaned his back against the wall, panting heavily. The wound on his left arm had begun to seep blood again, turning the bandage completely red. His right hand gripped a rifle; the bayonet was bent, and its tip was chipped.

Near the breach below, the sounds were drawing closer.

The leather boots of the Japanese Soldiers crunched on the broken bricks. The officer's whistle was short and sharp. There was also that kind of howling—the kind that only comes when one's eyes have turned bloodshot with rage.

The defenders were being pushed back.

One step. Two steps.

The gunfire grew sparse. They were out of bullets. All that remained were the dull thuds of hand-to-hand combat, the squelch of bayonets piercing flesh, and the screams of the dying.

Chen Shusheng looked down at his waist.

Two grenades hung there. Shanxi-made, wooden-handled, and heavy. Company Commander Shangguan had distributed them that morning, saying they were to be used for the final moment.

He untied one and held it in his hand.

The iron shell was ice-cold, and the wooden handle was damp and slippery with sweat.

He untied the second one.

It wasn't enough.

He stood up and, hunched over, moved forward along the corridor. Bodies lay on the ground—defenders and Japanese Soldiers mixed together. He crouched down and pushed a corpse aside.

The waist was empty.

He searched another. He felt something hard. He pulled it out; it was a Japanese grenade, round like a "metal watermelon."

He continued his search.

On the third body, he found two Shanxi-made grenades. There was still blood on the wooden handles, not yet fully dry.

Five in total.

Chen Shusheng sat back in the corner and piled the five grenades at his feet. He pulled out strips of cloth from his leggings, broken bandages, and a length of hemp rope from who-knows-where.

He began to bind them.

He gathered the grenades together, wooden handles facing out, warheads facing in. He wrapped the cloth strips around them, once, twice, pulling them tight. Then he tied a dead knot.

His fingers trembled; it took several tries to finish the knot.

Finally, he stuffed the Japanese grenade into the center, fuse facing up.

They were bound.

It looked like an ugly bundle, iron lumps pressed against iron lumps.

Chen Shusheng picked it up and weighed it. It was very heavy. He unbuttoned his cotton coat and stuffed the bundle inside, against his chest. He left a length of cloth hanging around his neck.

It was cold. The iron shell pressed against his skin, making him shiver.

He stood up, walked to the edge of the corridor, and looked down.

At the breach, the defenders had retreated to the stairwell. Company Commander Shangguan had been shot in the left shoulder again, blood soaking half his body. He was still roaring, his voice as raspy as a broken gong.

The Japanese Soldiers surged upward like a tide, wave after wave.

The cold glint of bayonets was blinding.

Chen Shusheng turned his head and looked to the other side.

Chen Xi was at a window at the other end of the second floor, his back to the scene. The slingshot in his hand was fully drawn, aimed below. His profile was tense, and there was a bloody gash on his chin.

Chen Shusheng watched him for two seconds.

Then he turned and walked toward the spot directly above the breach.

His feet stepped over broken bricks and through pools of blood, leaving wet footprints. He reached the edge and looked down.

Directly below was the widest part of the breach.

The Japanese Soldiers were most numerous there, crowded together and still charging in. Bayonets were raised and lowered; blood splashed up against the walls.

The defenders had nowhere left to retreat.

Chen Shusheng took a deep breath.

He unbuttoned the top of his cotton coat and reached inside, feeling the bundle of grenades. He hooked his finger through the cloth strip and pulled it outward.

The grenades scraped against his skin, causing sharp pain.

He looked down at his chest.

His coat bulged, looking as if he were carrying a large steamed bun.

Then he looked up toward Chen Xi.

Chen Xi was still aiming and didn't look back.

Chen Shusheng opened his mouth.

His voice wasn't loud, but he used every ounce of his strength.

“Brother Chen—”

Chen Xi's body jolted, and he whipped his head around.

He saw Chen Shusheng standing at the edge of the second floor, his coat open and his chest bulging. He saw blood and dust on Chen Shusheng's face, but his eyes were bright.

He saw Chen Shusheng split his lips into a smile.

The smile was strange. It looked like a cry, yet also a real smile. The corners of his mouth curled up, revealing teeth stained with blood.

“For me...” Chen Shusheng roared, his voice cracking, yet every word slammed into Chen Xi's ears, “...take a look at the future China!”

Chen Xi's heart constricted violently.

He saw Chen Shusheng reach into his coat. He saw the bundle of grenades pulled out, the cloth strips wrapped around his hand. He saw Chen Shusheng turn to face the breach.

“No!” Chen Xi roared.

His throat was raw, and his voice was so shrill it didn't sound like his own.

He rushed forward, his foot catching on a brick, nearly making him fall. He reached out from the window, trying to grab him, but he couldn't reach.

Chen Shusheng didn't look back.

He threw himself over the edge and jumped.

His cotton coat flared out like a clumsy bird. The bundle of grenades in his arms glinted a steely blue in the morning light.

Falling.

Very fast.

Chen Xi's eyes followed the figure down. Time slowed, then sped up. He saw Chen Shusheng curl his body in mid-air, his hands shielding the bundle of grenades. He saw the Japanese Soldiers below look up, their eyes widening.

Then, impact.

He crashed into the densest part of the crowd at the breach.

There was a dull thud—the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Then came the startled cries, angry curses, and roars of the Japanese Soldiers.

Chen Shusheng didn't stand up.

He lay there, limbs splayed out. His face was turned upward, directly toward the second-floor window. He saw Chen Xi.

He smiled again.

His hand moved, reaching for the bundle of grenades in his arms. His fingers found the cloth strip and wrapped it twice around his wrist.

Then, he pulled.

The fuse hissed as it began to smoke.

White smoke curled out from the gaps between the grenades, fast and urgent.

The surrounding Japanese Soldiers realized what was happening and scrambled back, screaming. They tripped over their comrades' feet, falling into a chaotic mess.

Chen Shusheng looked at the second-floor window, his lips moving.

There was no sound.

But Chen Xi understood.

He said: “Go.”

BOOM—

The light came first.

A blinding white light exploded from the breach, swallowing everything. Then came the sound—not one, but five or six blasts merged together, exploding into a rolling thunder.

The shockwave surged upward, slamming into the walls of the second floor.

Chen Xi was knocked backward, crashing into the corridor wall. His back ached as if his bones had shattered. His ears were ringing with a roar that drowned out everything else.

He scrambled up and lunged for the window.

He looked down.

Smoke. Nothing but smoke. Black smoke and yellow smoke mixed with dust, completely shrouding the breach.

Things were flying through the smoke.

Scraps of cloth, severed limbs, steel helmets, and bayonets fell like rain.

The smoke slowly began to thin.

The breach was empty.

It wasn't that there were no people. There were no living people.

There was a crater in the ground, charred black, with bits of flesh and bone fragments scattered around its edges. Around the crater lay a ring of Japanese Soldiers. Some were still twitching; most were motionless.

The Japanese Soldiers further out stopped.

They stared at the crater, at the indistinguishable mess inside it. The rifles in their hands lowered.

The defenders stopped too.

Shangguan Zhibiao leaned against the wall and looked toward the second floor. His face was covered in blood, his expression unreadable.

Chen Xi's fingers gripped the windowsill.

His fingernails were torn, and blood seeped out, dripping onto the bricks. He felt nothing.

He stared at the crater.

In the crater lay a charred wooden handle from a grenade. There was also a scrap of khaki cloth, likely from a cotton coat.

Nothing else remained.

Smoke was still drifting upward.

It drifted to the second-floor window and into Chen Xi's nostrils.

The smell of charring, the stench of burnt flesh, and the scent of gunpowder mixed together, making his eyes sting.

He blinked.

His vision was a bit blurry.

He raised a hand to wipe his face. The back of his hand was wet. He didn't know if it was sweat or something else.

Below, the Japanese Soldiers began to retreat.

One step. Two steps.

No one dared to approach the crater.

The Livestream room's comments went blank for a full ten seconds.

Then, they exploded.

The entire screen was filled with only one character.

“...”