92: Chapter 92 A Lonely Journey

The warehouse was empty.

Only Chen Xi remained, along with the Green Gang leader who consistently maintained a three-meter distance from him.

And in the air, the lingering, mixed scent of sweat, blood, and tobacco belonging to those Soldiers.

"Mr. Chen."

The Green Gang leader handed over a set of neatly folded, ordinary coarse cloth short garments.

"Mr. Du has given instructions. We will arrange everything for you in Shanghai."

Chen Xi took the clothes, their unfamiliar, rough texture felt in his hands.

He didn't speak, only nodded.

Entering a partitioned space, he removed the military uniform, already tattered and stained with blood and gunpowder.

He changed into this outfit belonging to an ordinary person on the streets of Shanghai in 1937.

He looked at the unfamiliar self in the water-stained, mottled mirror.

Hair disheveled, complexion pale, eyes holding a weariness even he couldn't comprehend.

Like waking from a great dream.

Yet it also felt as if he had just fallen into a deeper dream.

He walked out of the warehouse.

Like a drop of water, silently merging into Shanghai's bizarre, vast ocean.

The early morning in the Concession was two distinctly different worlds.

On the broad roads, foreigners in Western suits and modern women in exquisite qipaos elegantly entered cafes and office buildings.

The honking of car horns intertwined with the jazz music drifting from department stores.

The air was permeated with the scent of butter, coffee, and perfume.

Yet, just around the corner of a single street.

In the narrow, dilapidated alleyways, refugees fleeing from the war zone were packed together.

The air held a sour, desperate, hungry smell.

Ragged children sat numbly in corners, watching every passerby.

Their eyes were hollow, devoid of light.

Heaven and Hell were separated by just one street.

Surreal.

Fucking surreal.

Chen Xi walked, aimlessly.

He was like a ghost, traversing between these two incompatible worlds.

Belonging neither here nor there.

An unprecedented, profound sense of loneliness tightly enveloped him.

He found an abandoned, deserted dock and sat down.

Behind him was a cold stone wall carrying the smell of rust.

The passion of battle and adrenaline were receding like a tide, draining from his body.

Endless fatigue and the neurological aftermath left by the 1% pain synchronization, like maggots clinging to bone, began to viciously backlash.

The wound on his back, torn open by shrapnel, throbbed faintly.

No.

That wasn't pain.

It was a more bizarre sensation.

The wound had clearly healed under the effect of the 【Mosquito Repellent Spray】, but his nerves remembered the feeling of being torn apart.

This real "phantom pain" was like a cold coordinate, firmly pinning him to this era that did not belong to him.

Reminding him that everything that had happened was not a game.

Chen Xi carefully took out the brass button from his chest.

On it, the long-dried, dark red bloodstains belonging to Little Chen.

He gently rubbed the cold, blurred pattern on the button with his fingertip.

Little Chen's final brilliant smile.

And that shout that shook heaven and earth.

"Brother Chen, for me... see the China of the future!"

Echoed repeatedly in his mind once more.

This small, inconspicuous button.

Was heavier than his own life.

(Cleared the level?)

(And then? Hand out a trophy? Or a commendation banner?)

He opened the system panel only he could see.

【Main Quest: Defense of Sihang Warehouse】

【Status: Completed】

【Quest Evaluation: Perfect】

【Rewards: Audience emotion points +18,745,921,34, Unlock Tier 3 Mall Permissions, Special Title "Brand of the Era"】

A series of cold, mechanical words.

Chen Xi looked at that astronomically long string of numbers he couldn't even count, yet inside, he felt no joy of having cleared the level.

Only a heavy sense of responsibility, almost enough to crush him.

He knew this was not the end.

This was only a beginning.

This wasn't fucking clearing a game level.

This was incurring a blood debt, a debt that could never be repaid.

He put away the button, looked up at the grayish sun in the sky belonging to 1937.

His gaze was calm, yet bottomlessly deep.

He closed his eyes.

No longer thinking about those Soldiers, no longer thinking about that future.

He just waited quietly.

Waiting for the next command issued by that cold system.

The next battlefield, belonging to him alone.