Chapter 73: Breaking the Silence

The tent had already collapsed, and though the inner frame remained intact, it was no longer usable. By July, the mountains were already beset by mosquitoes, tormenting not only Ji Liang and Ji Yulin, who stood outside the tent, but also Zhou Yi up in the tree, who was driven to distraction by the incessant buzzing in his ears.

That very night, the ominous premonition in Zhou Yi’s heart returned, so strong that he could no longer concern himself with whatever schemes Ji Liang and Ji Yulin were up to. He could only head home without delay.

The scene shifts now to Baishan Village.

Company Commander Ma had returned to Erdaohe Town, only to be severely reprimanded by his superiors, stoking his fury. Muttering curses under his breath about how a few wretched hunters couldn’t possibly contend with his rifles and artillery, he made his way to the neighboring company to borrow a grenade launcher.

Not wanting his own men to take any more risks, Commander Ma decided to send a couple of shells into the Zhou household first. At that time, weapons control was lax; before long, he’d managed to acquire a grenade launcher and five shells.

Two soldiers carried the launcher and shells back to Baishan Village, set it up at the village entrance, adjusted the angle, and fired a shell straight at the Zhou family home.

Commander Ma had descended into outright madness, showing no regard for the innocent lives in the village.

With a thunderous explosion, the tranquil night of the mountain village was shattered. Because Commander Ma’s soldiers had no formal artillery training, the shell landed behind Zhou Yi’s house, causing no harm to Zhou Mo or Mother Zhou inside.

“Damn it, what a waste of a shell! I spent ten silver dollars to get my hands on this rare piece, and now it’s ruined! If you can’t get the aim right with the next one, I’ll shoot you myself,” Commander Ma cursed, slapping the soldier who’d adjusted the angle of the launcher on the back of the head.

The soldier scratched his head and grinned sheepishly. “Commander, I’ve never used one of these things before. I’ll adjust it a bit more.” As he spoke, he tweaked the angle again and fired another shell.

The first shell had landed behind the Zhou house; with the angle now further adjusted, there was little chance of hitting the house. This time, the shell landed in the Zhou family’s backyard.

Another deafening blast.

The entire village of Baishan was thrown into alarm. Hearing the explosions, the villagers assumed the army was attacking. The men of the village hurried to grab their hunting rifles and prepare to defend themselves.

Baozi and Mu Chen were still awake, lying on the heated brick bed, chatting. At the sound of the explosions, their first thought was that Commander Ma had returned. They dressed in haste and rushed toward Zhou Yi’s house.

But as soon as they stepped outside, they were stopped by soldiers lying in wait. “We’re arresting traitorous rebels in the village. No one else is to leave their homes,” the soldiers declared.

These soldiers hadn’t been to the village during the day and did not recognize Baozi and Mu Chen. The two exchanged a glance and attacked at once.

Baozi landed a kick to the groin of the nearest two soldiers, who collapsed to the ground, howling in pain. Mu Chen was even more decisive; slipping behind another soldier, he delivered a punch to the back of his head, sending him instantly into unconsciousness.

Before the remaining three soldiers could react, another two were swiftly knocked down. In the blink of an eye, the seven-man team was reduced to three, and before any of them could fire a shot, Baozi and Mu Chen had rendered them all unconscious.

The last one, whom Baozi had failed to claim before Mu Chen, was still writhing on the ground, clutching his groin and moaning. Baozi delivered a kick to his forehead, knocking him out cold.

“What’s going on?” Baozi’s father emerged from the house, startled by the sight of soldiers strewn across the ground.

“Dad, hide these soldiers in the haystack. Don’t let anyone find them. They’re after Brother Yi’s family,” Baozi said. Not waiting for an answer, he vaulted over the walls of the neighboring houses, making his way swiftly toward Zhou Yi’s home.

Awakened by the sound of artillery, Zhou Mo sat up abruptly. “Mother, quickly, hide in the cellar. This time we mustn’t let them catch you.”

The cellar, a staple in Northeastern homes for storing potatoes and cabbage, stayed cool in summer and warm in winter, keeping food from freezing or spoiling. Usually dug beneath the kitchen and covered with wooden planks, most cellars were about three meters deep.

Once Mother Zhou was hidden, Zhou Mo took Xunfeng and slipped outside. There were no soldiers guarding the house—only two shells had been fired so far, and the rest hadn’t yet found their mark; to lie in ambush near Zhou Yi’s house would have been suicidal.

Just as Zhou Mo and Xunfeng stepped out, a shell fell. The aim had finally been corrected: the shell tore through the window and exploded in the east wing of the house, bringing the structure down in an instant.

The blast hurled Zhou Mo more than two meters away. No sooner had he hit the ground than another shell landed on the ruins, sending flames roaring skyward and leaving him momentarily stunned.

“Mother! Mother!” Zhou Mo called out desperately to the burning house, but there was no reply from within.

His mind went blank. He staggered back a couple of steps, and the third shell struck. In a heartbeat, the three thatched rooms had been leveled, flames lighting up the night.

Once again, the blast flung Zhou Mo back, but this time he didn’t hit the ground—he fell straight into Baozi’s outstretched arms.

“Third Brother, Third Brother, where’s Aunt? Where’s Aunt?” Baozi shouted, relieved to see Zhou Mo unharmed.

“Mother’s in the cellar! In the cellar! Hurry, save her!” Zhou Mo cried, pointing toward the inferno.

Baozi and Mu Chen were stunned—an elderly woman, already in her sixties and frail, could hardly survive such an ordeal.

“Mu Chen, Third Brother, don’t panic. I’ll go find Aunt; you two hold off those bastards for me.” With that, Baozi rushed into the burning wreckage.

“Aunt, please, you must be safe. If something happens to you, even if I kill myself in front of Brother Yi, he will never forgive me,” Baozi muttered as he tore at the burning beams with his hands.

The flames singed his hair and eyebrows; his clothes caught fire. Baozi tore them off and pressed on, the searing heat around him draining the moisture from his body, cracking his skin. But none of this mattered to him. Zhou Yi was his only true friend in this life; with Zhou Yi away and the third brother still a child, it was his duty to take care of this family. If anything befell Mother Zhou, he truly would take his own life.

Ignoring his blistered and cracking skin, Baozi continued to dig.

All five shells had now been fired, and the soldiers began advancing toward the Zhou house.

Commander Ma, squinting, sneered, “Damn it, you want to take me on? I’ll raze your home to the ground. Keep your eyes peeled—if you spot anyone suspicious, arrest them at once.”

He deployed soldiers throughout the village. Since the first two shells had missed their mark, he feared his targets might have already fled.

“I’ll kill you all!” he shouted, cursing furiously.

A brief aside for context: readers from the south may not know that in Northeastern rural villages, houses are usually spaced far apart, aligned in rows. The distance between the front and back of houses is often around thirty meters, sometimes more, with vegetable gardens in between for summer planting. Houses are also separated by a dozen meters or so laterally. Because of this, even with grenade launchers, accidental damage is rare.

However, before the era of the one-child policy, China’s population was growing rapidly and houses were built closer together. If shells were fired into a village nowadays... well, you can imagine the consequences.

As for tonight, I’m not sure if there will be another update, since this chapter was released ahead of schedule—depends on how my writing goes. I’ll aim for three updates tomorrow.