cicada

Chapter 1446 Is there any hope?

"vomit"

Zheng Tingbing bent over, as if trying to vomit everything in his stomach, but no matter how much he vomited, the stench that kept wafting over made him feel even more nauseous.

Under the intense stimulation, tears and snot streamed down his face, and he felt completely exhausted.

As a soldier, it might seem a bit shameful to react so strongly to the sight of corpses, but the fear of the corpses of our own kind is deeply ingrained in human genes, let alone seeing so many corpses at once.

Half an hour, or perhaps an hour later, Zheng Tingbing finally stopped vomiting and leaned against the earthen slope, breathing heavily.

Suddenly, his ears twitched, and he heard a few soft sobs coming from afar.

The crying, combined with the howling wind, created a somewhat eerie scene. Zheng Tingbing swallowed hard and mustered his courage to walk over.

Among the haphazardly laid corpses were men and women, young and old; some were already decomposed, while others had just developed lividity, indicating they had likely died not long ago.

Among the recently deceased was the body of a woman in her fifties holding a child less than two years old. Upon seeing Zheng Tingbing approach cautiously, the child stopped crying and stretched out his arms.

Zheng Tingbing blinked, hesitated for a moment, then picked up the child, feeling a sense of bewilderment.

Although he was a grandfather, there were servants in charge of everything at home, and he had no idea what to do.

After thinking for a moment, he checked the woman's belongings and found no valuables, only a household registration and travel permit issued by a district office in Luocheng, Henan Province.

According to the household registration records, there are seven people in the woman's family, including the woman, her husband, her two sons and daughters-in-law, and her children.

A family of seven, now probably only has one child left. Zheng Tingbing sighed and then suddenly froze.

More than ten minutes later, in the open field, a figure was constantly looking down and searching for something.

A cotton-padded jacket covered in patches, cotton-padded trousers that were only half-finished, tattered cloth shoes, and a worn-out felt hat—these made up a standard set of poor people's clothing.

Zheng Tingbing pinched his nose and put on the tattered clothes he had taken from the corpse. As for the clothes he had taken off, including his socks and shirt, they were all buried in the ground.

From this moment on, he was no longer the deputy director of the Military Intelligence Bureau, but a farmer from a village in Los Angeles.

To repay the kindness of borrowing his identity, Zheng Tingbing found a large stone as a marker and buried the woman next to it.

If he manages to escape successfully, he will have the woman re-encoffined after dealing with Lan Hongchang.

After doing all this, Zheng Tingbing grabbed a handful of mud and wiped it on his hands, face, and hair. Then he picked up the child and slowly walked southwest along the direction in which the body had fallen.

After walking for more than ten miles, other disaster victims appeared on the road. Everyone had a numb expression and moved forward mechanically.

Zheng Tingbing blended in unnoticed. With the mud and cotton-padded coat covering him, no one noticed his overly ruddy complexion and his fat body.

At daybreak, the fleeing group stopped to rest and were astonished to see the grandfather and grandson.

In years of great disaster, the elderly and children are the first to die; only the strong or young survive.

A middle-aged man walked over and asked Zheng Tingbing, "Brother, where are you from?"

“Los Angeles,” Zheng Tingbing replied, his face full of fatigue.

If Song Minghao and Wu Jingzhong were present, they would definitely be astonished, because Zheng Tingbing spoke standard Los Angeles dialect, without a trace of Cantonese accent.

This old fox never revealed that he could speak a dialect; everyone was fooled by him.

The middle-aged man said nothing upon hearing this, nor did he ask where the other person's family was. Among the refugees, there were more than one family members who had starved to death.

After a moment of silence, the middle-aged man revealed that they were going to Nanyang, where they had heard that the Nationalist government had grain distribution points.

Zheng Tingbing appeared excited, but inwardly he shook his head. Nanyang was the garrison of the 36th Army Group, a strategic location, and it was impossible to allow disaster victims to approach it.

The so-called grain distribution points are probably just rumors. It seems these disaster victims are going to be disappointed, which is rather cruel.

However, Commander Li of the 36th Army Group, who came from the Sichuan Army, was strict in his military discipline and upright in his character. He would never collude with Lan Hongchang.

Therefore, reporting the X Division's affairs to Shancheng through Commander Li should not lead to any leaks, and Zheng Tingbing has already devised his next plan.

At this moment, the child in his arms started crying loudly again, probably because he was hungry. But where could he find food in this godforsaken place? Even Deputy Director Zheng, who was known for his extensive connections in the mountain city, was at a loss.

Women in the crowd asked him how he had taken care of his children before, and some even looked wary, suspecting that he had encountered a child trafficker.

Upon hearing this, Zheng Tingbing looked distressed and explained that his wife had just passed away not long ago, and that she had been taking care of the children.

He wiped away tears as he spoke, a sight that was heartbreaking to watch. His performance was flawless, making him arguably the top actor in the Kuomintang's military intelligence bureau.

Everyone suddenly realized what was happening. Several kind-hearted young women took the child, comforted him, and gave him some water. The child finally stopped crying.

But drinking water alone wouldn't keep him going for long. After not eating for more than 20 hours, Zheng Tingbing felt a surge of acid in his stomach, which felt like it was on fire.

Zheng Tingbing, who used to live a life of luxury, never imagined that one day he would be troubled by a stutter.

For a fleeting moment, he seemed to understand why the underground Communist Party grew larger despite repeated crackdowns; the problems of the Republic of China, in the final analysis, were about having enough to eat.

After a while, the group set off again.

With a sliver of hope, the refugees headed towards Nanyang, with smaller groups of refugees joining them along the way, making the refugee procession grow ever larger.

As the sun rose high in the sky, several military trucks blocked the flow of people. Zheng Tingbing quietly hid in the middle of the crowd because he saw an acquaintance. Fu Han hurriedly jumped off a truck, his eyes sweeping over the dark mass of disaster victims, and pulled out a pistol, firing a shot into the sky.

"Bah!"

The gunshot startled countless crows that were gnawing on the corpses, and the disaster victims all took a step back. Fuhan pointed to the right and shouted loudly.

“A Japanese spy has infiltrated your ranks. All single men, come this way and wait for inspection.”

"I'll only say this once. Anyone who dares to disobey me will be met with a bullet."

"quick!"

After shouting, Fu Han kicked a man who met the screening criteria and pretended to hit him on the head with the butt of his gun, appearing very anxious.

He couldn't help but be anxious; if he couldn't find Zheng Tingbing and the other two, the entire X Division's top leadership would lose their heads.

The night before last, Fu Han led his men into Shi Ming's residence. When he saw that the place was empty, he was so frightened that he almost wet his pants on the spot.

If this case comes to light, he will be the first to die as the murderer of Shi Ming.

As Fuhan shouted, the accompanying soldiers raised their guns, and the disaster victims dared not resist and had no choice but to obey orders.

The crowd automatically split into two parts, and Fu Han's men conducted a second check to confirm that all the single men had gone to the right side.

Zheng Tingbing stood still, his expression unchanged even when soldiers approached him, still holding the child tightly.

A soldier walked past him, but immediately turned back, looked him up and down, and asked coldly.

"Documents, travel permit."

"Yes, sir, just a moment."

Zheng Tingbing took out a cloth bag from his pocket, untied it, and handed over the folded documents and travel permit.

The soldier snatched the ID, glanced at it, and then grabbed his hand, carefully examining his fingernails and palm.

The hands of ordinary people and officials are very different. The former have rougher skin due to exposure to the wind and sun and often doing rough work, while the latter are the opposite.

Seeing Zheng Tingbing's dirty hands, the soldier returned the identification and asked a few questions in the Henan dialect.

Such as where they came from, where they are going, how many people are in their family, how many acres of land they own, and what crops they grow.

Zheng Tingbing also answered in the Los Angeles dialect, speaking haltingly and appearing as if he had never seen the world.

The soldier hesitated, unsure whether he should take the suspect, who was of a similar age, away.

Suddenly, the child in Zheng Tingbing's arms seemed to sense something and called out "Grandpa" indistinctly.

The soldier let go of Zheng Tingbing's hand after the soldier called him "Master." Adults may lie, but children don't, especially since the intelligence didn't mention that the target spoke the Los Angeles dialect.

Watching the soldiers leave, Zheng Tingbing's heart, which had been hanging in suspense, slowly settled down. He tucked the blanket in and inexplicably felt that this child was destined to be with him.

The inspection took several hours, and Fuhan left empty-handed, completely unaware that he had missed his target.

At their closest, he was less than ten meters away from Zheng Tingbing, and those ten meters determined the life and death of countless people.

The disaster victims didn't care about the Japanese spies; they just wanted to get to Nanyang as soon as possible to have a full meal. They quickened their pace, and the group walked faster and faster.

Three days later, the disaster victims were stopped a few kilometers northeast of Nanyang City. They received bad news: there were no food distribution points.

Upon hearing the news, all the disaster victims were devastated, followed by boundless anger.

But faced with heavy machine guns and fully armed soldiers, no matter how unwilling they were, they could only swallow their anger.

Zheng Tingbing squeezed to the front of the crowd, skillfully tucked the child into his arms, raised his hand and waved to the officer in charge, then called out to him in Sichuan dialect.

"Boss, I'm a brother of your Commander Li, please make an exception for me."

"Tell him I've invited him to visit me at No. 22 Yihe Road in Jinling. We'll eat French snails and drink Bordeaux wine!"

His tone was unusually anxious, because the child, who had been relatively healthy, now had a burning forehead, and he didn't know whether it was from hunger or from catching a cold.

To maintain secrecy, Zheng Tingbing could not reveal his true identity, so he had to use the name of a fellow villager to request an audience with Commander Li, and incidentally mentioned an old incident as evidence.

The officer in charge was also from Sichuan. Facing the familiar dialect of his hometown, he readily made a phone call to headquarters.

A few minutes later, the sentry moved the barricades aside a crack, allowing Zheng Tingbing to enter the restricted area, which nearly triggered a riot among the disaster victims.

"Doctor, call the doctor quickly."

Zheng Tingbing shouted after escaping danger, but the child in his arms remained motionless, his face pale.

The officer sent someone to fetch the army doctor while he stepped forward and checked the child's breathing. He then paused, looked up, and hesitated before speaking.

Upon seeing this, Zheng Tingbing hurriedly reached out and placed his hand on the child's neck, but there was nothing there—no pulse, no temperature, the body was like an ice cube.

The setting sun cast a blood-red shadow on the ground, and Zheng Tingbing felt a chill run through his body.

Thinking of the countless corpses along the way, and the deeds of Lan Hongchang and others, this diehard kept asking himself a question: Is there really any hope for this party-state?
I originally wanted to give the children a happy ending, but the reality is that countless children died because of the KMT's inaction and corruption, so I still wrote this ending.