War Photographer's Notebook

Chapter 2016 is titled Maria Solovyova.
When the white light faded, everything around them transformed back into a farm, but Wei Ran realized that this was not the farm in Clara's dream.

Looking around, the first thing he saw was the Willys Jeep from the metal notebook parked by the roadside behind him.

At this moment, the jeep still had an aerial camera mounted on it, and in the passenger seat, there was a camera case, also from a metal notebook.

Looking around, he quickly saw a familiar scene: an enclosure where many cows were leisurely grazing.

He even saw what appeared to be two people having a picnic under an unidentified tree in the middle of the fenced pasture.

After a moment's thought, he stepped into the driver's seat of the jeep, started the engine, and drove along the fence for about a hundred meters. Then he drove along a slag road into the ranch and headed straight for the two people who were having a picnic in the distance.

As he drew closer, he gradually realized that the two people looking at him were Arthur, the former supply manager of the island, and Claire, the former coffee girl.

What was particularly special was that Claire was holding a small baby in her arms.

"Victor, is it really you?!" Arthur exclaimed in delight.

"It's me," Wei Ran stepped on the brakes. "Long time no see."

"It really has been a long time."

Arthur gave Wei Ran a warm hug, and asked, "Where have you been all year?"

“I…I went to China,” Wei Ran said, looking at Claire.

"Long time no see, Victor."

Claire said with a happy expression, "Arthur and I got married and have a child together."

"What's his name?" Wei Ran asked, looking at the child in the other person's arms.

Samuel

Arthur proudly introduced, "His name is Samuel Cohen, he's a boy, and he shares the same birthday as the little boy from last year."

"October 8th?"

“没错，8月6号！1946年的8月6号。”

Claire added with a laugh, "And it's also 8:15 a.m., 8:15 a.m. Boston time."

"What a coincidence!"

"Yes, what a coincidence," Claire said, though a hint of melancholy lingered on her face.

"Your brother..."

He didn't come back.

Claire instinctively hugged the child in her arms tighter, looking at the wooden house in the distance, and said, "He's not coming back. He's dead, he died there."

Taking a few deep breaths, Claire forced herself to remain strong and calm as she said, "He died on August 6th of last year, at 8:15 AM, probably, probably. He's currently missing."

"he"

"He was a prisoner of war, I guess."

Claire sighed. "I'm not sure. I've only heard rumors that he was sent to a prisoner-of-war camp there, and I don't even know if those rumors are true or not."

Upon hearing this, Wei Ran sighed. History does not record the life and death of these insignificant people. Their disappearances are always listed as missing, which may be the only hope that these people might have to live.

"In any case, the war is finally over."

Claire looked down and teased the baby in her arms. "But I don't think it's thanks to this little guy. It's thanks to my brother and many others who died or went missing in the war like him."

“Yes, it’s all thanks to them.” Wei Ran echoed blankly.

“Even so, if I had to do it all over again, I would still agree to let that little one be born,” Claire said abruptly.

"why?"

Wei Ran subconsciously asked the question that had been asked him not long ago, "Because...because of hatred?"

"if not?"

Claire retorted, "My brother disappeared because of those bastards, do you expect me to forgive them?"
My child wasn't nailed to a cross, so why should I be so magnanimous?

"That sentence is hellish."

Arthur, who was pouring coffee for Wei Ran, reminded him with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"It's an impeccable reason," Wei Ran's mood suddenly improved a lot.

"Do you remember the gift my brother's friend asked you to give me? The gift he asked me to pass on to my brother?" Claire changed the subject.

"Of course I remember," Wei Ran nodded.

"It's currently kept by my mother."

Claire pointed to the wooden house in the distance. "That little gift became my mother's most treasured possession. Every day she looked forward to my brother's return and handing the gift over to him."

Upon hearing this, Wei Ran sighed, at a loss for words.

The war may have ended for this country that has reaped the benefits of war, but the pain it has brought to ordinary people continues.

This pain will not gradually fade with time; it will only become more and more unbearable to mention, otherwise it will be a heart-wrenching pain—it will only be completely forgotten as these survivors disappear one by one.

"The day after Samuel was born"

Arthur said, "We received a letter with autographed photos of the Enola Guy crew."

Victor, do you know who sent it to us? To be honest, we've always suspected it was you.

"No, not me."

Wei Ran snapped out of his daze and said with a smile, "I don't know who sent it to you, but I guess it might be Samuel's friend."

"Maybe so."

Claire sighed, “My brother once sent back a photo like that, and my mother was always very proud to tell the neighbors that her son was a bomber pilot.”

At this point, Claire couldn't help but look again at the wooden house in the distance. "She hasn't said that since the war ended."

She was the one who was most heartbroken.

Wei Ran took a deep breath and said, "Let me take a group photo of you."

"Okay," Claire agreed without hesitation.

“I’ll go and push your mother out,” Arthur said, already walking quickly toward the wooden house in the distance.

“Arthur and I got married right after the war ended.”

Claire watched Arthur's retreating figure and said, "He also lost his family in that war. His father disappeared at Pearl Harbor, also disappeared. That gentleman was a doctor."

"So he also harbors hatred?" Wei Ran asked, also looking at Arthur's retreating figure.

"not at all"

Claire shook her head. "Maybe not. In any case, the war is finally over."

"yes."

Wei Ran unconsciously repeated, "In any case, the war is finally over."

"You look tired?"

"I'm more exhausted than ever before. I want to go home."

As Wei Ran spoke, he got up and walked to his Jeep, opened the camera case on the passenger side, took out the Kodak gold medal camera, and began to adjust it.

At the same time, Arthur pushed an old man over in a wheelchair.

The old woman was holding a baseball glove, inside which was a milk bottle sealed with aluminum foil. The two plugs, the bloodstained card, and the group photo were all inside the milk bottle.

Let's take the picture here.

Arthur suggested, pushing the old man next to the picnic mat.

"Let's take the picture here then."

As Wei Ran spoke, she took the camera and walked a few steps away, using the viewfinder to frame the expressionless old woman, Claire and Arthur embracing behind her, and the little boy in their arms who was smiling at the camera.

"Crack!"

With a crisp click of the shutter, a relieved Wei Ran was greeted by a burst of white light.

When he put down his camera, the surroundings were still a pasture—Clara's pasture.

“Congratulations,” Clara said, sitting at the coffee table.

"Congratulations?"

"Shouldn't we congratulate her?" Clara retorted.

"Whatever," Wei Ran said, sitting down opposite her.

"Is there anything you want to ask?" Clara asked.

"Have I really not changed anything?" Wei Ran asked after a moment of silence. "I mean, in terms of history."

"Sorry, there's nothing there."

Clara shook her head. "No one can change history, not even by moving an extra feather."

"So what does everything I've been through mean?" Wei Ran asked instinctively. "If you can understand it..."

Clara asked, "What do you think Qin Shi Huang would think if he saw a movie from your era?"

"So it's just a movie? Or a more realistic movie?"

"Perhaps it should be called a documentary, a completely realistic documentary."

"Completely realistic?"

Wei Ran's face showed a mocking expression, "Then your simulation is really realistic."

This is not my achievement.

Clara snapped her fingers as she spoke, and suddenly the little girl who was like a scar in Wei Ran's heart reappeared at their table. She was still holding a grenade and a biscuit in her hand, and she was still wearing that light blue blanket.

Do you think she's realistic?

"Isn't it?"

"Death is not the end."

Clara said, "In the era when this place was created, human or animal life was more like a data stream, and the body was just the hardware that adapted to this data stream."

"Digital life?"

Wei Ran subconsciously thought of a scene from a science fiction movie.

"To be inaccurate, it's similar, but by no means that simple."

As Clara spoke, she snapped her fingers, and the girl draped in the blue blanket instantly became more expressive of the blank expression on the wooden frame. When she saw Wei Ran, her expression changed from fear to surprise.

Immediately afterwards, she subconsciously looked around, then dropped the grenade and biscuits in her hand, hugged Wei Ran, and began to cry silently.

"After death, the data flow stops iterating."

Clara said, "She sacrificed her own body and the data stream to keep the enemy at bay for you."

"The true history"

"reality?"

Clara smiled. "For you, perhaps only the world you grew up in is considered real."

But for these data streams, the world that allows their data streams to continue operating is also real.

"Live before you die"

"If needed, they can continue to experience the process of growing old here."

Clara explained, "There is no death in the strict sense for data streams."

You can reset at any time, start over at any time, and undo your decision at any time.

The only thing that can't be erased are the memories of the time before their bodies disappeared.

So they became teaching materials, or NPCs that could be reset at any time.

"Does the data stream from all the deaths of people come here?"

"The database is large enough, so why not?"
Even the worst of the worst can serve as teaching materials, offering lessons to those who follow. Like…

Learn from history

"That's right, learn from history."

Clara nodded, “But for these data streams, everything they accompany you through is real.”

"And you?" Wei Ran asked abruptly.

"I'm like the administrator of this database, of course, this is all described in a way that you can understand."

As I just said, the actual situation is much more complicated.

Clara, or rather the database administrator, answered with considerable candor.

"Can they regain their physical bodies?" Wei Ran pressed.

"With your current technology, you are far from being able to do these things."

Clara shook her head. "Creating a healthy body is simple, but getting the data stream perfectly loaded onto the body is a very complicated thing."

"You can't do it either?"

"I'm not omnipotent."

Clara shrugged. "I can't even make a rain shower fall on your world."

"But you were able to make me give birth to a DT30 transport truck as if it were a difficult birth."

“Those things are just temporarily stored in the server room of this database,” Clara explained.

"Like Doraemon's bellyband?"

"It's nowhere near as convenient."

Clara smiled. "Besides, the space inside isn't very big; these things are already at their limit."

“I have nothing more to ask,” Wei Ran said. “It’s your turn to say something.”

Managing these data streams is a painful process.

Clara said, "Especially after living here long enough."

"so what?"

"The original rule of this game was that whoever cleared the game would be responsible for managing this place."

"game?"

"Isn't it a game?"

"So now it's me?"

"After your natural or accidental death"

Clara replied, "Immortality in a certain sense, doesn't that sound tempting?"

"For now, I still yearn more for life in the mortal realm."

Wei Ran suddenly chuckled at this point, "So if I were in charge here, could I experiment over and over again?"

"certainly"

Clara shrugged. "When I'm bored, I sometimes simulate the little trick of blowing up continental plates over and over again, but it gets boring very quickly."

You can even torture a data stream repeatedly, making it experience the pain of death over and over again.

I particularly enjoy doing this kind of thing: making those who don't cherish life and commit suicide relive all the pain they experienced while alive, while stripping away the happy parts.

As she spoke, Clara snapped her fingers again, and an ugly creature dressed in animal skins appeared not far away.

Ironically, a small patch of dark cloud, accompanied by torrential rain, lightning, and thunder, was floating above his head.

"That idiot killed nearly a hundred of his kind to sacrifice to me, hoping I would send down a torrential rain for them."

Clara explained, "After he died, I found his data stream and fulfilled his wishes, and I continue to do so."

"Living Yama"

Wei Ran was speechless, then shook his head and changed the subject, "So you're also a winner?"

"The first one, and currently the only one besides you, since I didn't have a manager here before."

Clara said, "The first one before you and the other six players."

But in fact, I only experienced one small-scale battle before I got this position.

"I never imagined I'd have to work even after I'm dead. Didn't the professor say studying history was a very relaxed job?"

Wei Ran sighed self-deprecatingly, looked down at the child she was still holding in her arms, and asked, "So what's her name?"

Maria Solovyova

Clara sighed, "She was born deaf and mute."

"Maria, may I take your picture?"

Wei Ran squatted down in front of the little guy and asked, while also making a posing gesture as if taking a picture.

Although Maria couldn't hear, she understood Wei Ran's gestures and immediately nodded.

"Snapped!"

With Clara's snap of her fingers, everything around her transformed into the shattered house in Stalingrad. Maria's face immediately contorted with terror as she frantically picked up the grenade at her feet.

At the same time, Wei Ran also found a Rolleiflex dual-purpose machine that he had used before.

"I'm sorry, I should have taken this picture sooner."

As Wei Ran muttered to himself, he pressed the shutter button on Maria Solovyova.

I photographed the grenade she instinctively lit, the discarded biscuits at her feet, the terror and resolve on her face, and the blue, still intact blanket.