An 80s female translator was spoiled rotten by a rough and jealous man.

Chapter 310 Protecting Medicine
The abandoned maintenance passageway on the side wall of the tunnel is hidden in the shadows, and the exit has long been sealed off by dense wild vines, as thick as a natural curtain.

When the team carried large boxes out in single file, they had to first hack at them with bayonets, and then squeeze through sideways with great force to barely pass.

Broken stems and leaves fell in a flurry, piling up at the entrance of the cave. After Meng Youyou crawled out, she glanced back and noticed that the once-hidden exit was now a bare, irregular gap, the dark, grimy opening silently exposed to her view.

A sense of unease swept through Meng Youyou's heart. Then she saw the last deputy squad leader emerge from the hole, carrying a large amount of broken vines and branches.

He quickly shoved the branches and leaves in his hand into the hands of a soldier beside him, and then winked at someone downwind from the cave entrance. The soldier immediately understood, picked up the conspicuous pile of waste, and ran quickly to the bushes not far away. He threw the branches and leaves into the dense grass, and even stomped on them.

Meanwhile, the deputy squad leader had already squatted down, trying to gather and reshape the torn vines to cover up the wound as much as possible.

"Let's go!" The deputy squad leader patted the dirt off his hands and stood up, his voice barely audible. The squad dared not delay any longer and turned to plunge into the twilight outside the cave. It was already evening, the sky was overcast with no sunset, and the valley below was already shrouded in the gray-blue of the twilight.

Each of the five soldiers carried a large, heavy medicine box on their backs. This load exceeded their usual limits for carrying heavy loads during sprints, and their clothes were quickly soaked with sweat. They ran forward, and the heavy breathing and the dull thud of the medicine boxes hitting their backs echoed in Meng Youyou's ears.

The mountain path beneath their feet was rugged and uneven, and the heavy loads they carried made every step extremely difficult, but no one dared to slow down.

Less than two minutes after they stepped out, a series of muffled, rapid gunfire erupted from the direction of the tunnel behind them, like popping beans, interspersed with occasional booming explosions. Everyone's heart skipped a beat—the main force had engaged. But their steps didn't falter for a moment.

"Faster! Faster!" The deputy squad leader's voice was taut, exerting pressure, and the team's speed was increased even further.

However, the heavy load eventually slowed their pace. Not long after, the sharp sound of bullets whistling through the air suddenly came from the direction they had come from!
"Whoosh—thud!" A bullet struck the tree trunk they had just stepped over, sending splinters flying.

"Enemy attack! Spread out immediately! Stack the first-aid kits together! Use the terrain to build a fan-shaped defense!" The deputy squad leader's order was short and forceful.

The well-trained soldiers reacted swiftly, quickly unloading the medical kits from their backs and piling them in a depression on the shady side of a nearby rock. They instantly dispersed, using the surrounding trees and rocks as cover, all aiming their guns at the direction from which the bullets were coming, forming a simple semi-circular position centered on the medical kits.

Meng Youyou was sheltered by her soldiers at the innermost edge of the defensive line. Her back was pressed tightly against the wall of the medicine box, the cold metallic touch sending a chill down her spine. She cautiously peeked out and saw figures flashing through the woods, the orange muzzles of guns occasionally bursting in the dim light, stray bullets flying everywhere, hitting the rocks and sending sparks flying. The deputy squad leader led his soldiers, frequently raising their guns, reloading, and moving positions, using precise firepower to hold off the approaching enemy, refusing to yield an inch.

The pale moonlight had somehow pierced through the clouds, filtering through the gaps in the leaves and dappling the aluminum shell of the medicine box, reflecting a faint white light.

In the heat of the battle, no one paid any attention to a dark figure that, under the cover of darkness and gunfire, stealthily crept closer from the tall grass on the flank.

Meng Youyou was still focused on the firefight ahead when... in the darkness at the edge of her vision, the trajectory of a projectile suddenly caught her attention—something had been thrown at her?

My gaze followed instinctively, and my heart stopped abruptly the moment I saw it clearly—less than half a meter from the foot of the outermost aluminum medicine box, a hand grenade lay quietly on the ground, hissing smoke rising from it.

Without any hesitation, Meng Youyou darted out, grabbed a grenade from the ground, and threw it with all her might towards an empty open space in the distance! The next instant, she whirled around, spread her arms, and threw herself onto the medicine box, burying her head deeply.

With almost no time to react, "Boom!" The grenade exploded in mid-air a few meters away, shrapnel whistling and scattering in all directions. The massive blast wave threw Meng Youyou violently, and she felt a burning pain in her back, her consciousness momentarily fading.

"Translator Meng!"

The unexpected explosion that followed sent a chill down the spines of all the soldiers who were caught up in the fierce frontal combat. The squad leader, while continuing to suppress the enemy with fire, roared, "Watch out for a rear attack! Protect the medical kits!"

...

Outside a darkroom at a photography service in Fanzhou City, a young apprentice stood at the door, holding a stack of freshly cut film negatives, and knocked. No one answered; only the soft sound of running water could be heard. He waited patiently for seven or eight minutes before a slightly hoarse voice responded from inside: "Come in."

Having received confirmation, the young apprentice pushed open the door and entered. The red light from the darkroom immediately spilled out, making half of his face turn red—this was a hard rule that the master and apprentice had established over many years: darkroom work should not be disturbed.

In the cramped darkroom, the only light source was a dim red lamp on the workbench. A thin, elderly man with completely white temples was hunched over, using bamboo tongs to pick up a wet photograph from the developing tray, carefully examining its tonal gradations under the red light. Hearing his apprentice enter, he didn't turn around, his gaze still fixed on the photograph.

“Master,” the apprentice gently placed the stack of negatives on the dry area table beside the old man, “the army just sent the latest batch of…archival negatives of martyrs’ portraits. They said they need them urgently for porcelain portraits, so we’ll probably have to work extra today.”

The service agency has a long-term cooperative relationship with the military, mainly taking standard photos, ID photos and other archive photos for officers and soldiers, and undertaking the business of making standard porcelain portraits from negatives.

In the past two years, the frequency of the latter business has increased significantly. Every now and then, a batch of negatives is sent to the agency, requesting that porcelain portraits be made in a hurry. The reason is simple: it is not peacetime, and there are often casualties on the front lines.

Upon hearing this, the old man gave a low "hmm," shifting his gaze from the photos in his hand to the stack of negatives. He casually hung the photos on the drying line, wiped his hands with a towel, and then decisively said, "Alright, let's work on this set first."

As he spoke, he sorted through the stack of negatives, checking their quality. When his fingers touched the bottom, he felt a stiff sheet of photographic paper, its texture completely different. He pulled it out with a puzzled look, held it up to the red light, and was immediately stunned—it was a black-and-white photograph that had already been developed. The man and woman in the photo were smiling brightly, a perfect match, infinitely beautiful.

"Why is there another photo here?" The old man frowned, flipping through the stack of negatives again, but couldn't find the corresponding film. "Is it a group photo? Where's the negative?"

"Oh! This," the apprentice slapped his forehead and quickly explained, "I also found it strange when I first got it, so I specifically asked the comrade from the army who delivered it. He said that it was found among the belongings of a female comrade who had sacrificed her life. There was this photo in the envelope, along with a note explaining that she hoped to have her individual part taken out of the group photo to be used as her memorial portrait."

After a pause, the apprentice added in a low voice, "They asked us if we could handle it just before they left?"

The apprentice scratched his nose, a little guilty: "I agreed right away, saying that although I might not be able to do this job well, my master would definitely be able to!"
"You little rascal! Always trying to flatter!" the old man chuckled and scolded, shaking his head helplessly before his gaze returned to the red light. He approached the red light, pushed up his reading glasses, and squinted to examine it closely. He looked left and right, feeling a sense of familiarity, and muttered to himself, "How strange... why does this man on the left look so familiar?"

Hearing this, the young apprentice crowded around, squeezing next to his master and staring intently at the photo. Suddenly, as if struck by lightning, he clapped his hands abruptly, his voice rising sharply: "It's him! Master, it's him!"

"Who is it? Do you know him?" The old man was startled, and the photograph in his hand trembled.

"Don't you remember?" The young apprentice excitedly pointed to the handsome man in the group photo. "It was last July, one day you were in the darkroom, holding a negative and asking me, 'Why is the exposure at the edges of this negative so strange?' Do you remember?"
That's him in the negative!

The young apprentice immediately started talking, speaking very quickly: "At the end of the year before last, the army contacted us at the camp to take archive photos of the soldiers before their departure. Didn't you happen to be back in the countryside to see your grandson around that time?"

Ah Xiang and I went to the military base with our cameras. This officer absolutely refused to be photographed alone. He went to discuss it with his superiors for a long time, and finally came to us with a group photo, saying that he wanted us to take out his solo portrait from the group photo and use it to replace the standard photo for archiving.

"You weren't at the company back then, so I had to bite the bullet and do it for him. But my skills weren't up to par, and the lighting and shadows at the edges weren't handled well..." He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

As he spoke, the young apprentice's voice gradually faded, his excitement vanishing, leaving only a low, melancholy tone: "Later, when we actually needed to use the negatives, you saw the finished product and gave me a good scolding. You said that making a martyr's portrait was a matter of utmost importance, concerning his final dignity, and could not be taken lightly or compromised. You also ordered me that next time I encountered such an important matter, I must wait for you to return to handle it, and I must never try to do it myself..."

As the old man listened to his apprentice's words, he slowly recalled that old incident. His gaze fell once again on the pair of young and energetic faces in the photograph. His fingers unconsciously stroked the edge of the photograph paper, and he remained silent for a long time.

After a long while, the old man sighed softly, silently took the photo, and walked to the workbench.

Does sighing mean you feel regret?

Two such young and well-matched children, who should have had such happy and fulfilling lives, instead sacrificed their precious lives one after another on the same path.