Siheyuan: Hang Jia Dongxu, smash Banggeng to death!

Benxi Iron Mine.

As dawn broke,

The cold morning wind swept down the hillside, chilling you to the bone.

At five o'clock sharp, the sharp sound of a metal whistle broke the silence.

"Get up, get up! Time to get to work!"

A rough, hoarse voice roared in broken Chinese, followed by the sound of leather boots stomping on gravel and the sharp noise of iron bars striking iron railings.

In the shacks of the POW camp, prisoners of war from various countries crawled up from the haystacks.

Some people were rubbing their eyes, some were yawning, and some were huddled in a corner, refusing to move.

An American soldier, grumbling and cursing, put on his filthy work clothes, not even bothering to tie his boots.

"God, it's that damn mining again. I'm going crazy. This is the 40th day already."

For forty days, I mined ore in this godforsaken place. Every day was just rocks and rocks.

I used to be an accountant, with an office and a secretary in New York, but now I'm here digging for stones, like a wild man.

The American soldier next to him didn't even look up, forcefully shoving his boots in: "At least you're still alive. My cousin was killed on the Korean battlefield."

"Think about this, and then think about your accounting office. Does that make you feel better?"

The door was kicked open, and a Chinese soldier stood in the doorway, whip in hand. His gaze swept over the shack, his tone devoid of any warmth:

"What are you dawdling for? Want a whipping?"

The Ugly soldiers immediately shut up, lowered their heads, and walked out.

The prisoners of war from the Eagle Kingdom followed behind him, and the prisoners of war from the Punishment Kingdom also caught up. Dozens of people crowded into the narrow passage and slowly walked towards the mine.

It was still dark outside, but a long queue had already formed at the mine entrance.

The soldier, hunching his shoulders, moved forward, complaining about the food: "Yesterday's steamed buns were as hard as rocks; even soaking them in water, I couldn't bite them."

And that soup? Is that even called soup?

It's just water with a little salt added. When I was in Paris, even my dog ​​ate better than this.

The Ugly soldier chuckled and said, "Be content. At least we still have coarse rice cakes. Last month, there was a food shortage, and we didn't even have swill to drink."

I was so hungry I was seeing stars, I almost ate my boots.

A Canadian soldier interjected, "I heard from the foreman that a new batch of supplies is arriving soon, and supposedly there will be canned meat too."

The soldier's eyes lit up: "Really?"

The Ugly soldier reminded him, "Don't be too happy. Last time they said they would bring chocolate, but what they brought was compressed biscuits."

Those biscuits were so hard they could be used as bricks; I suspect they were scavenged from a construction site.

The sound of a whip cracking and a scream came from ahead.

One of the Turkish soldiers was walking too slowly and was whipped by the overseer.

He squatted down, arms crossed, grimacing.

The foreman cursed and kicked him in the backside: "Get up! Stop playing dead!"

Tuerqibing got up, lowered his head and continued walking forward, his face expressionless.

Hilarious soldier muttered a curse in his native language, and the Dutch soldier next to him patted him on the shoulder:

"Stop talking, or you'll get beaten up again."

Hillary shook his head: "How much longer are we going to stay here? We've already paid the reparations, why won't they let us go?"

Compensation isn't ransom; what a pipe dream!

They reached the edge of the mine pit; it was already daylight.

The huge mine pit was bottomless, with machines roaring and workers busy at the bottom, the clanging sounds echoing through the valley.

The foreman stood on a high place, whip in hand, shouting, "First team, go down into the pit! Second team, crush the ore! Third team, load the trucks! Don't dawdle! If you don't finish the task today, no one's going to eat!"

The prisoners of war began to disperse, mechanically heading to their respective posts.

The soldiers from the Ugly Kingdom and the Eagle Kingdom were grouped together and headed towards the bottom of the pit.

The road was narrow and slippery, with gravel and mud underfoot.

One of the Hilla soldiers slipped and fell to the ground, rolling several meters before crashing into a pile of ore, wincing in pain.

The foreman walked over and stepped on his back: "I told you to be careful, but you wouldn't listen!"

Hira lay panting on the ground, too afraid to move. The overseer kicked him: "Get up! Get back to work!"

The Australian soldiers were assigned to break up ore, swinging sledgehammers to smash rocks. One, two, three blows later, their clothes were soaked with sweat, and they stopped to rest, panting heavily.

The supervisor's voice immediately rang out: "Who told you to stop? Keep going!"

The Australian soldier gritted his teeth and swung his sledgehammer again.

The Filipino soldiers were assigned to load the trucks, shoveling the gravel into the mine carts one shovel at a time. Their backs ached, and their movements became slower and slower.

The foreman walked over and lashed him on the back with a whip: "Hurry up! Don't expect to eat until you finish!"

Fei Lubin bit his lip and sped up.

As the sun rises higher, the temperature also increases.

The mine was like a steamer, hot and stuffy.

The Australian soldier put down his sledgehammer and leaned against a pile of ore, panting, "I'm dying, I'm really exhausted. When will this end? A year? Two years? Ten years?"

The shovel-wiping soldier put down his shovel and wiped his sweat with his sleeve: "I heard that if you behave well, your sentence can be reduced. If you serve your full term, you can go home."

The Australian soldier gave a wry smile: "Go home? Go home whichever home? My home is in Melbourne, and I'm not even sure if it's still my home anymore."

Lunch was served around noon.

The prisoners of war lined up, each holding an enamel bowl, and received a bowl of thin porridge and a piece of black steamed bun.

The porridge was so thin you could see your reflection in it, and the steamed buns were as hard as rocks.

The Ugly soldier took a bite of bread and frowned: "This is lunch? I thought there would be some meat."

The soldier from the Eagle Kingdom took a sip of porridge and said, "Be content. It's better than nothing."

Fa Guobing sat in the corner, breaking his steamed bun into pieces and soaking it in porridge, eating slowly: "I heard the foreman say yesterday that the next batch of supplies will include canned meat. I wonder if it's true."

The Canadian soldier shook his head: "Don't get your hopes up too high. Even if we had some, it wouldn't be something we could eat."

On a distant high platform, a Chinese soldier looked at the prisoners of war and asked, "Are these prisoners behaving well?"

The supervisor nodded: "Not bad. Although some people slack off occasionally, they are generally obedient."

Those who tried to escape a few days ago were caught and executed in public, and the others never dared to do it again.

The Chinese soldier grunted in response: "The commander said that it's okay to make them work, but they can't be mistreated too much."

They'll be given food and clothing as they're entitled to. Those who behave well will have their sentences reduced.

"Understood. We have followed the regulations."

The foreman paused for a moment, then added, "However, some prisoners of war harbored a lot of resentment and often grumbled behind my back."

The Chinese soldier sneered, "Let them curse. Once they've cursed enough, they'll behave themselves."

The mine continued operating in the afternoon.

The prisoners of war continued working.

The Ugly soldiers swung their sledgehammers again, once, twice, three times, smashing them onto the ore, sparks flying everywhere.

The British soldiers continued shoveling rubble, one shovelful after another, mechanically and numbly.

The Punisher pushed the mine cart step by step along the tracks, while the Canadian soldier operated the machine, his eyes fixed on the dial.

As the sun began to set in the west, the horizon glowed with an orange-red light.

The overseer blew the whistle to signal the end of the workday.

The prisoners of war stopped what they were doing, dragged their weary bodies, and headed towards the barracks.

Dinner was the same as always: a bowl of porridge and a steamed bun. Some people ate and went straight to sleep, while others leaned against the wall, numb and lost in thought.

The Ugly soldier sat at the door, gazing into the distance, silent.

An American soldier walked over and sat down beside him: "What are you thinking about?"

Ugly soldier said, "I'm thinking about my daughter. She should be starting elementary school this year. I wonder what she looks like now."

The American soldier patted him on the shoulder: "You'll go back. You can go back after you've served your full term."

The Ugly soldier gave a bitter smile: "Terms? Who knows how many years I'll have to serve? Three years? Five years? Ten years? Maybe I'll die here and never be able to go back."

The British soldier was silent for a moment: "Then live on. No matter how many years it takes, as long as you live, there is hope."

The Ugly soldier didn't speak, but just looked at the distant sky, at the stars that were lighting up one by one.

The night grew deeper.

Intermittent snoring and mumbling could be heard from the barracks.

Some people are so tired they fall asleep, while others can't.

……