Chapter 73 Cremation(27)

Wang Juren never dreamed that he would have such a bad luck.He didn't have much insight, but what his old eyes could see, he thought about it painstakingly and anxiously, and he didn't dare to be careless at all.He doesn't seek any extra fame and fortune, but only wants to keep his own property, and he only wants to not offend others in any way, so as to save his old life.Who would have thought that the Japanese would be so ruthless and arrest him to the headquarters. He was terribly frightened.He was afraid that the Japanese would confiscate his property, that the Japanese would kill him, that the Japanese would torture him—and finally, that the Japanese would ruin his daughter.From the moment he entered the gate of the headquarters, he trembled as if suffering from malignant malaria.

He did not stand trial that night.He was locked up in a hut with no window paper, no lamp, but only a pile of hay and infinite moisture.This is the privilege room.On the left and right of the special treatment room were ordinary prison cells, he couldn't see what they looked like, but he could only hear the sound of the chains and the sobbing of his heart. He himself had not been subjected to such abuse, so he never cared about the suffering of others.If he hadn't been imprisoned here, he would never have imagined that the Japanese are so barbaric, ruthless, and cruel, and that his compatriots are all suffering from such torture and torture in hell.He thought that before he went to hell, everyone was tortured and killed because of their own misfortune.If everyone could act according to circumstances like him and obey everywhere, he thought, the Japanese would not give everyone a hard time for no reason.Everyone suffers because everyone is ignorant, and the Japanese are not jackals.Now, he knows the true face of the Japanese.

However, he still refused to hate the Japanese very much.He always felt that his misfortune was more or less a matter of fate.On the surface, he considers himself a Confucian; in his heart, he believes in ghosts and gods, retribution, and destiny.Everything is luck: the rise and fall of a country, the prosperity or failure of an individual, are all governed by fate and cannot be resisted.The Japanese aggression, in his opinion, is a matter of course, and it is justified.He didn't dare to hate the Japanese too much, but felt wronged and wronged to realize that his fate was not good.Because he could not resolve to hate the Japanese, he was unwilling to sympathize with the cries and lamentations of Siwai.He only hoped that his bad luck would be short-lived, and that he would return home soon, enjoying the leisurely life of repenting behind closed doors.As for whether those crying prisoners were crucified by the Japanese or burned to death alive, it only depends on their luck and has nothing to do with him.

In this way, his heart was much quieter, and he sat on the grass.He is still afraid, but the fear is often mitigated, diluted by hope.He hoped that his luck would not be so bad that his family would be destroyed.The Japanese came to catch him, maybe it was a little misunderstanding.Slowly—thinking more practically—he prepared how he would deal with the Japanese tomorrow.He is very willing to get his hookah, and if he takes a few puffs of yellow smoke, his thoughts will inevitably become more thorough. He is ready: To the Japanese, he should answer fluently, ask and say what he asks, and teach them to understand his attitude thoroughly: "I don't want to offend anyone, because only when no one offends me can I save my old life! I only hope Save your life, and don't want to fight for power!" He thought about these words, and felt that they would teach the Japanese that his attitude was exactly that of a well-educated person.As long as they believed his words, they would release him without delay.After he was released from prison, he also thought that he should resign and study in closed doors to spend his dying years.However, if the Japanese still teach him how to do things, he can't be too resolute; being resolute is quite enough to cause trouble.

The damp hit him from all directions, and his old bones froze in one place.He wanted to get up and walk around.His knee was as stiff as a brick.He hugged his knees and put his chin on them.The night was as silent as death, only the footsteps of the guards and the wailing of the prisoners gave the silence some embarrassing changes from time to time.Wang Juren missed his daughter.He wept.He is cold, hungry, aching in the joints, lonely, afraid; he misses his daughter.Where is Menglian?What are you doing?Is she running for him, teaching him to escape quickly?He couldn't imagine what she must be doing, and he wanted to be angry.Hearing the footsteps of the guards, he didn't dare to curse out loud.He had to be patient, spending the night like a hungry mouse at the angle of the wall; by dawn, things would start to look a little bit better.He was lost in sleep for a while.

When I woke up and opened my eyes, I felt like I was in a dream.The mournful voices outside had been replaced by long sighs, rough gasps or sudden short cries, and each sound gave the silence in the darkness a bit of forceful impetus, but it was hard to figure out what it was impelling.He didn't dare to think about anything, he felt that a wet, bloody hand would come over at any time and push him away, pushing him to a darker place.He was cold, hungry, thirsty; he could not stop coughing.My own coughing sound was also strange and unpleasant, as if a ghost was coughing.The moisture seemed to have condensed into dew, and he felt that his back and legs were soaked.

After enduring it for several hours, he thought it should be dawn, but the surrounding moisture seemed to condense into a black veil, wrapping around his body and pressing down on his chest.Instead of being bright, it was getting darker.He felt perpetual darkness every minute. Suddenly, a shot rang out outside.Following the gunshot, he spit out a mouthful of phlegm; the gunshot was so sudden and loud that it seemed to be spit out from his heart.He forgot the hardness of his limbs and the pain in his joints, and stood up abruptly.There were several more gunshots outside, and the gunshots intertwined into two places, forming one piece, rippling in the air.He ran to the door, felt for the door, but could not open it.The gunfire grew louder.Someone is running in the yard.He wants to run out.With trembling hands on the door, he heard shots fired in the courtyard.Leaving the door, he looked out through the window without window paper, he couldn't see anything clearly, he just felt as if there were people, many people, running in the courtyard: he fired again, and he saw the flames, not far away from him.Someone was indeed running in the courtyard. He heard the sound of chains and shouts.After a while, the courtyard seemed to be full of people.The shouts of people suppressed the sound of gunshots and chains.People seem to be mad, and the voices seem to have layers in the chaos: shouting, roaring, above; fetters clattering below, with the sound of whips and meat in between; floating above the piece is a distant Gunshots whistled in the sky.He trembled so much that he couldn't stand still.As if to give himself some strength, he suddenly called out, but the voice was so weak that even he himself couldn't hear it clearly.He couldn't tell what was going on in the courtyard, he only knew that everyone was bumping and beating.He wanted to plug his earholes and stop listening.At this time of year, there are louder voices in the street.The sound coming in from outside was like a big wave suppressing a small wave, suppressing the noise in the courtyard to only a humming one.The shouts on the street are wild and unrestrained, like thousands of wild horses galloping wildly.The vocals are mixed with gunshots, sometimes a single shot, sometimes a series.Jurengong's throat was so dry that it was about to burst into flames.The more he thought about what it was, the weaker his legs became.He had to use the greatest strength to support his legs, and he had no spare energy to mobilize his brain.

Fire—the distant sky lights up.Looking at the direction, the head of the fire is at Jurengong's house!He pushed the door desperately, trying to run out, and ran all the way home.His house is ancestral property, it must not be burned down!The door won't open.There was also a fire nearby, and after a while the fire burst out of the roof, illuminating the branches in the courtyard.At this time, he looked at the courtyard: the prisoners all led the "guys" and fought with the enemy soldiers guarding the prison.The enemy soldiers' guns could no longer be fired, and they swung, pestled, and beat them like sticks.Prisoners attacked the enemy soldiers with handcuffs and teeth.Some stumbled, some shouted, some were wounded and retreated, and some advanced with blood.The tall ones, the short ones, the old ones, and the young ones are all a mass of black shadows, all moving and shouting.Several enemy soldiers struggled to break through like mad dogs, and the prisoners pressed forward as if glued together, refusing to let go of a step.Enemy soldiers to the east, a group of dark shadows to the east; enemy soldiers to the west, a group of black, vocal, and turbulent people to the west.Move, move together; Fall, fall together; Roll, roll together.The light of the fire dimmed a little, and the turbulent black shadows turned into a black one. There were only shouts, the sound of iron chains and iron fetters, and no human figure could be distinguished.Suddenly the flames turned on again, and people's faces suddenly appeared, not faces, but some strange things that were red, bright, and moving.He didn't want to look again, but his eyes refused to give up their rights.He hoped that this ugly scene would disappear soon, so that his heart would be at peace.He hoped that all the prisoners would be killed by the Japanese soldiers, and that the Japanese soldiers would not lose even one.He knew that if the Japanese soldiers suffered losses, they would demand compensation ten times and a hundred times over, and he might even have to sue himself.He hates those prisoners for being so immoral! "Don't fight anymore! Don't fight anymore! The Japanese will slaughter the city, you bastards!" He trembled and shouted with all his strength.Poor, his voice was so faint that no one could hear it.

Suddenly, like the sky falling, there was a loud noise.The arsenal exploded, and Wang Juren passed out on the ground.