Chapter 59 Verse 9 Rereading the Book of Revelation

Nanjing is the closest place to my hometown in my memory. Apart from finishing elementary school there, the most important thing is that I saw my parents reunited in Nanjing, my mother ran a comfortable and happy home, and my three little sisters were born safely.The house is full of laughter.Qijia on Ninghai Road, where countless northeastern students from the Whampoa Military Academy who were homesick, came to eat their hometown dishes on Sundays.A place where my parents cared.Therefore, we fled hastily in the early winter of 1937. The sorrow of the country's destruction and family destruction and the Nanjing Massacre after the Japanese occupation were not only my national hatred, but also my family hatred.

After arriving in Nanjing, I lived in a government temporary guest house.At that time, many institutions added the word "temporary" and were crowded in places such as Nanjing and Shanghai.In the morning, when my father went to work, I went out for a walk in the rain alone, looking for the old residence and elementary school eight years ago. After eight years of alien separatism, the "temporary" living attitude of the residents who escaped and returned or newly moved in has become dilapidated in the vibrant capital that once advocated the New Life Movement.As young as I am, I can't help but hesitate.Only the Drum Tower is still identifiable. Go down from its grass slope and turn right, and gradually walk into a dilapidated street full of dilapidated houses. It was the most prosperous city center in those days. On Sunday, Mo Yichao, my father's unsmiling valet, took me to buy a book, and watched the first movie (the silent film "The Story of the Bible") with my grandpa for cultural enlightenment.After walking forward for a short time, I suddenly saw a cloth belt hanging in front of a chapel, with large characters written on it:

Commemorating the Anniversary of Zhang Dafei's Martyrdom Those words pierced my eyes and entered my heart like a small sword. In the rain, I stood on the street, wondering if I should go in? I wonder if the spirit of the dead led me here? Less than ten days ago, I just flew across thousands of miles by accident, from Sichuan to Nanjing—the place where I met him for the first time—was he leading me to this worship, witnessing his existence and death in the holy temple of God? The people standing at the open door of the church saw me standing there for a long time in the rain, and they walked across the street to tell me that I must be a friend of Zhang Dafei, please come in to worship and remember together.

I followed them across the street like sleepwalking and entered the church without even seeing the name of the church.There was a piece of silk cloth for autograph at the entrance, I hesitated, and signed my brother's name, Qi Zhenyi.Sixty years on, I'm still thinking about it.At that moment, why didn't I sign my name? Maybe it was ten long months since he stopped writing to me in the autumn of 1944 until he was buried over Xinyang, Henan in May 1945. , I kept guessing.What kind of people surrounded him during his lifetime, and who are holding his memorial service now? Can these people understand the meaning of my name in his life?

The war has just stopped, and thousands of bleeding hearts have not yet been sealed.The service was very solemn, and some people recalled that he was respected for keeping quiet and clean during his precarious life in the army.Among many scriptures, some people read "New Testament.Revelation, "Again I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the previous heaven and earth have passed away?...God will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, nor shall there be mourning, crying, or pain, because before is over.” These scriptures have helped me through many difficult times in my life.I sit in the back row.He left immediately after the service.

Why I walked to Xinjiekou that day and saw the banner of the memorial service, I can't answer it for the rest of my life.Everyone has some miracles in their life that only they can experience, so there is no need to explain them to others.I escaped from Nanjing at the end of 1937, and have only been back twice in my life.This time I participated in the memorial service of Brother Feifei, and the second time, I went there for three days in May 2000. With the help of my middle school friend Zhang Feizhi, I found the Aviation Martyrs Cemetery, went up the stairs, and touched the black marble tombstone , engraved with his birthplace and dates of birth and death.