CJLTNS Chapter 23

Boom!

Rat-tat-tat!

Shards of shrapnel and bullets whizzed past. In an instant, flames shot skyward, the blast wave of the explosion shaking the very earth. Thick smoke billowed, while debris from shattered buildings rained down like a storm.

Shen Xuan crouched low, taking cover with his teammates behind a crumbling wall. In Lebanon, Israeli armed groups had launched a massive wave of terrorist attacks. This was already the third day. The fragile order that had only just been restored was once again in ruins—every effort turned to ashes.

This war-torn city was desolate. Those who could flee had long since left. Only the poor in the slums remained, trapped, with their fates left to the mercy of chance.

The day before, Shen Xuan’s unit had been assigned a mission: a primary school in Lebanon had been seized by Israeli militants. Eighteen students and five teachers were taken hostage. Shen Xuan’s task was to rescue them.

“Captain, hostages are at nine o’clock—in that factory building.”

Glancing at the thermal imager, Shen Xuan gave a nod, then signaled with his hand, directing his team to prepare for the assault.

Bang! Bang!

The bullet shot out of the barrel, and the sniper occupying the high ground was struck down by Shen Xuan with a single shot. A few more bursts followed, and the assault team successfully secured the perimeter, gradually exposing the area where the hostages were being held.

Shen Xuan led his men carefully toward the tightly shut factory door, his finger resting lightly on the cold grip of his gun, ready to respond to any sudden threat.

The door creaked open slowly, the faint squeak piercingly loud in the stillness of dawn.

As soon as it opened, seven or eight soldiers swiftly fanned out, forming a tight encirclement. Their eyes, sharp as blades, swept every corner of the room inside.

In the dim light, hostages lay on the ground, their hands and feet bound. Prolonged captivity had turned them into jittery wrecks, their faces etched with fear and helplessness. In their eyes flickered both the desperate yearning for life and the dread of the unknown.

Shen Xuan and his teammates checked their hands for weapons. Once they confirmed these were indeed innocent hostages, Shen Xuan pulled a military knife from the pouch on his thigh and cut through their ropes.

That was the first time Shen Xuan saw Yu Xin. From the intel they’d received, he knew one of the hostages was Chinese. Among the foreigners, Yu Xin was inconspicuous—thin and frail, curled up in a corner, cradling a young boy in his arms.

Over the years in war zones, Shen Xuan had rescued many hostages: some were petrified, their eyes vacant, others broke down sobbing and wailing, venting their terror at having survived.

But Yu Xin was different. Shen Xuan had never seen such calm eyes—neither afraid of war and death, nor showing any relief at being saved. He looked like an outsider, detached and indifferent to everything before him.

Shen Xuan cut the ropes around Yu Xin’s arms. From long hours of binding, his arms were bleeding; his left temple had also been slashed by a shard of bullet fragment, with dark red blood dried and crusted in his hair, giving him a frightening look.

Never before had Shen Xuan encountered such a composed hostage. He couldn’t help but glance at him again. Yu Xin flexed his bloodied, stiff wrist, then nodded slightly at Shen Xuan and said in Chinese, “Thank you.”

The battlefield was ever-changing, and Shen Xuan and his men didn’t dare linger inside the factory. They led the hostages out, preparing to return to their base thirty kilometers away.

On the road back, fighting flared constantly. The hostages trembled with fear. Lacking any kind of training, they panicked at every explosion, throwing the group into chaos. Much of Shen Xuan and his team’s energy was spent calming them down.

This was something Shen Xuan was already highly skilled at—using sharp, professional commands to direct the hostages’ quick movements. Along the way, he noticed Yu Xin kept holding the child in his arms. The boy looked around seven or eight years old, showing the telltale signs of malnutrition common among local poor children.

Unlike the other frantic hostages, Yu Xin was unnervingly calm. Whenever Shen Xuan issued an order, Yu Xin was always the first to respond, carrying it out without hesitation. If not for his frail appearance, Shen Xuan might have suspected Yu Xin was a policeman or a soldier himself.

Thirty kilometers of road—in a peaceful region, that would be less than half an hour’s drive.

But in a war zone, explosions and bullets were the most common obstacles. Shen Xuan and his team, escorting more than twenty hostages, left at dawn and only by the time the sun was fully risen—three hours later—did they finally reach the base.

Once back, the hostages were handed over to doctors and the logistics unit for care. Shen Xuan himself was busy reporting to headquarters, and it wasn’t until two days later that he saw Yu Xin again.

In Lebanon, for the people living there, war and death had become as common as breathing or drinking water.

During a rare ceasefire, Shen Xuan went to the rear hospital. There, he saw the children who had been rescued days earlier, now happily chasing one another across the open ground.

From his very first day as a peacekeeper, Shen Xuan had lived alongside death. He had lost count of the lives he had watched fade away, or of the enemies whose lives he had ended with bullets.

In his spare moments, he liked to come to the rear, to watch the children run and laugh without restraint. In them, he saw the vitality of life—and only then did he feel alive himself.

“Teacher, this is for you!”

A boy of seven or eight came running, clutching a red wildflower he had plucked from somewhere. He threw himself into Yu Xin’s arms, holding up the crumpled little flower to him.

Yu Xin crouched down, opening his arms to embrace the child. He accepted the flower, a faint smile playing on his lips. But when Shen Xuan looked into his eyes, he felt that the smile never truly reached them.

In Lebanon, even during peace, there were very few Chinese people—let alone in times of war. For Shen Xuan, meeting Yu Xin here brought a sudden sense of familiarity.

He walked over, took a cigarette from his pack, and handed it to Yu Xin. Yu Xin accepted it but didn’t light it, just held it between his fingers.

“What made you come here?” Shen Xuan asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Yu Xin lifted his head slightly, his gaze resting on a flock of pigeons taking flight over the ruins in the distance. In his eyes lay a heaviness and depth that words could not capture—like a morning veiled in mist: stripped of brightness, devoid of color, shrouded in a loneliness and sorrow no one could reach.

“If I said I came here to die, would you believe me?”

Shen Xuan drew on his cigarette and couldn’t help but laugh. “If you wanted to die, why travel all this way? A knife, a rope— these are so much simpler”

Yu Xin lowered his head. His long lashes cast a shadow beneath his eyes. He twirled the crumpled flower in his fingers, then laughed softly as well. “Yes… a knife or a rope—so much simpler.”

Shen Xuan took his last drag, then stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. It was only then, looking into Yu Xin’s eyes, that I realized he wasn’t joking. He had truly come here seeking death. Only someone who no longer cared about life could look so calm.

Jiang Chong had never felt so cold before. His hands and feet were ice, the chill sinking from head to toe. Even his heart seemed wrapped in frost, his fingers trembling.

Without Jiang Chong ever knowing, Yu Xin had thought countless times of ending his own life. Looking back now, Jiang Chong wondered—what had he been doing at those moments?

He couldn’t remember. After Yu Xin left, his days blurred into repetition: investigating cases, then going home. Nothing else.

He lifted his glass and drained it in one gulp, forcing down the sting at the corners of his eyes with a deep breath. Little fox… this time I won’t leave you alone again. I’ll never let go of your hand.

Shen Xuan too finished his drink, then lit another cigarette. In this world, every minute someone departed, while countless others mourned the ones already gone.

He exhaled a plume of white smoke, wetting his lips with his tongue. His mind drifted back to that figure in the flames of war—like a ghost moving through rubble and chaos, a faint, unfathomable smile on his face.

Shen Xuan had seen him a few times. Each time, his identity was different. Sometimes a merchant, sometimes an informant—always drifting between rival powers.

They belonged to opposing camps, so there was no reason to know each other. But one explosion trapped Shen Xuan and him together in an underground bunker for three days and three nights. He saved Shen Xuan’s life—and in doing so, stirred ripples in Shen Xuan’s heart.

It had been two years since that encounter. Shen Xuan hadn’t heard a word from him. He didn’t know where he had gone, whether he was alive or dead.