Chapter 132: The Real Battlefield

Zeng Xinlin didn't bother to pay attention to Yang Chen's impatient expression. He sighed, his young face bearing a maturity that didn't match his age. "Yeah, I went to war. Less than half a year after joining the army, due to my decent martial arts skills and outstanding performance in training, I was directly transferred to the field regiment of the 32nd Division in the southwest."

To put it simply, it was a special forces unit specialized in high-altitude operations. Every day, we were stationed on the edge of the southwest, either fighting drug smugglers, human traffickers, or engaging in territorial disputes with the armies of those southwest countries. Looking back now, I consider myself lucky to be alive and intact. Ruoxi, you don't know. There was a time when we faced off against the Indian army in a canyon. Their reinforcements arrived faster than we expected, and they even brought along artillery support. At that time, our squad had only seventeen or eighteen people, while the enemy numbered at least a hundred. We relied on a few machine guns we carried ourselves to hold our ground. The Indian soldiers were known to be cowardly, but their bullets were not. Since their supply route was far, their artillery support was slower than ours. When their artillery shells came raining down, we had no choice but to retreat. But the orders from higher-ups were absolutely clear—we couldn't retreat from that canyon. So, our platoon leader, in a hurry, grabbed some high explosives and sneaked into the woods. When the enemy wasn't paying attention, we threw the explosives from behind and blew up their two cannons!"

Although it was a simple description, Zeng Xinlin spoke with great passion, making Lin Ruoxi feel as if she were there, experiencing the urgency of the situation. She couldn't help but ask, "Did your platoon leader manage to remain undetected?"

Zeng Xinlin sighed sadly, "How could he not be detected? Our platoon leader was riddled with bullets by several Indian soldiers, turning him into a hornet's nest. Even his bones were shattered to pieces."

"Poor thing..."

"Not poor at all. As a soldier, surviving is luck, dying is fate," Zeng Xinlin said bluntly. "Ruoxi, you don't know. Our entire platoon went crazy at that moment. Seeing our platoon leader die, we all just dove into the nearby woods. While the Indian soldiers were lamenting the loss of their two cannons, we inserted ourselves into their midst, separated by the trees, and launched a fierce attack!

I remember bullets flying past my ears, feeling the burning pain. Two of my comrades beside me were staring at me, then they fell, still holding onto the machine gun trigger. One person's eyes were blown out directly, and I still have nightmares about that gruesome scene."

Lin Ruoxi seemed to be infected by the passion of that moment and asked, "Did you avenge your platoon leader?"

"We did. We fought that small battle for an hour and a half. In the end, only me and another comrade walked out of the woods. Everyone else, both ours and theirs, were dead."

Zeng Xinlin let out a long sigh, his voice heavy with emotion as he said, "At that time, we didn't care about life or death at all. There was only one thought in our minds, which was to avenge our platoon leader, even if it meant shedding blood and losing our heads. We completely forgot about everything else. Looking back now, those days are truly unforgettable."

Zeng Xinlin's voice was low and hoarse, as if he had already sunk into the vivid memories of that intense and bloody period. Lin Ruoxi, who was listening attentively, also showed a hint of melancholy.

"Have you said enough? Can you stop bullshitting?" Suddenly, Yang Chen, who had been silent all along, raised his head, his gaze coldly fixed on Zeng Xinlin.

"What did you say?!" Zeng Xinlin's eyes flashed with displeasure.

Just moments ago, Lin Ruoxi was still immersed in the scene she admired and longed for, but Yang Chen's sudden vulgar words also made her quite unhappy. She questioned, "Yang Chen, why are you like this? Why are you talking to Senior Zeng in this tone?!"

Yang Chen slowly stood up from the sofa and sneered, "Why am I talking like this? Because your Senior here is talking nonsense!"

"Mr. Yang, even if you are Ruoxi's husband, I cannot tolerate you tarnishing the honor of our soldiers like this! You must give me a reasonable explanation!"

"Explanation? Do you even deserve to know?" Yang Chen sneered and turned to leave.

Lin Ruoxi stood up, shouting, "Yang Chen, stop right there! Finish what you have to say! I won't allow you to be rude to my senior!"

Yang Chen sighed deeply, glanced at Lin Ruoxi, but it was just that glance that sent shivers down her spine.

She had never seen such a look in Yang Chen's eyes before – desolate, sad, hopeless, empty, and dark, as if they were an endless abyss, leaving her feeling spiritually drained.

Lin Ruoxi was stunned.

Zeng Xinlin, however, didn't notice. By now, he had also stood up, his chest puffed out, his gaze fixed on Yang Chen. He couldn't accept that this seemingly mediocre man could become Lin Ruoxi's husband. But he knew that being impatient and unreasonable would only alienate a woman like Lin Ruoxi. So, he decided to slowly sway Lin Ruoxi to his side.

However, slowly didn't mean he could tolerate this "insignificant" man challenging him!

Yang Chen closed his eyes, and the complex gaze faded away, leaving behind a mocking expression. Facing Zeng Xinlin, who looked imposing, he said, "Senior Zeng, please allow me to be frank. Your so-called tales of heroic battlefield exploits, in my eyes, are nothing but children playing house, entertaining themselves with fairy tales."

"What did you say?" Fire sparked in Zeng Xinlin's eyes.

Unfazed, Yang Chen smirked, "You have no idea what a real battlefield is like. You've never seen one."

"And have you, Mr. Yang?" Zeng Xinlin scoffed.

Yang Chen took a deep breath and calmly recounted, "Everywhere is yellow soil, everywhere is mud and sand. Your whole body is covered in nothing but blood and sweat, with no water, no food. Beside you lie people, but none whole – missing limbs, missing heads, guts spilled out. You can't even tell if they're your comrades or your enemies. Your ears are so accustomed to the sound of mortar explosions and bullets that it's as if farting would make more noise. Stick your head out for a moment, and you might get a grenade landing right on top of it. Even if you stay still, shells might land in your trench.

One moment you have all your limbs, the next you might lose a leg, an arm, or worse, and you don't even know how you'll die. When you see anything move on the other side, your first instinct is to shoot, civilian, enemy, or friend, screw humanitarianism, screw not harming civilians on the battlefield. Whoever stands opposite you, dies. When you see your comrades fall beside you, when you see your commanding officer and your brothers blown to bits by enemy fire, you feel nothing, no sadness, no joy, no emotion except one – relief that it wasn't you who died.

When you don't even care about your own life anymore, when life and death are so uncertain, who the hell has time to care about others' lives? Revenge? Only fools bother with that! Can't win? Run! Can win? Make sure you survive first! When you're alive, you can have everything. When you're dead, everything becomes meaningless!"

By the end, Yang Chen was practically roaring, his resolute tone leaving Lin Ruoxi speechless and even Zeng Xinlin, who was previously full of bravado, feeling a chill down his spine.

What kind of hell on earth was that? What kind of battlefield was that?

"Only the annihilation of humanity is the true face of the battlefield. All that crap you were spewing is just something they show in movies for kids," Yang Chen finished, striding out of the house.

He needed to buy a pack of cigarettes, to drive fast on the highway, to suppress the raging emotions inside him that made him feel so uneasy.

As Yang Chen stepped out, Wang Mama, who had just returned from shopping, happened to see him. Before she could even greet him, she watched Yang Chen swiftly get into his car and roar off.

Finding it odd, Wang Mama entered the villa and was immediately taken aback. Lin Ruoxi and Zeng Xinlin stood in the living room, dazed as if they had lost their souls.

Yang Chen drove to the nearest convenience store, bought a pack of the cheapest two-dollar tobacco, rolled a cigarette, and then drove off. The car roared onto the highway. The night's traffic was sparse, and Yang Chen's M3 raced like lightning, overtaking other vehicles as it swerved left and right.

After smoking three cigarettes and feeling much calmer, Yang Chen casually took an exit from the highway and found a spot to park. Stepping out of the car, he looked up at the bright moon, chuckled self-deprecatingly, realizing that getting so worked up over Zeng Xinlin's boring remarks wasn't worth it. It seemed that while he had become much more composed than before, he still had a long way to go in controlling his emotions, especially when facing sensitive topics.

As his thoughts settled, Yang Chen noticed where he had parked. Glancing around, he was surprised to find himself at the riverside food stall he had been to twice before with Mo Qianni. The brightly lit path by the river indicated that the stall was still bustling.

Having had a stomach full of alcohol in the evening and a lengthy conversation with Zeng Xinlin, Yang Chen felt hungry. Suddenly, he craved the food Mo Qianni had taken him to eat at Xiang Sao's food stall. So, he leisurely made his way there, following his memory.

Two minutes later, Yang Chen arrived at the unchanged Xiang Sao's food stall. Xiang Sao, wearing a red apron with sweat on her forehead, immediately recognized Yang Chen and greeted him warmly, "Isn't this Little Yang? Are you here to see Nizi?"

Yang Chen was puzzled by Xiang Sao's greeting, but following her gesture, he saw Mo Qianni, wearing a white dress with black polka dots cinched at the waist, sitting in a corner of the food stall. She was alone at a table with some dishes, leisurely pouring herself sorghum wine.

Mo Qianni's posture was elegant. Even though she was alone, eating at an ordinary food stall, her every move seemed as graceful as sipping a thousand-dollar bottle of vintage red wine or indulging in top-grade caviar.

Yang Chen couldn't help but think of a phrase: a woman as lonely as smoke.