Chapter 5

I’ve always felt that I died too young in my previous life-hit by a car at just 26. Such a loss.

But my mother only lived to 17 in her past life.

She never enjoyed a single day of happiness, struggling for 17 years amid poverty and suffering.

I quietly listened to my mother recount her story.

Only then did I understand what it truly means when they say, “what is gained from reading is shallow compared to real experience.”

A few brief lines in a history book-those are the sum of their entire lives.

Only a handful become legends whose names are recorded in the grand annals of history.

Most people, like my mother, were crushed by the relentless wheels of history, fading into the smoke and ashes of chaotic times.

She was a Liaison Officer back then, specifically responsible for delivering messages and intelligence to the teams stationed at the Base of Operations.

“I was scared at first, when they attacked.”

“But my father was killed, my mother was thrown into a stinking ditch after they abused her, and my little brother was stabbed to death by their sharp knives, his entrails spilling all over the ground.”

“After that, I wasn’t afraid anymore.”

The spark of resistance gradually spread to her hometown, and she joined without hesitation, eventually becoming a Liaison Officer.

I asked her how she died for the cause.

“They caught me, wanting to force me to give up the Eighth Route Army’s locations, but I refused. So they tore out my fingernails, then my teeth, nailed my hands, and slit open my belly.”